Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  Fast. Fast. Fast! In a stumbling run, she hurried to the door. The Word opening the door to BalmHeal trembled off her lips, and the arched wood swung open. Artemisia picked up the pace on the well-kept path—most of the desperate came this way—straight to the Healing pool.

  Then she was there and putting the unconscious raccoon on the soft moss near the edge of the pool—moss that would comfort and help Heal. She wiped her face, her tears and her own snot, with her ruined sleeve, sucked in a breath, and reached for the knife.

  She pulled it out quickly; the hilt seemed to burn her hands with negative energy and she flung it away, heard it splash in the large Healing pool. She didn’t think it would harm the pool, but—Mom, Dad, come quick to the big pool!

  Artemisia put her hand over the raccoon’s wound and saw the injuries with an inner vision. She summoned her Healing Flair and concentrated on suctioning any internal bleeding or hurtful fluids from the knife wound, pulling them from the cavity of the raccoon’s body through the wound to the creature’s skin and into the thick underfur. Then she began mending—drawing the sliced tissue together, sending Flair to weave, to meld the hurt.

  She sighed, sucked in a breath. Not so bad, really. Didn’t take too much Flair. The raccoon’s organs weren’t too different than a human’s.

  There was a swoosh of air and the comforting scent of her mother was there. “What’s . . . Oh. What’s that?”

  “I believe it’s a female raccoon.” Her father’s calm voice settled Artemisia and her energy became less spiky, stronger, quicker. She was too used to working in a HealingHall, always knowing she might face an emergency there. Her mother usually handled the urgent problems here in the sanctuary.

  “I threw the knife into the pool.” She spared a glance for her father and his raised brows. “It was in the raccoon and it looks a little familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

  Curiosity lit his eyes.

  Another deep breath. “It had very bad energy.” She swallowed. “I think it might have been used to commit that murder yesterday.”

  “And it’s in the pool!” her mother cried. She stared into the water with a scanning gaze.

  “Clothes off,” Artemisia’s father said and dove in.

  Ignoring her parents, Artemisia finished her work on the raccoon. Its—her—eyes opened and she snuffled at Artemisia. Thank you, big human person. There are not many of us and we have been afraid of humans, but I would like to be a Fam animal.

  The affection and acceptance radiating from the Fam who’d rolled over and cuddled in Artemisia’s arms sheathed the cutting edge of the pain of Garrett’s, her HeartMate’s, rejection.

  She cradled the animal—surely it wasn’t full grown?—and answered, “I’d like that. But first we must wash.”

  Fur is sticky and we smell bad.

  Artemisia figured that wasn’t the royal we that cats used. Her new Fam was making a comment on her person’s odor. The raccoon’s urine was feral and gamey. “Healing is like that. So we’ll head into the pool.” Looking around she saw her parents sitting on the far side of the large multicurved Healing pool, staring at an object. Her father was dressed and dry, which meant he’d said a spell.

  “First we bathe. I’ll hold you.”

  I can swim.

  “That’s wonderful. And then I’ll make an appointment with Danith D’Ash to see us.”

  She is SCARY.

  Artemisia blinked. She hadn’t met the small GreatLady very often, but even as powerful as D’Ash was, since she was one of the highest Nobles of the land, Artemisia didn’t consider her frightening. She did tend to trust the highest Nobles, especially of the younger generation, thought they were honorable people. There was nothing wrong with that.

  “Who told you D’Ash is scary?” Artemisia asked the raccoon, and muttered a Word to take her boots and liners off.

  Cats told us. Cats said D’Ash TORTURED.

  “The cats probably wanted to keep Danith D’Ash to themselves so they scared you.”

  A small gasp, then a growly mutter. Cats cannot always be trusted.

  “You have that right. We’re going in now.” Artemisia jumped over the rim of the pool and landed in warm, churning water up to her waist. Her new Fam squealed in delight and Artemisia let out a small sigh of relief.

  Carefully she washed the raccoon’s fur; the animal wriggled in her grip, surged up to swipe a rough tongue on her chin. Thank you.

