Heart Search

by Robin D. Owens

  If he hadn’t seen other men dressed like him when he’d entered, he’d have left.

  There was a woman’s muffled cry, Brazos cackled with telepathic laughter, and Laev dropped his drink into the deconstructor. He’d take a quick survey of the items on the counters that ringed the room, then nab his Fam and go.

  He’d asked the Residence for an object to discard at the ball. Apparently there was a meter-tall china vase that had bothered the Residence for years in one of the rarely used parlors. The house was eager to see the piece go.

  Paws ran over his feet and Laev was fast enough to scoop up the cat—and found himself looking down at a sweet calico face.

  Greetyou, the little cat said in a female voice, then yawned in his face.

  “Mica?” It was a hushed call.

  “Over here,” he said.

  With a swish of silk, a woman hurried to him. Her cat rolled over, presenting a white belly, and revved her purr. He liked the vibration against his arm. “Pretty cat,” he said to the younger woman, then remembered that she and her friend had been cool to him. Pity. She was tall and willowy, but with an underlying flexible strength. Her features were even and attractive, her mouth wide. Her very dark brown hair held more than a hint of auburn and was styled close to her head to fall to her shoulders. He couldn’t make out the exact color of her eyes, but he thought they were an unusual deep gray with a hint of blue. He tried a smile. “Merry meet.”

  The pretty woman hesitated. “Thank you for catching Mica.” She reached up to take the cat and Laev noticed her gown and stepped back.

  “Lovely dress,” he said. He knew exactly how much a gown embroidered by D’Thyme cost. Nivea had ruined several. “You don’t want Mica to harm it.”

  “Look at her claws,” the woman said, holding out her arms for her Fam.

  Laev did. The tips of Mica’s claws were deep red as if they’d been dipped in blood.

  “Claw caps, an easy spell. She chose the color.”

  For tonight only! Mica shifted to perch on his arm. Because the dress is ir-re-place-able. Very important. Not as important as Me, but I am not allowed to touch.

  He wouldn’t think so. “Ah,” he said and handed the young cat over. He bowed and his trous caught tight around his ass and groin and he decided against doing that again.

  “Did you find her?” The gingery-haired woman he’d also met at D’Ash’s office walked up. “Oh.” With nearly insulting slowness, she curtsied to him, not that she had much skirt to spread. A green raggedy thing.

  Why were these two nearly impolite?

  Then the host of the party, Feam Kelp, a soft-looking man his own age, was there, bowing, dressed like a pirate—and holding a purring Brazos. “T’Hawthorn, we so rarely see you here, though your lovely wife attended, of course. You honor us.” He chuckled and scratched Brazos under the chin. “As does your Fam.”

  “Greetyou,” he said.

  Kelp sent a charming smile around the group, raised his brows. “Ah. I was sure you all knew each other.” Amusement lurked in his voice.

  “There you are! And Mica, too.” Another woman drew close, saw him, hesitated, but lifted her chin and kept on coming. When she reached them, she curtsied and said, “Greetyou, GreatLord T’Hawthorn.” Not quite as disapproving as her friends. Something about her coloring snagged his recollection—dark, curly hair and green eyes. Old images flashed of a girl who must have been a relative. Artemisia Mugwort, who’d been a friend of Nivea’s.

  Then the wave of memory crashed.

  The day he’d met Nivea, she’d been walking with a group of girls. These girls. Nivea and Artemisia had been older at seventeen, these three women had been young teens.

  Their names slipped into his mind. No use for it, he’d have to bow again. If he just inclined his head, the women would be further insulted. He had no doubt that they’d heard a lot about him—and nothing good—from Nivea, until she’d dropped Artemisia for higher-ranked friends.

  Yes, Nivea would have gossiped about him. Did they think she’d have gossiped about them to him? That felt right. Why they were cool. Nivea had tainted so many things.

  With gritted teeth as his trous bound his crotch, he made a sweeping bow that included them all. He thought he saw Kelp smirk, as if he’d experienced tight pants, too.

  “Ladies. Forgive me for not recognizing you, GraceMistrys Darjeeling, GrandMistrys Licorice, GraceMistrys Mugwort.”

