Heart Search

by Robin D. Owens

  “Greetyou, GreatLady D’Ash.” She took D’Ash’s hands and accepted a little squeeze before withdrawing her fingers.

  D’Ash sniffed. “Haven’t I asked you to call me Danith?” She turned to the redhead. “This is my friend, Mitchella Clover D’Blackthorn.”

  Current fashion had slits running up Camellia’s tunic with little material to grab and curtsey, though she managed a quick, discreet wipe of her palms on the cloth as she bobbed. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  D’Blackthorn smiled, did a scan of the room. “You’ve done something quite unique here.”

  Camellia’s stomach squeezed again. Unique was one of those words that could mean a lot of things.

  Though she thought she was keeping a pleasant expression, D’Blackthorn must have noted something because the woman laughed. She held up a hand as if to stop any of Camellia’s racing thoughts of disaster. “A very unique and special place.”

  That wasn’t much better.

  “I’ll enjoy coming here. The food is wonderful.”

  Relief filtered through Camellia. “Thank you.”

  D’Blackthorn slanted a look at Danith D’Ash. “Danith was trying, again, to convert me to tea.” GrandLady D’Blackthorn shook her head. “But I’m a caff person and will remain a caff person.” Another look at her friend. “Though I did like that smoky tea enough to buy a few ounces.”

  Camellia featured several “smoky” teas. She’d have to ask the server which one D’Blackthorn ordered. “Thank you,” Camellia repeated.

  After pursing her lips, D’Blackthorn said, “Yes, you did very well here. A little mysterious, but comfortable. I don’t doubt that you’ll have continuing business. Definitely appeals to commoners and lower nobles as a place to aspire to, and would give comfort to anyone. Well done.”

  Huge praise. Now Camellia felt shivery with elation. “Thanks again.”

  With a considering look in her eyes, D’Blackthorn said, “I’ve meant to drop by Darjeeling’s Teahouse but haven’t done so. I’ll have to put that at the top of my outings list.”

  “I’ve always told you you’d like it,” Danith D’Ash said smugly.

  “And sometimes you’re right,” D’Blackthorn replied with the easy teasing of longtime friends. One more glance around, and then D’Blackthorn picked up her pursenal and moved to the payment counter.

  D’Ash remained by the table, studying Camellia. The GreatLady dipped her hand in her opposite sleeve pocket and drew out a card. “Come see me at MidAfternoonBell. I have a young FamCat who just came in who I think will suit you.” She followed her friend.

  Camellia stared at the business card. A Fam! She was torn. She’d love to have an intelligent animal companion, but she also had wonderful, delicate items in her house. She could imagine the tears, the crashes.

  But would she ever get another chance at a Fam if Camellia turned D’Ash down? You didn’t say no to the FirstFamilies. Not even friendly and generous ladies.

  Absently, Camellia did a brief cleaning spell of the table, sending the china back to the kitchen to be washed.

  Neither she nor her servers could do such spells often during the day, but energy from her delight with D’Blackthorn’s compliments ran high in Camellia.

  At the counter D’Ash asked for several types of tea, one of them “smoky,” which was probably what D’Blackthorn had had. D’Blackthorn gestured to the prettiest and most expensive teapot Camellia carried. Selling that item had just made her operating expenses for the day.

  The two ladies took their purchases and, chatting, sauntered from the teahouse.

  Camellia refrained from skipping as she passed the counter and went into the kitchen for a quick check. All was fine.

  All was fabulous.

  “You handled that very well,” said a familiar voice and Camellia turned to see one of her best friends, Glyssa Licorice.

  Camellia’s breath whooshed from her. “Thanks.”

  “So the designer for the nobility approved of Darjeeling’s HouseHeart?” Glyssa asked. Glyssa’s Family valued intelligence over status, information more than gilt.

  “Yes, she did.” Camellia chuckled, another bit of relief. “Both seemed to think the HouseHeart was as it should be. Thank you for your help.”

  Glyssa tucked her hands in her opposite sleeves and made a noncommittal noise.

