Now he understood her air of wariness.
But still she challenged him.
Next, how to get her.
Johns trod lightly with Giniana through the untamed brush at the edge of T'Spindle's estate. The stone path had become a dirt trail.
A prickle along his spine indicated someone watched them. They'd come within sight of her lit cottage at the end of the track. Did one of the intruders wait for her there?
His pulse surged faster. He stopped her with a touch of his hand on her elbow, then turned in a circle, search-sensing the area until he discovered the individual.
The one who lay on a branch, then dropped its paws and waggled them.
A Fam. Great. He disliked and distrusted Fams, naturally intelligent animals, particularly cats.
Another dreadful memory of grovestudy rose. With one arrogant contraction of his butt and a spray, his FatherDam's, father's mother's, FamCat had ruined his entire wardrobe.
Nothing, no cleanser, no cheap spell, no stupid ideas of his FatherDam had eradicated the odor. He still remembered the reaction of his grovestudy group. And the ugly charity clothes he'd had to accept from the local temple just so he wouldn't stink. Then he had to hide that garb from his FatherDam to spare her feelings. Change back and forth morning and evening, until he finally grew out of the odorous clothes.
Too much damn trouble, cats.
The cat's head lowered, muzzle and whiskers shining silver with age. Purring filled the space. Greetyou, FamWoman. Greetyou, man. Even its mental voice held a creak and crackle of age, accompanying the rough purr.
"Greetyou, Thrisca," said Giniana, her voice lilting with love.
The cat leapt from the tree in a move Johns recognized as showy to impress. He didn't think the thing often sat in trees ... so ... "Anyone come near here, Thrisca?" he asked gruffly.
I heard much commotion, heard running and teleporting pops, but no one came near here. All is well.
"Thank you, Thrisca," Giniana said.
For a moment, the big feline stood in the twinmoons light, beige fur patterned with black stripes on its head and shoulders, the rest of its body spotted. Looked like an old-earth-type cat.
I am a large Earthan Cat, a serval, and female, hissed the thing in his mind. It slunk close to Giniana, accepted a quick pet on its head and turned to Johns.
He braced himself.
Sure enough, the large thing, about fifty-eight centimeters high, rubbed against him, trying to throw him off-balance and leaving a load of hair on his trous.
Yep, maybe he'd better rethink his association with Giniana.
Thrisca coughed. Giniana reached out with glowing fingers towards the cat. Words sounded in Johns's mind from the FamCat. Do not fuss.
Her hand dropped. Angling toward Johns, she said stiffly, as if she returned to Healer mode and slotted him in the low category of actor, "Thank you for walking me home."
Obviously, she would not invite him into her cottage.
He moved on impulse and desire. He took her hand and inclined his torso, kissing the back in a formal farewell. And, yeah, attraction zinged between them. He liked the vibration that sizzled through them both, the tremor of her fingers under his lips. Reluctantly, he let her hand go and straightened, gave her a real smile.
"I'll leave tickets for Firewalker for you."
"Thank you," she replied in a stiffly proper voice.
When she tugged at her hand, he said, "One moment, let me scan the area." He pulled on his Flair, sensed only the night, throbbing with possibilities between himself and Giniana. No other humans around.
"Nobody's lurking in your home, or around it," he said, still keeping her fingers trapped in his hand.
I could have told you that, Thrisca stated, then sniffed richly.
Johns ignored the beast.
Giniana's face went from tightly expressionless to relaxed. "Do you teleport home?" A lightness entered her tone.
Her question wasn't quite flattery on her part. She complimented him in believing he had the Flair, psi magic strength, and the will, to teleport home—outside the area of these large estates called Noble Country. 'Port from this estate of T'Spindle's back to inner Druida City, where she probably thought he lived. He didn't.
"Not tonight," he replied. "It's a beautiful night and autumn will come soon enough." He gave her another of his patented crooked smiles. "And I don't often get to Noble Country. I can walk out to the main avenue with public carrier routes and take a carrier home."
