Mindline (The Dreamhealers 2)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  /Tired of getting that look?/

  /I had grown tired of it the first time I received it./

  Vasiht'h's chuckle was just audible beneath his breath.

  The corner of the room was still a neat arrangement of pillows and blankets, and Jahir pulled a chair up to it as Vasiht'h settled alongside him.

  "We don't have to wait," Vasiht'h said, but there was nothing behind the words but a patience: he was observing form only.

  Jahir smiled and settled in.

  He had drowsed off, he thought, but the sound of the door opening woke him, and the chatter of the two humans and the Seersa as their keeper herded them back into their room. A sudden, electric pause. And then squeals of delight. Jahir opened his arms for them and managed to gather them all in as Vasiht'h watched, his pleasure bright as sunshine in the mindline.

  "Prince Jahir!" Amaranth exclaimed, the first to reclaim speech. "What are you doing here?"

  Jahir glanced at Vasiht'h. "I believe you know that Vasiht'h left to come find me, yes?"

  "He told us," Kuriel said, wide-eyed. "But he didn't say he'd be coming back!"

  "I didn't know," Vasiht'h offered.

  "But it was the right thing to do," Jahir said. "So I have come back, and I shall be here for another year or so. Perhaps closer to two."

  "Probably closer to two," Vasiht'h said, wry. "Since I think I've got a bit longer than you."

  This won him a longer embrace, the three children pressed against him so tightly he fought to breathe... and there was a song in him like laughter, that flowed out through the mindline, and nourished him because it was shared though he gave it no voice.

  "So," Vasiht'h said, when they'd relented and he could breathe again. "Should we color? Tell stories? Make puppets?"

  "All of it!" Kuriel exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

  The Glaseah laughed. "Gently! We'll be back. There's no need to rush."

  "That's true, isn't it," Persy said, beaming.

  "Let's start with coloring," Amaranth said. "And then maybe we can have poetry."

  As they repaired to the small table to collect their materials beneath Vasiht'h's watchful eye, Berquist finally stepped closer, crouched alongside the chair and looked at him. Jahir remained still for her scrutiny, and when she finally lifted her eyes to his he said, "I am under the care of a former dean of the medical school and the current director of the student clinic."

  "KindlesFlame?" she said. "All right. Nothing serious?"

  "Nothing being here won't solve," he said.

  That made her smile. "I feel that way sometimes."

  He joined the children at the table, to pick out crayons and pencils and ask them about their health, their day, whether they had had gelato lately, all the small events of childhood and all the grave ones that intruded with their illness. When they had colored their fill, they retired to the pillows in the corner, and Vasiht'h gave Jahir his data tablet, already showing the poetry volume they'd used most frequently for the purpose. The Eldritch sent a wordless gratitude through the mindline and chose one about naiads and the sea, and Kuriel sat on his lap and the two humans in front of him as he recited for them.

  As they were preparing to leave, Kuriel said, "Your pretty ring... you're wearing it around your neck because it's too big for your finger, aren't you?"

  Surprised, Jahir paused. "You noticed?"

  "When you were reading and I was leaning on you," she said, flicking her ears back. "I know how you feel. I get like that too. My clothes get loose. We all do."

  He gave her his full and patient attention. "Do you have any advice for me, arii?"

  She nodded. "Eat more cookies."

  Vasiht'h waited until they'd left before asking him about the source of his amusement, and then they shared the laugh.

  "I haven't, you know. Had any cookies for some time."

  Vasiht'h's huff carried through the mindline. "You haven't had any food in some time. At least, not enough of it."

  "Because you have not baked," Jahir replied, folding his arms behind his back as he paced his companion.

  Vasiht'h eyed him. "Is that an observation, a request or an accusation?"

  "It is," Jahir said, savoring the words, "a psychological evaluation."

  "Ohhh, is that what this is? Psychoanalysis?" Vasiht'h folded his arms in mock disgruntlement as the mindline carried the effervescence of his amusement. "You told me once I only bake when I'm upset."

  "That observation lacked nuance," Jahir said. "You also bake when content."