  Camellia raised her hand, palm out. “Don’t criticize. They were both born commoners, lower in rank than we, and were very gracious. A few mentions from D’Blackthorn and this place will pull in more folk—from the nobility because she’s one of them, and from the commoners who’ll think that this truly is like a HouseHeart.”

  “I am corrected and rightly so,” Glyssa said. “But I believe you think too much of business.”

  Camellia was always thinking of business, but she didn’t believe that was a fault. Business was exciting. Glyssa’s comment was an old one, and Camellia dismissed it as usual. The Licorice Family was wealthy and Glyssa had never been poor. They just weren’t interested in appearances.

  Then Glyssa’s smile broke out and made her serious and thin-featured face beautiful. “But I came to say that Nuada’s Sword wants to see you and me and Tiana again.”

  Another summons—from the last starship.

  Camellia waved the card D’Ash had given her. “Can’t today.”

  “What’s that?” Glyssa asked.

  “Appointment with D’Ash to get a FamCat today. MidAfternoonBell.”

  Glyssa’s brown eyes rounded with pleasure . . . and, as always, curiosity. “Then tonight . . .”

  “This evening is the Salvage Ball.”

  “Oh. Right.” Another attraction for Glyssa since one never knew what people would bring—anything from jewelry that just might be valuable to grotesquely ugly knickknacks. Camellia admitted she enjoyed going for that reason, too.

  “I’ll scry Nuada’s Sword and tell it that we are busy,” Glyssa said.

  “For the next couple of days.”

  Glyssa scowled.

  “Really. I am. Still getting this place running smoothly, and I need to cat-proof my house.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “You didn’t already tell Tiana to meet us at the starship?” Camellia asked. Tiana Mugwort was the third friend in their triad.

  “No, she’s busy at the Temple.”

  “That’s all right then.” The stiffness in her shoulders eased.

  “Can I come with you to D’Ash’s?” Glyssa asked.

  As far as Camellia knew, Glyssa had never been to the animal Healer’s office . . . which was located in a Residence, a sentient house. Glyssa seemed to throb with inquisitiveness. “Maybe I can get on the list for a Fam,” Glyssa said, then grumbled, “D’Ash gave Fams to the PublicLibrary, but not to our Family.”

  Camellia would be the first of their group to get an animal companion. Another benefit of taking D’Ash up on her offer of a cat.

  “Of course you can come.” D’Ash’s offices were open to all who needed an animal Healer.

  Glyssa pulled her hands from her sleeves to rub them. “An afternoon at D’Ash’s and the Salvage Ball tonight.” She grinned. “Life is good.”

  For the moment. Camellia wouldn’t be able to get out of visiting the starship for long. She and Glyssa disagreed on this, too. Glyssa loved visiting the Ship.

  At first, Camellia had been thrilled. She and the Ship had discussed growing a tea crop and experimented with some ancient strains. Camellia’s Flair—psi power—was for blending tea, and she’d chosen species that could be adapted for Celtan tastes. So now some of the teas served and for sale in her places were grown in the starship’s great greensward. A good selling point.

  But lately Camellia sensed that someday Nuada’s Sword would realize she kept secrets it wanted.

  She didn’t know what she’d do then, but at least that day wouldn’t be today.

  Laev had just returned to his desk after a solitary lunch in the formal dining room w
hen a yowl jolted him from his work. He stared at the FamCat, Black Pierre, progressing toward him with a very young cat—maybe seven months—walking behind him, staring at the room.

  Jasmine erupted from her office, nearly stumbled over the cats, and hopped back. Black Pierre hissed. “Sorry,” she said, choking a laugh.

  They both watched as the old cat trod across the thick carpet until he—and the sleek cat—circled Laev’s desk to his feet.

  Your Fam, Black Pierre said telepathically.

  The cat tilted its head to stare up at Laev coolly. Its slinky tail twitched. He will do.

  With a flick of a paw, Black Pierre knocked its head. Quiet, you. This is GreatLord T’Hawthorn. You should be honored.

  The youngling moved to pounce on its elder, but Jasmine, used to animals, caught it and brought it up to rub against her face. “Aren’t you pretty,” she cooed. The animal calmed.

  I am, it said.

  Black Pierre sniffed. My son. Not as beautiful as I was at that age.