She glanced down at his feet, noted his sturdy boots, then nodded and gestured the way they came. "Go back down the path until it becomes gravel again. Turn right and it will take you to the front gate." Her manner had loosened up.
He wouldn't have to walk far, T'Spindle's estate was the closest to the rest of the city.
"Thank you. I'll see you to your door."
I can do that, MAN. Thrisca flicked the black tip of her ringed tail.
He didn't stop himself from stealing a kiss from Giniana, and her soft and tender lips thrilled him. Her breath went in with a quick inhalation, her mouth trembled under his, heating.
The cat snorted.
Giniana chuckled and stepped away. "Thanks again, MasterLevel Saint Johnswort.”
"Johns," he corrected. "My friends ... I go by Johns."
Her head tilted. "What's your given name?"
"Klay."
Her brows raised. "That's a good name. Very tough hero-ish."
He shrugged. "I play those roles, but not only those type of parts. Please, call me Johns."
"Yes, Johns. Good night."
Thrisca butted her head against Giniana's thigh. Let's go.
"Yes, you need your food."
Not hungry for special food.
"It's to tempt your appetite." Giniana seemed to have forgotten him, but Johns figured she felt the thin bond spinning between them. He'd wait and see.
Woman and cat walked away, and the tense set of her shoulders showed him that she carried a heavy burden. But with grace. Everything about her spoke of compassion and grace under pressure.
Despite the cat, she appeared lonely ... vulnerable.
At the tiny stoop of the cottage, she dropped the dwelling's spellshield with a murmured word and gesture and opened the door. Thrisca, of course, sashayed in first. Giniana turned and raised a hand to Johns. Mental words reached him. Merry meet.
He liked the touch of her telepathy...warm and intimate, whether she intended that or not.
Projecting the ritual reply, he said, And merry part.
"And merry meet again," they replied in unison, with him adding a slight reverberation to his tone with telepathy.
He spoke aloud, "Yes, we will meet again."
The door closed behind her and the spellshield turned blue in protection.
Johns let air sigh from his lungs. No, he wouldn't be staying away from Giniana Filix who appeared to dislike actors as much as he did Fam animals.
CHAPTER 3
GINIANA’S SMILE lingered as she stepped into the small mainspace room of her cottage. No bigger than four meters square, she'd tinted the walls a rich cream color over an undertone of gold. The antique patterned blue-on-blue draperies over the large windows added to the atmosphere of quiet elegance.
Thrisca lay, panting a little too hard, on her dark blue velvet twoseat. The leap to and from the tree would have taken a lot of energy for her. She said, Man smells interesting and good.
Giniana flinched. Klay St. Johnswort, Johns, had smelled good, working sweat and... "You just say that because he smells like ..."
Family. All My Families, Your Sires and before, and Your Dam.
"All actors, yes." Johns's kiss on her hand yet tingled. "I wonder how much posturing and lying went on at the party tonight? Plenty, I'm sure. Actors spend their lives dissimulating." Giniana marched into the kitchen area, a larger space that betrayed the age of the cottage. True meal preparation could happen here...if she ever had the time.
She yanked the food storage door open, pulled out the slightly cool mixture of furrabeast and a few greens that she purchased from the animal Healer. Just at the temperature that Thrisca preferred.
"Come eat your food," Giniana said. More of an order than Thrisca usually obeyed, but Giniana's good mood had evaporated with the irritation that the most interesting man she'd met lately ... all right, since she'd dated far too long ago ... practiced the profession of acting, of pretense.
You snapped at me, Thrisca said, sauntering in. She gave the food a sniff, then stepped away, then sniffed again and put her head down to the expensive meal.
I am old, Thrisca said mentally as she lapped. Perhaps I am ready for My next adventure on the Wheel of Stars.
As always, Giniana's stomach clutched—no, her whole being. Thrisca referred to death and rising to the Wheel of Stars and cycling to be reborn.
"I am a Healer. I fight death." Deep and steady breath in, release. "You could add another decade or more to your life without that lung disease and cough that weakens your whole system."