  Vasiht'h's amusement collapsed into pensiveness. "I think I cook more when I'm content and bake more when I'm upset."

  "I think you cook and bake because it is a form of meditation, and it calms you." Jahir glanced at him. "I have missed your cookies."

  "You could certainly use them," Vasiht'h said. And laughed, quieter. "So could I. Come on, let's go meet Luci early. We can take over her kitchen."

  "That seems a fine plan."

  Lucrezia opened the door on them and called, "Brett, the lost lambs have returned!"

  "Great, tell them I'm hungry!" Vasiht'h covered his face with a hand. Brett appeared, peered past Luci's shoulder. "Well? It's either you cook or we starve."

  Luci put her hand on his nose and pushed him back. "Don't listen to him. Mera's bringing curry and I still have half a pitcher of sangria. We'll be fine."

  "Half a pitcher of sangria!" Brett complained. "That won't make Mera tipsy. It won't even make me tipsy!"

  "We're barely into the semester and he's ready for winter break," Luci said dryly. She waved them inside. "Come on. I'm going to finish refreshing the pitcher here. The kitchen's all yours if in fact you want to use it." She eyed Brett. "And if you don't, that's fine too. Isn't it, arii."

  Brett shot Vasiht'h a hopeful look. "But you really want to, don't you?"

  Vasiht'h glanced at Jahir, found the Eldritch standing with his hands clasped behind his back, head lowered just enough to leave his face in shadow. The smile on his mouth was something Vasiht'h felt more than saw. It made him glad that they'd come instead of finding some more impersonal and convenient place to sleep while investigating a permanent housing solution. "Yes, yes. As long as you've got something I can bake with..."

  "If they do not, the genie can surely be convinced to produce the necessary raw materials," Jahir offered.

  Vasiht'h snorted. "At three times the cost." Luci was looking at him now, too, and he laughed. "Okay, I'm not fooling anyone. Yes, I'll bake. Take me to your larder."

  Brett and Luci cheered.

  That night was a good night. Chopping nuts and chocolate was work within Jahir's reach, and to share a kitchen with him again was salve to Vasiht'h. He hadn't realized how much of his youth had involved making food with his sisters and brothers and parents, and how those memories had shaped his sense of family and trust, until he had his best friend beside him, forming dough with that charming meticulousness that seemed so out of place in such an otherwise regal bearing. They brought the results with them to the gazebo, where Mera and Leina were waiting, and that part—that was as if they'd never left, the ease with which their friends accepted them again. But everything was different, too, because if he concentrated, he could taste the flavors of the food and feel their foreignness through Jahir's senses. The mindline sang softly, camaraderie and comfort and gratitude. And when they returned to Luci's apartment and settled down to sleep, they did so next to one another: Jahir on the couch, Vasiht'h on a nest of spare blankets and pillows gleefully (if messily) constructed by their hosts.

  /Is it good?/ he asked, not because he needed to know but because he wanted to hear the answer, wreathed as it would be in all Jahir's feelings.

  /It is more than well,/ was the response, soft.

  It came gentled with music, and Vasiht'h exclaimed, struck by the realization that they could, /We should go back to the concerts./

  The shiver that ran Jahir's length needed no flourish in the mindline.

  /Tom
orrow,/ Vasiht'h said. /I'll buy tickets./

  When they slept, their shared dreams were informed by the music Jahir remembered so vividly.

  Chapter 25

  Vasiht'h brought Jahir to several of the apartments maintained at the university's edges by its housing department for returning students, or students with families. The Eldritch trailed him, hands clasped behind his back and gaze intent, and made no comment on any of them. The mindline between them remained far too coy for Vasiht'h's taste, and after the fourth tour he waited, leaning against the side of the building, for his friend to step back outside. Jahir looked for him, found him and paused at the obvious ambush.

  "What aren't you telling me?" Vasiht'h asked, torn between amusement and exasperation.

  Jahir looked back at the door, tilted his head a little as if listening to some interior voice. "They are dwellings suitable for students."

  "Which we are...?" Vasiht'h said, now more curious than irritated.

  "They are modest...."

  "Which you usually like," Vasiht'h pointed out.