  “You’re welcome. You know you are in the city’s secret sanctuary?”

  All are safe here, even raccoons.

  “That’s true. And if you want to be my Fam”—another little spurt of love between them as Artemisia said the words—“you will have to keep the location secret.”

  All animals know about this place, but not all animals can remember how to get here until hurt.

  “Only hurt humans can find this, too,” Artemisia said.

  The creature shivered and Artemisia slogged to the steps and out of the pool. The early-afternoon air was warm, edging into hot, so her wet and heavy clothes stuck against her skin didn’t cool her much. Carefully, she set the animal on its paws. “No telling any humans of the sanctuary or where it is.”

  Raccoons don’t talk to humans much.

  “I saw a raccoon at the Turquoise House and know that many of the animals that Garrett Primross uses as informants were there.” Yes, it hurt to say his name. She’d have to practice it aloud—when alone—until that reflexive stab no longer came.

  We have never spoken to him. The raccoon sniffed in disdain. We keep ourselves to ourselves. Artemisia’s new Fam patted her foot. Not all humans are bad.

  “No. And not all animals are good.”

  Again the animal shuddered. Bad person hurt me! Kicked our den open and took knife. Big red anger and threw it at me and hit me and hurt me!

  “Yes, we need to talk about that.” Artemisia’s father crouched by the animal, his large hands soft and relaxed. Yet the raccoon skittered to the other side of Artemisia.

  I am not YOURS; I am HERS.

  Her father stood and inclined his torso in a half bow. “I understand, Lady Raccoon. But Artemisia is my daughter and we are close. I heard most of your story. If you live here, you may wish to stay with Artemisia in the Residence, especially in the winter. The Residence is an intelligent House.”

  A Fam House? Like TQ?

  Artemisia’s father’s smile was quick and crooked and charming. “Yes. It is grumpy, though, and it loves Artemisia best, too. So she will have to soothe it and you will have to take care around doors and hanging objects.”

  The raccoon whimpered and rose to her back feet to set her claws in Artemisia’s trous. Despite the sodden fabric, it ripped nicely.

  “That outfit is definitely ruined,” Artemisia’s mother said as she joined them. A softleaf floated beside her on an anti-grav spell, and Artemisia realized that it covered the knife.

  The raccoon stared at the shrouded knife and squealed.

  “Why don’t you teleport to your room with your new Fam and change clothes?” Artemisia’s father said. “We’ll join you shortly to discuss this matter.”

  Artemisia’s mother’s lips tightened. “This problem you’ve brought into our home.”

  “Quina, my love,” her father said. “BalmHeal estate is a magnet for problems.”

  Her nostrils pinching, Artemisia’s mother said, “I suppose so. And we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t caused some of those with my religious preferences.”

  “Quina,” Artemisia’s father said even more gently. He put his arm around her mother’s waist. “You are guilty of nothing, and what’s past is past and should remain there. We have a very good life now.”

  She leaned against him. “I know.”

  But her eyes were haunted and Artemi
sia understood that the murder had brought all the circumstances of their ruin back to her mother. That hurt Artemisia’s heart, too, in a different way than Garrett’s rejection. Scandal and disgrace, something she lived with every day outside the estate. “Is Tiana still at the Temple?”

  “Yes, her afternoon sessions.”

  “Ah.” Artemisia bent down to pick up her Fam and her combs gave way and her heavy hair flopped in a long sheet around her head, hiding her face. Just as well. Her parents didn’t need to hear or see the new burden on her heart. “Raccoon, I’m going to pick you up now and we will teleport home.”

  I HAVE NEVER TELEPORTED WITH A PERSON BEFORE. IT WILL BE FUN!

  Artemisia managed a chuckle. “I’m glad you think so. We will go on three. One, raccoon Fam. Two, new home now, and three.”

  They alit in the corner of the sitting room/study attached to her bedroom that Artemisia had designated a teleportation area.

