Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

  “Yes.”

  His left hand settled heavily, intimately on her hip, he laced the fingers of his right hand with hers and pulled her close and swept her around and around. Once again her feet barely touched the floor; he was using his physical strength and natural Flair. The door opened and they danced through it.

  This time his gaze was locked on hers, eyes gleaming. His body brushed hers, tantalizing her until she was glad he held on tightly, her knees were so weak.

  The second bout of sex—making love—sharing themselves—sex— more!—was better than the first. Though Cratag thought a permanent smile was on his face, his thoughts hazing toward sleep had a hint of grimness to them. He didn’t figure his desire for Signet would be satisfied for a long time. Maybe the rest of his life. No. That couldn’t be true. Wouldn’t do to start imagining himself as part of her life, how he could fit his life to hers—and it would be him doing the compromising.

  But then she snuffle d in her sleep, and her hand rubbed his chest over his heart, and he let himself sink into soft sleep.

  A mind screech of pure terror hit Cratag. He jerked. His sister? No! He gasped awake. Choked.

  No, she was dead. He’d failed there.

  But someone who was linked to him. His hand shot out. Signet was still beside him.

  “Who?” he yelled, mind and voice.

  Signet bolted straight up, stared at him.

  A keening yowl, subsiding into whimpering.

  Beadle!

  His lack of Flair had never frustrated Cratag more. “Where are you? ’Port to me!” He couldn’t get an image from the cat, nothing but dark and fear and the knowledge he was hiding from a hunter that was ripping into something else.

  Fligger.

  Signet jumped from the bed, heading toward her balcony. Cratag moved instinctively, blocking her from throwing the doors to the night wide. “Stop.”

  “Beadle,” she cried, “he’s on the beach. There’s something out there.”

  “We’ll get to him.” He yanked on his clothes.

  Signet threw up her arms, said, “Whirlwind spell,” and wind-Flair spun around her. When it stopped, she was dressed, her hair arranged in a fancy braid. He was out of her bedroom door, through the sitting room, running.

  He could hear nothing from Beadle over the pounding of his heart. Surely he’d have felt if the Fam had died.

  Vinni met them on the landing.

  “Stay inside,” Cratag ordered. “Where’s Hanes?” The man should have heard the commotion. Or maybe the rooms were too well insulated. Hell.

  Vinni just shrugged and slapped his ass on the wide bannister, zooming down with Flair pushing him.

  Cratag took the stairs three at a jump. “Call Hanes!”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Call him!”

  Hanes! We’re heading to the beach. Vinni glared at Cratag, jerked a nod.

  Cratag grunted. Hanes didn’t know as much as he needed to teleport to the beach. Neither did Vinni, and the boy was running flat out. Both of them were behind Signet. Cratag hadn’t seen her move.

  A yell came from above. Hanes. Cratag didn’t spare a glance. All his being was focused on Beadle’s soft mewls. He was alive!

  Watch Avellana! Vinni shouted.

  They raced to the door nearest the beach. When Signet threw open the door, he followed her through.

  She spun and stopped. “I’m ’porting down.” Her face was pale and set.

  “No!” He couldn’t bear that they’d both be in danger.

  “I know the beach in all times, all weathers. I’m going!”

  He grabbed for her, but she was gone before he could put a weapon in her hand.

  Swearing all the way, he put on speed, hurdled the gate to the beach steps, sprinted down.

  Twinmoonslight glinted on the ocean, on the sand. A slim black shadow ran toward an outcropping of rocks.

  Then Cratag saw it. A monster.

  Rising from the ocean in a huge spherical shape, waving scaly tentacles. One of them held the mangled remains of . . . something . . . somethings. Another lashed out for Signet.

  Cratag heard his own howl, but she’d dodged. Somehow. Flair. Safe. Lord and Lady. Lady and Lord, keep her safe.

  She stumbled, two tentacles grabbed. She ’ported, a short little hop. Here. Then there. Cratag couldn’t keep track of her as a shadow darting in and out of the boulders. Going to where Beadle huddled, terrified.