  “It’s quite understandable that you didn’t know us. We don’t move in the same circles as you,” Tiana Mugwort, Artemisia’s sister, said.

  “And Tiana isn’t a GraceMistrys. She’s a priestess,” said GrandMistrys Licorice.

  “Ah, my apologies.”

  High instrumental shrieks pierced the air.

  “Finally, the band has arrived, please excuse me,” Kelp said. He dumped Brazos in Laev’s arms. The cat sprang to the floor and began prowling, lost in the shadows.

  Kelp rushed toward the corner that held a platform framed in seaweed.

  GrandMistrys Licorice looked down at her cup and made a face. “Kelp doesn’t have the style of his late mother or his elder sister. This party is going downhill. Maybe we should skip it next year.” She turned her gaze on Laev, and he saw gleaming, insatiable curiosity in her eyes. “Did you bring something from T’Hawthorn Residence?”

  Darjeeling answered, “Yes, he did.” She set her wiggling FamCat down. The calico followed Brazos. “T’Hawthorn brought a large china vase. It was snapped up in under three minutes.”

  Priestess Mugwort chuckled. “Leave it to you to notice any china.”

  “If you will excuse us?” Licorice said, and all three of the women curtsied again.

  “Merry meet.” Laev gave the first line of the farewell blessing.

  “And merry part,” the ladies chorused.

  “And merry meet again,” he said, not meaning it, and knowing their nods were polite falsities, too. They faded away gracefully and he took a few paces back. Once they were across the room, Glyssa pointed to something and they converged on the counter and became animated.

  Laev discreetly rubbed his temples. The band was loud and the music off-key. Looked like everyone who was coming was here, so he made one more circuit of the room. Again nothing resonated of Family, so he said his good-byes to Kelp and called Brazos mentally.

  The black cat appeared just as Laev was about to step onto the teleportation pad and leave him. He had layers of dust graying his fur. His mouth was slightly open as he held something in it. I have found something that smells of Our Residence and Us!

  Laev swept the cat up into his arms and stepped onto the teleportation pad. A moment later he was home in the MasterSuite bedroom and the spell-lights made the rich colors in the chamber glow.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  Brazos pranced along the top of the bedsponge, set in an antique platform instead of on the floor.

  “Brazos!”

  With a sniff, the cat came over to Laev, opened his mouth, and spit out a miniature golden acorn. Laev’s mouth dried and his heart pounded. The acorn had been attached to the base of his HeartGift sculpture of the Lady and Lord dancing.

  No one other than himself would have noticed it. Not Nivea, to whom his HeartGift was a minor thing, meaning little after she’d wed him and accomplished her goals. No one would have considered the acorn something to put on the exchange table. “Where did you get this?”

  Brazos sneezed. Not easy to find. I am a Very Intelligent Cat.

  Laev stroked his hand down Brazos’s back, uncaring of the dust that clung to his fingers. “Yes, you are.”

  It was in a corner.

  Easily overlooked. “Was anything else there?”

  Dead bug, crumbled when I touched. Piece of ribbon, slip of papyrus—

  “Oh.” Well, he hadn’t truly expected to find his HeartGift there. Would have been appalled if he had. Was appalled that Nivea might have taken it to the Salvage Ball from anger or spite or malic
e . . . or all three.

  But he’d made the HeartGift during his Passage, and he’d followed his instincts, even during the fever sweats and the working-in-a-dream. He’d shielded his sculpture so that only he or his HeartMate could see it well, sense what it was. If Nivea had left it on the Salvage table, it would have been overlooked.

  He’d been informed when he’d teleported into the party with the vase that if no one took his Salvage away, he must keep it. Those were the rules.

  Nivea only followed others’ rules when she wanted.

  Had she really taken his HeartGift to the party? Had she left it there or had someone sensed something about it and taken it? Now that he seemed to be coming closer and closer to actually finding it, he yearned to know.

  What had happened to his HeartGift?

  Camellia was aware when T’Hawthorn left. She couldn’t have missed it since Mica, who she cradled in her arms, yelled telepathically, My friend Brazos is going home now. His FamMan is very pleased with him. Brazos found a treasure.

  Camellia shared a glance with Tiana; they were both sure there was nothing in the room that could be called a treasure to T’Hawthorn.