One of Thrisca's ears rotated in Giniana's direction. I am still old. All of my litter mates are long dead.
That would have shocked Giniana more if she hadn't heard the smugness in her Fam's tone.
Steady breath, steady words. "We have spoken about this before. If you wish me to let you die, I will. If you wish me to take you to the animal Healers so one of them can move you on to the Wheel of Stars—"
Tail thrashing, but no yellow eyes staring at Giniana, Thrisca daintily ate the last few bites. When her mental voice came, it sounded both energetic and casually studied, I am interested in this new Time Healing Procedure that will cure my cough.
Giniana's shoulders slumped. She and Thrisca had this conversation weekly. Live or die. The indecision wore on Giniana.
She straightened her spine. She loved Thrisca and had since Giniana had been a baby. The one member of the Family who'd loved her and had never abandoned her.
Once every quarter of the year, D'Willow conducted her time experiments, and Giniana hadn't had the fee last quarter. She worked and scraped and saved so Thrisca could attend the next session, which was coming up in less than two weeks. At the rate the lung-congesting disease progressed, Giniana didn't think Thrisca would last another few months.
To keep those thoughts at bay, Giniana busied herself restocking her Healing bag with herbs she'd used on the actors, made the case tidy and ready for the next emergency.
A few minutes later she left Thrisca snoozing on the two seat. As Giniana took the public carrier to her next job—a six septhour stint at new GraceLord Daisy's to nanny his infant at night—she totted up the gilt she made at her multiple jobs and gritted her teeth. Maybe she'd have enough to pay for the treatment.
But not if she took a night off for a play.
On the whole, Johns's spirits remained high. When he'd reached home, there'd been no formal notification that Firewalker would close in his message cache. He'd deal with that problem when it appeared.
In the dim twinmoonslight silvering the windows of his bedroom, he stripped and carefully put aside his clothes. He'd take them to the Thespian Club and leave them with a wardrobe person who'd mend them in exchange for tickets to Firewalker.
Then he headed for the waterfall in the heir’s suite of the old St. Johnswort mansion. His property included a large shabby house that held only him. Last of his line. Not uncommon on Celta.
His body felt fine, no bruising or even muscle stiffness, Healer Giniana Filix had done a damn good job.
He grinned, completely naturally. Yeah, everything considered, the night had gone well. He'd networked with producers and agents and rich patrons and other actors. He'd helped a friend in a good fight, had an offer from Cratag T'Marigold to be taught better fighting moves that would enhance his alpha male actor persona.
And Raz Cherry would be tapping his Family for a glider for Johns! Like springreen wine, it would have been years before Johns could afford a personal glider if Raz didn't gift him one at cost. A vehicle all his own! Oh, yeah, and he could take care of it so it lasted until he reached the pinnacle of his career and he could buy another.
His unthinking and altruistic actions sure had brought benefits, and the attention of T'Spindle, a producer, to him. Maybe Johns could finesse the next few weeks and not have a hiatus in his career.
Most of all, he'd met a fascinating woman. Too bad he was contrary enough to be attracted to the Healer who disliked actors.
When he finally rested in bed, it was the golden amber eyes of the Healer, Giniana, that lingered in his mind's eye as he fell asleep.
Bells tolling woke him. The sound he used as his agent's ringtone, pealing from the old-fashioned scrybowl in the sitting room of his bedroom suite. By the time he struggled awake and blinked in that direction, the ringing stopped.
His before-sleep optimism morphed into morning gloominess matching the gray heat of the summer day. The sun had risen and his timer showed about an hour before WorkBell.
He sat up, rubbing his face. No matinee today, only an evening show. He'd've liked to have slept in. Every instinct he had, supplemented by the gossip at the party, indicated that the play he starred in would be closing and he'd be out of a job.
No doubt that's why his agent scried him, and used the house scrybowl instead of Johns's personal and mobile scry pebble. The man needed to give Johns formal notice his job was ending, but didn't really want to talk to him right now.