  Then Cratag was finally there, his blazer in his hand. The one with the grip that wouldn’t slip in his sweaty palm.

  He ran toward her, yelling his lungs out to attract the monster’s attention.

  It swiveled toward him.

  Seventeen

  He fired his blazer, once, twice, at the thing. Bright rays of energy streaked through the night, striking. A bitter smell came from the sea. The monster shrieked, thrashed.

  Rose and loomed, blotting out stars. A whippy black tentacle slashed near, sending sand stinging against him. He drew his sword, cut off a meter of the thing. Dark ichor spurted.

  Keening.

  Yelling from Signet and howling from Beadle. “Go home!” Cratag shouted, jumped away from the bloody tentacle, whirled and aimed for an eye, got it.

  The monster wavered, rocked in the sea. More stench.

  Cratag fired again, slicing through another tentacle.

  With a horrible shriek, the grumtud disappeared under the waves, churning water. A white wake showed it zooming toward the open ocean.

  Beadle ran and leapt into Cratag’s arms. He felt wetness. Sea or blood?

  Then warmth and softness came against his back, spicy fragrance, Signet. Her arms twined around his waist. I’ll ’port us back to the teleportation pad on three.

  His muscles stayed rigid. He couldn’t relax, could only blank his mind and hope that helped.

  Seconds later they were in the small panelled room. The door was open, and beyond the threshold Hanes waited, blazer out.

  “No danger.” Cratag’s voice was guttural. He was receiving flashes of memory, of emotion from Beadle. Dark and bright. Dark sea, bright moons. Dark blood, bright teeth.

  Cratag had experience in racheting down from a battle high, but Beadle was all feral animal. Attack! No, too big. Hide. Hide. Hide.

  Hanes nodded at them, resheathed his blazer and turned to stride toward the sitting room.

  The lights of the hallway hurt Cratag’s dilated eyes. Beadle hissed, too. The whole Residence was bright.

  “Lower the lights, please, to cloudy day,” Signet said, her voice not quite steady. Cratag was getting nothing through their link. She had herself wrapped tight, and he felt regret. Then she hooked an arm in his and pulled him after Hanes to the sitting room.

  As soon as he entered the pretty, floral-scented sitting room, he felt the true blessing of this Residence, the caring that the inhabitants had for each other and the house. A breath shuddered from him. Beadle’s bristling fur lowered, his muscles eased.

  Vinni was already back. He and Avellana sat, hand in hand, on a twoseat in the opposite corner. Hanes stood before them.

  “All’s safe here,” Cratag said. “Monster on the beach. Think it was a grumtud. Chased my Fam.” Beadle trembled in his arms.

  To Cratag’s surprise everyone looked at Vinni. The boy flushed. “I didn’t make an illusion.”

  “No illusion,” Cratag said. “Real enough. I severed a tentacle and a quarter, hit an eye, too. It headed out to sea.”

  Signet said, “A grumtud. We get them sometimes, usually during the day.” She shivered.

  Hanes nodded again. “Sort of smart, grumtuds, probably won’t be back.” He went to sit in a chair, still watchful. He, too, was controlling the release of battle tension.

  “Oh, Beadle!” Signet crooned. “You’re frightened and dirty.” She reached out and he hissed at her. She pulled her hand back.

  “Ssshhhh.” Cratag found himself rocking the cat in his arms. “You’re safe now.”


  Beach was scary. Terrible thing. Ate ’coons. Two, three. Almost me. Run, hide, hide, hide. FamMan! He ducked his head into the corner of Cratag’s elbow, burrowing in.

  “Outside can be scary,” Avellana nodded.

  “It’s not always fun,” Vinni said.

  Both their gazes were understanding. Realization hit Cratag, he met Signet’s eyes and saw knowledge in hers. Of all the folks in the Residence, the most innocent had been Beadle.

  Once.

  Beadle would never think of outside and the beach as only fun and adventure again. He’d lost a little of his joyousness. Something Cratag—and Signet—mourned and would have prolonged for him, had they known how.

  Lost innocence.

  Beadle had always felt safe and protected—before. Cratag had failed to protect his Fam, as he’d failed his sister.