  “What do you have there!” demanded BalmHeal Residence, then added, “It is a raccoon. Hrrmph. Long time since a raccoon was here.”

  “You know of them?” Artemisia asked.

  “Of course. I was built not long after all the FirstFamily Residences by the colonists. They had some domesticated pets, cats and dogs, on the ships. They also revived the DNA and bred some of the more hardy of their Earthan animals, like llamas and horses and rabbits and raccoons, to make themselves feel more at home.”

  “Oh,” Artemisia said.

  This is a beautiful place. The raccoon wiggled in her arms and she put the animal down.

  “What did it say?” the Residence asked.

  “She is female and complimented you on your beauty.”

  “Of course. If she is well behaved, she may stay.”

  That was a great concession. Artemisia wasn’t sure why the Residence was giving it to her but didn’t question it. As she stripped and threw her wet and ruined clothes into the deconstructor, she asked the raccoon, “What is your name?”

  I need a Fam name from a human, the raccoon said, discovering the line of Artemisia’s shoes in the open closet and snuffling from one to the next.

  “I would like to give you a BalmHeal name. Perhaps the Residence can suggest one?” Artemisia asked.

  “I’m honored,” the Residence said but made no suggestion while Artemisia stood under a waterfall foaming with cleansing herbs, dried, dressed, and cleaned up the mess of her ruined clothes.

  Finally, the Residence said, “I would like to offer Diceranda as a wonderful Fam name.”

  The raccoon chittered. Randa Raccoon, I LIKE it.

  “Randa loves the name Randa, Residence,” Artemisia said.

  There was a little creak. “That will do. And the raccoon isn’t as big as that dog was,” the House muttered.

  “I’m sure all our mental and emotional connections will progress quickly so we can speak telepathically with each other,” Artemisia said. “Residence, could you contact Danith D’Ash’s office and request an appointment with the animal Healer for Randa?”

  Randa whimpered. Artemisia gave her a stern Healer look. “I will feel much better if an animal Healer checks your health.”

  “Scrying T’Ash Residence,” BalmHeal said.

  “Good.”

  We are in the conservatory, her mother projected mentally and Artemisia relayed that to Randa. She took off in a back-hunched lope, ears straight out. She didn’t move like any cat or dog Artemisia had seen.

  When they reached the conservatory, her parents were sitting in greeniron chairs with plush brown cushions. Caff and cocoa carafes were on the glass-topped table, along with an object draped lightly in a softleaf. The knife.

  Artemisia went straight for the cocoa.

  “I thought so,” her mother murmured, sharing a glance with her father. “What’s bothering you, Artie?”

  Just that easily, she recalled Garrett and his words. Her hand shook and a stream of milky brown liquid splashed on the table and ran off to the flagstone floor. Randa lapped it up.

  “I can—can’t.” Artemisia’s voice broke. “Can’t talk about it. Not now. Maybe not ever, and espec-specially not to Tiana.”

  Her father gave her a straight look. “That’s not like you, and not healthy.”

  She inhaled a deep breath. “I will speak to someone. A priestess, maybe. But not right now. Now I only have to get through it.” And if she told her father that Garrett had revealed they were HeartMates, it would deeply trouble the older man. Her Family had had enough problems in the past and it appeared that controversy would be spinning around Artemisia and Tiana some more. Artemisia wouldn’t add to that.

  As for her, she didn’t care about the law since she hadn’t been hurt by it. Garrett wasn’t claiming her illegally. He’d set her free.

  A slow breath sifted from her father. “Very well.”

  Her mother had said a short housekeeping spell and all traces of the cocoa spill disappeared.

  Randa burped. Artemisia’s mother waved a hand in the direction of flagstones near the dry sink. “We can finally use the Fam feeding area there.” Randa’s head swiveled, then she scampered off to the small square and a bowl of dry dog food.

  “Now, about this knife . . .” Artemisia’s father started.

  She told them how she found Randa, had pulled the knife from her and thrown it into the pool.

  Randa’s crunching of the food stopped and she padded close to them, hunched down.