  Laev was almost afraid to ask, “Where did you get him?”

  Turning his back and walking toward the door, tail high, the older cat said, My get.

  Laev choked. “Yours? You’re ol—” he stopped before he insulted the cat.

  I am not as old as your FatherSire when he died in the bed of his lady.

  Jasmine snickered. Laev rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger. Another scandal that he’d had to live down, how he’d come into his title three months before. The back of his neck heated.

  You are too alone, Black Pierre said. But you do not deserve such a wonderful Fam as I.

  “Uh-huh,” Laev said.

  But you can have him. An indiscretion. The cat gave a tiny cough. And you may name him. Now I return to My FamMan, the chef.

  Sure showed where Laev ranked in the cat’s priorities. Black Pierre teleported to the kitchen.

  Jasmine stroked the cat she held along his back. His purr filled the room.

  “Maybe you should take him home—” Laev began.

  “Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Jasmine arched her brows. “I am not allowed to bring home Fams for my mother to place. Father’s rules, and I don’t want to alienate him before you speak to him and a quarter of my Family’s funds are in my hands.” Jasmine placed the cat on Laev’s desk, where he deigned to bat a crumpled piece of papyrus, sending sheets to the floor. Turning around, he knocked over the basket of invitations.

  He hadn’t quite come into his full growth, but he looked to be a good hunter. His fur was long and black. When Laev reached out to pet him between the ears, the cat bit his fingers. “Ouch!” Laev shook his hand. Droplets of blood welled from tiny holes. “Keep that up and you’re gone to the gardening shed. Have you been vetted by D’Ash?” he asked the tom.

  The cat lifted its nose, sat like a proud cat statue No. But I will be pleased to see D’Ash. She will recognize My worth.

  “Of course she will,” Jasmine said cheerfully. “Mother loves all cats.”

  The tom inclined his head and his tail gave another swish.

  “I’ll scry her now.” Jasmine went to the wall and touched the screen. “The cat needs a name.”

  Laev and the cat stared at each other. The young tom’s eyes were a light green. Nice.

  The cat glanced aside, lifted a forepaw, and licked it. You have nice eyes, too.

  Laev figured the compliment was progress. Maybe he could live with it.

  Maybe I can live with you, the tom replied.

  All right, the cat was very telepathic.

  The tom stood and stretched, his back arching in that sinuous way that amazed. Being telepathic is one of My best qualities.

  Laev shielded his thoughts. The cat narrowed his eyes, hissed, batted another piece of papyrus off the desk, followed it down to pounce on it and shred it. I think I will like living here.

  “I think the garden shed would suit you better,” Laev said. “I don’t want a biting cat.”

  The cat looked around and smiled ingratiatingly. No biting.

  “Mother says you should bring—” Jasmine hinted heavily.

  “Brazos,” Laev said.

  Brazos. I like that name. The cat gave the papyrus one last slice of claws, sat proudly.

  “—you should bring Brazos around MidAfternoonBell. She will be squeezing you in as it is.”

  For a moment Laev’s pride was ruffled. He was T’Hawthorn!

  Brazos sneezed.

  “We’ll be there,” Laev said.

  Jasmine relayed that to her mother and the scry screen went dark. The girl beamed at them, nodded. “Great. You can meet with my father before the appointment and convince him to give me gilt to invest. I’ll get my report right to you.” She hurried back to her office and closed the door.

  The tom stalked through the room, tail switching. There is a smell I do not like. He reached a bookcase, stretched tall to insert paws in the dimness of a shelf and yank something from the shadows to fall on the floor. The glass bottle rolled awkwardly and the stopper came off, decanting a puddle of perfume.

  A thick, musky odor filled the room. Nivea’s scent. Laev’s pulse pounded and a headache exploded. He rubbed his temples, staring at the tom, whose eyes were wide.

  Laev and the tom stared at each other before choking. Jasmine bulleted into the room. “What a stink. Smells like that disgusting scent that your wife liked.” She stopped for breath and began coughing.

  “Win—windows open!” Laev snapped.