  “Perhaps we should call D’Ash,” Signet said.

  Only FamMan, Beadle said. He didn’t look at the others, rubbed his head on Cratag’s arm. His adrenaline was slowly subsiding, he was more intelligent Fam than feral animal.

  Cratag’s battle readiness lessened. He’d deal with the aftermath tonight, though. “Let’s look at you,” Cratag said.

  Signet went to a side table and moved knickknacks from it.

  Cratag carefully placed Beadle on his paws. The cat’s white face was gray with dirt, sand clung to much of his hair, and some tufts on his sides stuck out in matted clumps.

  “Some scratches, I think,” Signet said. She crossed to a wall cabinet and opened it, Cratag’s nose twitched at the smell of a medical no-time. Coming back with a softleaf that was gently steaming, she glanced at Beadle then handed the cloth to Cratag.

  Making soothing noises that sounded odd to himself, Cratag took the softleaf and drew it over Beadle.

  The cat hissed. Don’t want cleaned. Can do it Myself. Want a pillow. Want to sleep. Want to sleep lots. Inside. Near to FamMan.

  “Right,” Cratag said.

  There was a loud sniff. He can’t have any of My pillows, Du said.

  “I’ll get one from the storage closet,” Signet said, and Cratag watched as she left the room, then turned to see Hanes’s knowing grin.

  Cratag ignored him and continued to pet Beadle.

  Vinni coughed. “Since you all insulted me by thinking I called that illusion, I will demonstrate how much control I have of my creative Flair.” A huge book appeared before the windows, taking up the space from floor to ceiling. Vinni was trying to soothe them. Cratag let out a breath. Mentally he murmured to the Residence, Draw all the curtains on this room. Silently cloth slid over the windows, and the room seemed cheerier. He went to a wide chair and sat down with Beadle.

  Pages of the book colored an antique yellow flipped, and Vinni said, “I’ve fashioned the book through illusion as a frame for a viz that D’Marigold Residence will play.” So this wasn’t a totally new idea of Vinni’s, but something he had planned.

  A very interesting volume, the Residence said.

  Another page flipped, and the title shone in flowing script that Cratag could barely read. He was better at printing. Some three-dimensional cats at the bottom of the sheet rolled and played.

  Vinni read the title, “The History of Cats.”

  Beadle pricked up his ears, twitched his whiskers, settled further into Cratag’s lap with a couple of kneadsing of his thighs. Du and Rhyz purred in approval. Avellana clapped her hands and sent Vinni an adoring look. “It’s the book from the starship that tells the story of cats all the way from the ancientest days of old Earth.”

  “Good tales,” Hanes punned, winking at Cratag, but he took a chair and sank into it, with a stoic expression. Cratag got the impression that he’d seen part of The History of Cats before. Maybe more than once. Cratag recalled how Laev had had a particular viz he watched over and over until Cratag thought he could still recite portions of the dialogue.

  Signet walked back into the room and stopped at the sight of the huge illusion. She held a rectangular pillow the size of her torso of bright red velvet with brighter gold piping and four gold tassels. “The History of Cats. I’ve heard of this book viz.” She glanced at Cratag. It goes on for three septhours.

  His eyes widened at the news. He swallowed. The Fams and children will fall asleep soon, he said, hoping it was true. Hanes is unconcerned and he wouldn’t be if staying up and watching would affect Vinni adversely.

  Yes, Signet said, tomorrow is Playday. Avellana’s schedule is flexible and undemanding.

  Smiling, Signet pulled the empty table close to Cratag, set the pillow on it. “Fasten,” she murmured. A good idea since the wood of the table was highly polished.

  Beadle tore himself away from a story of a cat chasing mice and playing with a girl at the dawn of Earthan time to eye the large pillow. My own pillow.

  “Of course,” Signet said. “A gift from me and the Residence for staying with us.”