  There were interesting smells in the park where we denned. Then there was death. My dam took the knife and hid it in our burrow. Then the bad human came and kicked our den apart and found the evil knife and threw it and it hit me and hurt! We all ran away in different directions.

  “You nearly died,” Artemisia’s mother said, obviously now able to hear the raccoon’s telepathy, though her mother’s face remained haunted. “This is another wrong against me and my religion.”

  “What?” Artemisia asked.

  Her mother gestured to the knife under the softleaf. “That is a cross-folk ritual knife, but with edges and point sharpened enough to become a weapon.”

  Artemisia’s father cleared his throat, but his gaze stayed on Artemisia. “You and Randa must tell the authorities this story.”

  “I know,” Artemisia said.

  He nodded to the softleaf folded over the knife. “And give them the knife. It may have trace amounts of evidence on it. And someone with Flair might be able to sense the murderer from it.” He lifted his elegant hands, let them drop. He wasn’t a judge, a man of legal authority, anymore. Her heart twinged. It wasn’t often she saw regret for his lost career, but it peeked out of his eyes now. “I can provide you with a sterile vacuum box for the weapon.” He still had that skill.

  “Thank you.”

  “But your mother’s softleaf might have also left traces, and might identify her. You will have to be more careful than usual to guard our secrets.”

  The dreadful feeling that neither of her parents would survive being cast from the sanctuary welled inside Artemisia and clogged her throat. She coughed. “I’ll be very careful.”

  His gentle smile was back. “I know you will. You are often too careful. Both my daughters are.”

  His gaze searched hers. “It is a cross-folk altar knife, and your mother—and I—might know more about such than the authorities.” Skin tightened around his eyes. “Will you grant me a little time to research the knife? I think I might be able to determine the artist who crafted it. You could take it in to the guards tomorrow with more information.”

  “Of course.”

  “We are breaking laws keeping it.” He shifted in his seat. “But something of the energy surrounding the knife also feels a bit familiar.”

  “The murdered man was Modoc Eryngo.”

&nbs
p; Her father’s face solidified into a stony judge’s expression. Her mother gasped.

  “He did great harm to us, implicating us and the cross-folk in the Black Magic Cult murders.” Her father’s tone was harsh and his lips tightened. “It seems this new murderer wants to do the same.” He let out a deep breath. “But your mother and I were here, and you at a Healing vigil in the Turquoise House with Garrett Primross, and Tiana at a spiritual vigil at GreatCircle Temple. In this particular case, the murderer was unlucky.”

  “Will you researching the knife add traces?”

  “I don’t intend to touch it.”

  Artemisia eyed the lump under the softleaf. She hadn’t gotten a good look at it. But she really didn’t want to. Though her father had it shielded so they couldn’t feel its negativity, she recalled the evil of it. She made herself smile. “I can take it in tomorrow, with an expert opinion.”

  “Artemisia,” BalmHeal Residence said aloud, “the first appointment Danith D’Ash has to examine a new Fam is tomorrow morning at WorkBell. I accepted that as your schedule shows your first shift at Primary HealingHall begins at NoonBell.”

  “Thank you, Residence.”

  “I’ll have the weapon and my report on the knife ready then,” Artemisia’s father said.

  Her mother closed her eyes, murmured a prayer to her god, then opened her lashes. “We will be all right. Everyone except those who granted us this sinecure believes that we left Druida City after suffering a year of disgrace and scandal.” Her mother’s mouth was turned down with bitterness, again something Artemisia didn’t often see.

  Her father reached out and took both of his HeartMate’s hands. “This should lead to a final ending of the matter.”

  “I hope so,” her mother said. “But it will stir everything up like dirt in well water first. Don’t let the authorities fall into the trap of thinking I had anything to do with this, again.”

  “I promise you that,” Artemisia said.

  We will not, Randa said. She stood on her hind paws and put her front ones on the edge of Artemisia’s mother’s chair. I will say I found the softleaf. It has my blood on it, too. I can lie, she ended proudly.