  Glyssa snorted, stroked the cat’s head with a couple of fingers. “Not much here of interest.”

  I liked the stuffed fish.

  “No,” Camellia said. “We are not having a stuffed fish on the walls. It’s revolting.” She thought it was a real fish, but the whole thing was a nasty shade of pink. The eyes had been creepy, like they were real and dead and bespelled, not glass. She avoided looking in that direction.

  “There wasn’t any interesting china here for Camellia,” Tiana said.

  “Or interesting books, ledgers, memoryspheres, et cetera, for Glyssa,” Camellia said.

  “Or pretty jewelry for Tiana.” Glyssa stared again at the nearest table full of sad trinkets.

  “We didn’t do well tonight, and the crowd seems, ah, scruffier.” Tiana turned a slow circle.

  “It’s changed,” Camellia said.

  “It’s probably been changing all this time and we didn’t notice,” Tiana said.

  “It has changed since Feam Kelp has taken charge.” Glyssa squinted as if prodding her memory. “How long has that been?”

  “Not sure,” Camellia said. “But there wasn’t anything worth a second glance on the tables tonight. No wonder that vase T’Hawthorn brought was snatched up.”

  “Was it incredible?” asked Glyssa.

  “I didn’t see the pattern close up, but it didn’t impress me. It appeared to be expensive, though.”

  “Of course it would be,” Glyssa said. “Let’s go. There’s nothing here for us anymore.” There was a hint of mourning in her voice.

  “It used to be fun.” Tiana sighed.

  They strolled toward the teleportation pad in the corner.

  Wait! Mica rolled from Camellia’s grasp and landed on her paws. Since no one is getting a gift, may I? Her tail flicked back and forth in excitement.

  “You found something you liked?” Glyssa said with indulgent amusement.

  Mica lifted her nose. Gifts for all My new friends.

  Camellia looked at Tiana and Glyssa. They all shrugged together.

  Better for hands to take instead of paws. Mica trotted off and the women followed. She stopped. No Fams here tonight, except Brazos.

  “Also true,” Tiana murmured.

  Mica leapt onto a table and tapped a grimy object that looked no more than a smoothly rounded rock. Smells right for FamWoman. For FamWoman from Me, she said with pride. Slowly, Camellia reached out and took the hand-sized stone. Dirt slid under her fingers. She kept her smile curved. “Thank you.” She held it, wasn’t about to drop it into the cream-colored lined pocket of her expensive gown.

  “What is it?” asked Glyssa.

  Is a sculpture of a Cat. Looks a little like Brazos. Mica sniffed.

  Tiana peered at it. I’m sure it will be lovely when we clean it up.

  “Yessss,” vocalized Mica.

  Tiana held out her hand and Camellia gave her the stone. With two crisp Words from Tiana, sparkles surrounded the item, a wave of her hand and she held a black rock. There were simple, fluid indentations that showed a curled cat with closed eyes and smug expression.

  “A little crude,” Glyssa said.

  Mica sniffed. Kit made it.

  “A cat? I don’t think so.” Glyssa frowned.

  Tiana snorted. “A young sculptor carved it, a boy or a girl. Obviously, but I think it shows talent.”

  Smells and feelings and Flair from it mostly gone.

  Tiana frowned, tilted her head as if she probed the item with her Flair. “You’re right. I don’t feel much of anything. I wonder why.”

  Mica inhaled lustily. Being in pig stopped smell and other stuff.

  “A pig! Like the animal?” Glyssa asked.

  “Yessss,” Mica said.

  They all stared at her. Camellia pondered how Mica knew what the inside of a pig smelled like and decided not to ask.

  “How do you know how the inside of a pig smells like?” Glyssa asked.

  Love porcine. Plenty of pigs and pig guts on noble estates. As if to punctuate, Mica burped. None of the women had eaten the buffet food, but that obviously hadn’t stopped the cat.

  “Ugh,” Tiana said, took Camellia’s hand, and dumped the small sculpture into it.

  Camellia rubbed a spot that looked like the remnants of an upright ear, studied it, hefted its weight. Mica was wrong, a slight tingle emanated from the raw sculpture. She smiled, let her fingers close over the piece, cradle it. “It’s charming.”