His agent probably already put Johns's name up as available at the Theatrical Guild. Everyone at the social club, the Thespian Club, would know, too. Time to cut back on eating breakfast there, an expense he didn't need.
Definitely time to consider his future seriously. He mentally reviewed the state of his finances. Enough set by for a few months without a job. After that, he'd have to find work, even if not acting.
Slipping out of the bed, he pulled on a nice trous suit and scried his agent back. Making sure his voice held complete self-confidence, he said, "Greetyou, Chatt."
A plump man with sandy hair, Chatt Geyer smiled with false cheer. "Greetyou, Johns. Just got the word Firewalker's last show will be at the end of the month."
Johns couldn't help himself, he snarled.
"Be calm," soothed Chatt, a man who usually pushed enthusiasm at him, since, of course, Johns was the dark and brooding sort. "Everybody knows Firewalker is closing and you'll be available. I notified the Theatrical Guild."
"Any nibbles?" Johns forced out smooth, not choked, words.
"Ah, not right now. But it's only been minutes."
Johns grunted.
"Gael City has a couple of productions hiring—"
"No. I want to stay here, where I can make an outstanding career."
"That was true once, but Gael City's an up and coming—"
"Here in Druida City, Chatt," Johns said, moving to the window and looking out at the weeds carpeting the back of his "estate." Very run down, had been since before he'd been born. He'd put muscle and effort into it as a boy under the rule of his FatherDam, but let much go after she passed on to the Wheel of Stars. He'd rather not pay rent on anything else.
Especially if he'd have to use saved gilt to live on.
A squeal came from Chatt's end of the scry. "Gotta go. Keep cool, Johns. This interval won't harm your career." Another beaming smile Johns didn't believe.
Chatt signed off on Johns's second grunt.
He'd only managed to get down to the kitchen room that held one ancient no-time and grab some stocked hot black caff in a stained pottery mug before his perscry, personal scry pebble, in his pocket clanged. Pulling it out, he studied a flashy golden BW logo he didn't recognize.
After a sip
of caff, he thumbed the perscry on, accepting the call.
"Geetyou, MasterLevel Actor Saint Johnswort." Blakely Wattle, the sleazy agent who'd talked to Johns the night before about a new play by Amberose, showed too-white teeth in a too-large smile dominating his round and pasty face, accented by a dark mole by his mouth. Johns couldn't figure out why anyone would keep a flaw like that.
Johns had almost forgotten about the new script by Amberose. His heart thumped a hard beat in his chest. He could hold out for a play that might zoom him to stardom, sure. He'd listen more to what the guy had to say.
He kept impassive. "Yeah?"
"Marvelous to see you last night." The man's voice grated but held an occasional squeak at the same time. Johns listened, wondering if a tone like that could ever come in use ... not soon, not while he continued to play rough and ready heroes, but maybe if he ever got a character acting part ...
"Wonderful party at T'Spindle's. So many luminaries, great networking..."
Natter. Natter. Natter.
"You're not listening to me!" Yeah, that phrase went damn high pitched. Shifty and nervous.
"I am," Johns replied, adding a soupçon of boredom to prod the guy into actually saying something of worth.
"Like I said last night, I represent the great, great playwright Amberose. Her first play in a decade."
"Yeah, so you said." Neither Johns nor his friends liked the man's reputation. With her near-legendary status, Amberose should have been able to do a whole lot better than this guy. Johns frowned. "You're really representing Amberose?"
Puffing out his chest, Wattle held up a card, flicked it and Amberose's logo became a banner, with confirmation of the man's status as her agent.
"Huh," Johns said. He wondered if anyone had asked how Wattle had landed such a top-of-the-pyramid client … at least any one of Johns’s actor friends. Most, like Raz Cherry, would have danced around the subject trying to persuade the man instead of being blunt. Johns shrugged, may as well ask. "How'd she come to you?"
Wattle stiffened, scowled. "She's living on … an estate in the south … and I'm … relatively … local."
Heart 16 - Script of the Heart Page 3