  The glass of the windows thinned and a brisk spring breeze wafted around the room. Laev circled his desk to stare at the pool that was staining the rug he loved. Brazos shot to a far corner of the room, hissing. Don’t like, don’t like, don’t LIKE.

  “Uh-oh,” Jasmine said thickly, holding her nose.

  “Residence?”

  “Yes, T’Hawthorn.”

  “Please send the housekeeper here to clean up this mess with the proper spells.”

  “Yes, T’Hawthorn. She is on her way.”

  Breathing shallowly, Laev said, “I didn’t know that bottle was there.” He hated the stench, too. The odor of the past, of failure. He’d moved beyond that, but here it was again, clinging like the perfume, reminding him of past mistakes.

  He’d—they’d—ritually cleansed the Residence after Nivea’s death, annually since then. There should have been no more scent of her.

  But he knew in his bones that she must have left other reminders of herself throughout the house. She didn’t like him, but she wouldn’t let herself be forgotten—even if her soul was long gone to circle on the wheel of stars until her next life.

  He gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t let her haunt him.

  Camellia shifted from foot to foot in a pretty little pastel vet examination room with a high counter that held a bedsponge. The odor of animals pervaded the office suite. She was alone in the room.

  Danith D’Ash had appeared briefly to welcome them, laughing at the curious gleam in Glyssa’s eyes. But before D’Ash brought out the cat who was supposed to be Camellia’s Fam, a horrible emergency alarm pulsed and D’Ash ran.

  Glyssa had stayed in the room for about three minutes, then mentioned something about “taking a peek around, maybe at D’Ash’s famous Fam Adoption Room” and slipped out the door.

  Camellia glanced at her timer, wondered whether she should wait, but she didn’t want to alienate a FirstFamily lady. Nor did she want to return another time.

  When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she opened the door, glancing down the short hallway for Glyssa. She didn’t see her friend and tentatively walked to the mainspace. The room was empty. Apparently the teenaged boy who’d been at the desk was helping his mother. A reddish light still pulsed in an alcove that held the huge teleportation pad. The indicator showed it was in use. Camellia touched the button to clear the pad in case it was needed for another emergency.

  There were four large doors. Which one would Glyssa have gone through?
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  Camellia opened one and passed through. Her feet sank into thick carpet. An atmosphere of wealth and luxury—peace—enveloped her. Her nose wrinkled. The air smelled rich. Furniture oils and unique incense or perfume—maybe even spells. Expensive spells that would cost the amount she’d make in a month.

  Or maybe it was just the knowledge that she was in a true, intelligent Residence, a FirstFamily home, even if it had been rebuilt—or the aura of such a being. Camellia shivered and turned back.

  A door opened a long way toward her right. “Thank you for your kind words about my daughter,” T’Ash’s deep voice rumbled.

  Another man answered, “Not kind, though you should be proud. I’m factual. Give her the gilt to work with, T’Ash, she’ll double or triple it, I assure you.”

  Something about that man’s voice hit her like a blow, disorienting her. Wrenched something open inside her that she never wanted open, had suppressed until she’d forgotten about it.

  She knew that voice.

  No, she didn’t! Remembering that voice would be hurtful to her heart. Threaten her present life with one she couldn’t have. No.

  She turned and ran, stumbling, back to the examination room, shut that door.

  Dizzying darkness pressed on her and she folded over, bracing her hands against her legs, panting, forcing back unconsciousness. Her skin was clammy.

  No. She wouldn’t let a past realization emerge that would shatter the life she’d crafted.

  No.

  The door opened and D’Ash and Glyssa were there. The lady was splattered with blood. The men stopped outside the door.

  Camellia’s breathing hadn’t steadied before Glyssa and D’Ash entered together.

  “That was just amazing!” Glyssa enthused. “You saved that horse’s life.”

  Camellia stared. The emergency had been a horse?

  “Thank you.” D’Ash was beaming. She shook her head and went to a hook to pull down a pale blue over-tunic. Sickness washed over Camellia as she saw D’Ash’s pastel green sleeves showed streaks of the deep and gleaming red of blood.

  Turning her head, she sagged against the counter with the bedsponge, heard small noises as the GreatLady stripped away the old over-tunic and donned the new.