  I did good. Mica purred and leapt gracefully from the counter to trot to another table. When the women joined her, she was clawing at the top of a ragged grayish piece of papyrus rolled as a scroll and tilted against the wall.

  “I’ll get that,” Glyssa said.

  Mica batted her hand away. Is for Tiana. Smells good for her. Mica wrinkled her nose. Incense, maybe.

  “Me?” Tiana asked.

  “Yesss,” Mica said.

  Brows raised, Tiana took the scroll and touched the knot of the grimy string. It fell into her hand and she put it in her pocket. As she unrolled the piece of papyrus, Camellia drew one of the bobbing spell-lights over so they could see better.

  “It’s an architectural drawing,” Tiana said blankly. She tilted her head. “Interesting.”

  “Hmm,” Glyssa said. “The lines are good, the drawing shows promise, but this one isn’t the work of a master. Maybe a journeyman.”

  Unroll all! Mica demanded.

  Propping the scroll on the table, Tiana did.

  Mica tapped a legend in fancy writing that was shakier than the lines.

  “The Turquoise House!” Glyssa said. “A diagram of the layout of the Turquoise House, the House that’s recently become sentient!” She reached avidly for the scroll. Tiana lifted it and the papyrus rerolled; Tiana held it to her chest. “This is mine.”

  “You don’t understand,” Glyssa said. “I don’t think the PublicLibrary has any plans of the Turquoise House and it has been very protective of its privacy.”

  “Very exclusive,” Camellia agreed.

  “Secretive,” Tiana said, lifting her chin. “And I like protecting a house’s secrets. This is mine and I’m keeping it.”

  “At least let me make a copy for the Library.”

  “No.”

  “It won’t even go into the public areas. We’ll archive it.”

  “No. Mine.”

  Look, look! Mica hopped up and down, pointing her red-tipped claws at the scroll.

  They looked. The papyrus had changed, appearing to be heavier and with the tiniest hint of gold along its edges.

  Tiana unrolled it and the drawing was now in multicolored inks. “Oooh. This is pretty, worth framing and hanging on my bedroom wall.”

  “Ti-an-a!” Glyssa shifted from foot to foot, her shoulders hunched. “Please let me—”

  “No.�
� Tiana rolled the papyrus tight and tapped the middle, fastening it together with a spellword. Then she dropped it into her sleeve pocket.

  Now for Glyssa! Mica said and trotted along the table.

  “How is she doing this?” Glyssa asked. “Finding stuff we didn’t?”

  “I saw the sculpture,” Tiana said, “but it looked like a stone and I didn’t pick it up.”

  “I didn’t see the scroll,” Glyssa grumbled. “I missed it.”

  “Me, too,” Camellia said. If she’d seen it—if any of them had—they would have studied it or given it to Glyssa.

  “It’s rather the same gray as the shadows against the walls,” Tiana agreed.

  “Cat noses and smells,” Glyssa muttered. She walked quickly to where Mica sat, looking like a realistic art object herself. Camellia smiled, her FamCat.

  Mica had her paw on a grungy velveteen pouch. The embroidery stating the brand of liquor it had once held was broken. The strings of the dirty tassels had unraveled.

  “For me?” Glyssa said.

  “Yesss,” Mica replied.

  No one protested at the condition of the gift.

  Smells like you. Adventure. Something from the southern continent.

  Glyssa’s hand hesitated, her shoulders tensed, then she rolled them and lifted the edge with her fingertips and gingerly pulled open the string around the top of the pouch, glanced inside, and exclaimed. Plunging her hand in the bag, she grabbed what was in there and dropped the pouch. A slight crackle came as she opened the folded papyrus—to reveal nothing on the sheet, but that it was wrapped around a lovely tooled leather wallet of dark red, embossed with gold.

  “My,” Glyssa said, her smile wide as she stroked the fine leather, traced a finger over an elegant curlicue. “So lovely.”

  Mica preened before the small clump of people who had gathered. She groomed a few strands of orange fur on her shoulder, lifted her head in graceful pride. Good gifts for My new friends.

  Camellia petted her Fam, knowing her smile had gone soft and foolish. “That’s right.”