  The Eldritch cleared his throat. "Rather aggressively so. Arii, we have been coasting on your budget for some time, and you have not permitted me to pay you back. But we are not poor."

  This was a new use of the word 'we.' Vasiht'h paused to savor it like he would a new flavor. He'd taken for granted that they'd live together. And then, after Jahir had made the suggestion, that they would eventually work together. That they'd also share financial fortunes wasn't something he'd at all considered. "We aren't?" he said, still deciding how he felt about it.

  "No," Jahir replied, and the mindline tickled with the pressure of his gentle amusement. "I would very much like to live near campus. But would you allow me to finance someplace a little less..."

  "Modest?" Vasiht'h said, giving in to the good humor.

  Jahir glanced at the apartment and said, "Humble."

  "Humble," Vasiht'h repeated, trying not to laugh.

  "Aggressively so."

  He did laugh then. "Fine. But you're going to have to show me what you have in mind, all right? I don't know how... un-humble... 'we' can afford."

  "I would not want to be overtly un-humble," Jahir began.

  "Aggressively un-humble—"

  "I would not want to be in poor taste," Jahir finished, more firmly, though his mouth was twitching and the mindline was shimmering with his withheld laughter. He began walking back toward the Pad station. "But I would like something bigger."

  "Is there any particular reason why?"

  Images then, unexpected and brilliant in memory: cooking dinner for the winter festival, Mera slouched all over the couch and most of the floor in front of the hearth, toasting them with a glass of mulled wine, the pinpoint reflection of candlelight off dishes and silverware. Jahir said, "Because we like to entertain."

  "Oh!" Vasiht'h said. Quieter. "Oh. Yes. Yes, we do." He shook himself and said, "Bigger apartment it is. But still modest in its bigness."

  "Excess is gauche," Jahir agreed, satisfied.

  Several days later, after a rather long afternoon in lecture, Vasiht'h returned to Luci's place to find Jahir waiting for him, seated on the step outside the door. The mindline communicated a quiet pleasure at this ability to just sit without having to hurt, and even the growing cold in the breeze didn't distress the Eldritch, compared to that ease.

  "Good trade-off?" Vasiht'h asked, smiling.

  "Very little compares to the ability to move freely," Jahir said. "I have something to show you."

  Vasiht'h sampled the mindline, tasted the sparkles of anticipation of it like bits of mint. He re-shouldered his bag."Well, then... let's go."

  Fifteen minutes later, Jahir unlocked a door and led him into a bright open space, flooded with autumn sunlight from the skylights. Vasiht'h's first impression was of honey-colored wood and ivory tile, and a lot of windows looking out on a courtyard with a fountain.

  There was a kitchen. It was a glorious kitchen. He walked into the center of it, turned—and could! It was large enough for his centauroid body—and said, "Yes."

  "Yes?" Jahir asked. "I have not shown you the rest!"

  "I can sleep in the kitchen," Vasiht'h said, laughing. "But fine, go ahead. Show me around."

  It was not actually much larger than their university apartment had been. But it was far and away more beautiful. The materials had not been beaten down and scuffed by generations of absent-minded students; the wood still glowed with polish, the bathroom fixtures were still brilliant. Nothing was dented or battered. There were a lot more windows, and that was saying something given the Alliance's fixation on installing them in even the most meager of shanties. And there was a fireplace.

  "I didn't think you'd be able to find one," Vasiht'h said, observing it.

  "It was my first criterion," Jahir admitted, standing at his back. "I didn't look unless the apartment had one."

  Vasiht'h grinned. "You know these places have heaters."

  "It's not the same."

  "No," he said, because he'd learned that was true. "It's not." He sighed and smiled. "It's beautiful. It's probably astronomically expensive. But if we can afford it?"

  "We can afford it."

  That 'we' again. Vasiht'h wondered how much negotiation would be involved in the future, managing that financial 'we.' He looked forward to it. For now, though: "I'd love living here."

  "Then it is perhaps fortunate that I've already paid the deposit."

  Vasiht'h mimed throwing a pillow at him. "You could have waited for me to say yes!"

  "Even if I knew you would?"

  "Especially if you'd known I would!" he said, and laughed.

  "You are only half in jest," Jahir observed, thoughtful. "I'll be more careful of such assumptions in the future."

  "But only a little," Vasiht'h said. "Because sometimes, surprises like this are nice."

  "I promise," the Eldritch said, solemn, and a frisson of that vow shivered the mindline and Vasiht'h's spine. "And now, since I have so cavalierly selected our apartment and deprived you of any financial stake in it, I shall say: you can decorate."

  "Now that," Vasiht'h said, rubbing his palms together. "I can do." He grinned. "And it gives us another excuse for a party."

  "Our first," Jahir observed.

  Vasiht'h paused, tasted the emotions in the mindline, finally separated out the thoughts, or what he thought were the thoughts, anyway. He chose the greater intimacy of that communication to make sure he'd gathered the nuances. /...since we have decided to stick together?/

  /Just so./

  He flushed and rubbed his cheek. Then chuckled. "Well, let's make it a good one, then."

  Their first party involved homemade pizza and Luci's sangria set out on the floor while everyone helped unpack the two boxes Vasiht'h had put in storage before leaving: mostly kitchenware and dishes. When they were done, Leina looked around and said, "And now we go shopping."

  ...and that was an unforgettable episode, herding a Ciracaana, a Harat-Shar, two Seersa and one mutely amused Eldritch through various boutiques in one of the fancier shopping districts of the capital. They did more window-shopping than actual purchasing—they bought all of one rug for the great room—but Vasiht'h had not laughed so hard in weeks and he found he'd needed it. Just the sight of Merishiinal ducking to fit into stores designed by the four-foot tall Seersa, craning his upper body around corners to poke at wind chimes and peer at lamps while his Seersan roommate dashed after him, trying to keep him from tipping anything over....

  "We're a traveling comedy routine," Vasiht'h observed to Luci when they broke for late afternoon coffee.

  "Angels, yes," she answered, tail curling. Cocking her head, she added, "Why is Prince Handsome suddenly averse to drinking anything with milk in it?"

  "Everything they were using to keep him from losing every pound on his body was milk-based," Vasiht'h said.

  She mmmed. "Yes, I can see how that would become a bad association. Particularly sinc
e the news is all over a wet outbreak on Selnor." She glanced at him. "Know anything about that?"

  Vasiht'h grimaced. "The news, huh."

  "It's pretty big on the medical nets," she said, casual.

  "I guess it would be."

  She chuckled. "You are awful at this, you know. Take lessons from your friend, ah?"

  "In?" Vasiht'h wondered.

  "Gracefully side-stepping questions you don't want to answer." More seriously, she said, "No wonder you came home so quickly." She considered, then added, "Is it all milk? Brett will cry if we don't make eggnog for the holidays."

  Vasiht'h snorted. "Forget Brett. I'll cry."

  The one thing that should have registered about the new apartment and didn't hit Vasiht'h when they prepared for bed and he stopped outside the bathroom. Jahir looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, toweling off his hair.

  "This is a one-bedroom flat," Vasiht'h said.

  A long pause. The mindline was tense, like a reflection of someone holding his breath.

  "I did not think that would be an issue?" Jahir said, careful of the words.

  "I... didn't think you would prefer that?" Vasiht'h said.

  "I would rather much mind it more otherwise."

  Vasiht'h paused, working through that. Seeing his frown, Jahir said, "I would like it, if we were in the same room." With some chagrin, "Universal is my second language."

  "I forget that sometimes," Vasiht'h murmured. "You speak it well." He folded his arms. "I'd prefer it too, to be in the same room, but we've only done it because we had to, in the past. I thought once we had the space, you'd want more privacy."

  Jahir hid a laugh, and in the mindline it was equal parts humor and helplessness. "Arii... you have seen me nearly dead. Certainly reduced to the point of uselessness. In very near to every vulnerability, and no doubt the ones you haven't yet you will someday see, if we remain together as we plan. The mindline makes everything plain. I think perhaps we should reconsider our definitions of privacy where they apply to one another."