  Beadle’s eyes widened, he grinned and craned his neck to sniff at it. It smells like plant stuff. If it is Mine, it will smell like *Me.* He rose to his paws, rubbed his head under Cratag’s chin, then leapt for the pillow, circling and pawing it before curling up, nose on paws, and continuing to watch the viz. Cratag missed his Fam, but liked that the cat was forgetting his experience and was content, though it hadn’t occurred to him to give Beadle a gift.

  As if sensing his thoughts, a bit of humor came from Signet. Du has informed me that Fams get collars from their person as gifts. Apparently this trend was set by T’Ash.

  Cratag winced at the recollection that T’Ash’s cat, a jeweler’s cat, had an emerald collar.

  A smile lurked on Signet’s lips. She perched on the arm of Cratag’s chair, put her hand on his shoulder. I consulted Danith D’Ash, who matched us with our Fams, and she said that this new tradition has the rule that a Fam must be loving for three months, so we have some time.

  “I can order a collar now,” Cratag murmured.

  Beadle looked at him and grinned, and it was almost as goofy as it had been. He was bouncing back. He twitched his tail. I liked the Fam collar of Lahsin Holly’s hound.

  Cratag looked at Signet. She shook her head. She hadn’t noticed it either.

  Outside stuff, Beadle said helpfully. Good smelling nuts and seeds. He cocked his head, but his gaze drained a little of assurance. Maybe when I go back to the beach, some shells.

  “Outside can be scary,” Signet agreed. “But we love you and will always help you.”

  Cratag blinked . . . was it so easy for Signet to love? And how did he feel about that? He didn’t know.

  I can choose My own shells for My necklace . . . later, Beadle said, then the viz caught his attention again, when a black cat with a gold collar leapt across the pages.

  Signet telepathically said, I think my Du has something like that in mind, but I think amethyst would look better against his fur.

  Said so easily, without a thought for cost. When Beadle had mentioned collars, Cratag’s mind had immediately gone to the state of his finances. Very healthy. He could have purchased a nice house, even a shop like his parents’, but he didn’t think he’d ever have that casual not-counting-cost that old noble houses did. Beadle looked good on that red pillow. Rubies or garnets would be nice on him.

  Signet would wear sapphires well. He wondered if she had some. Probably. Her House was centuries old, probably had a whole load of jewels for every coloring. He could give her nothing she didn’t already own or couldn’t buy herself.

  Vinni drifted up to Cratag. “Can I speak with you?”

  Cratag didn’t want to leave the coziness of the sitting room, but Signet had moved from the arm of his chair. He glanced at Hanes, who looked only half awake, the same as Avellana and her cat, sagging in the corner of the upright twoseat.

  “Sure.” Cratag rose, hiding his reluctance. “We can talk in my sitting room.”

  As soon as he moved away from his chair, Signet slipped into it with a mischievous look, and wiggl
ed her butt. “Mmmm, cozy.”

  He’d thought so, but now she’d put thoughts of sex back in his head. Not that that was difficult around her.

  Vinni coughed.

  Cratag turned away and gestured to the door, followed Vinni down the hallway to the door of his own sitting room. Vinni didn’t attempt to go in, which was wise, since Cratag had had the Residence put an alarm on the door latch.

  When they entered the gray and maroon room and moved into a more masculine atmosphere, Cratag couldn’t say whether he preferred it or not. Easier to talk to the boy, though. Cratag pulled the door shut until he heard it click.

  The Residence had turned on lamps that bathed the room in mellow light. The maroon curtains were drawn against the night. He waved the boy toward a leather wing chair, but Vinni didn’t sit. He looked up at Cratag. “You didn’t know about the illusion thing.”

  “I still don’t.”

  Vinni grimaced. “I played a joke on Holm HollyHeir during the feud.” Vinni hunched a shoulder. “My Flair told me to interfere. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. A monster rose from the sea and chased a Fam.”

  Hair rose on the back of Cratag’s neck . . . had Vinni used the sense of this time to fashion that illusion. But Cratag knew very little about Flair, didn’t know if that would have happened. So he just said, “The Hawthorns were too preoccupied with the feud to talk about practical jokes. If T’Hawthorn or his son knew of this incident, they didn’t tell me.”

  “Everyone else recalls. You saw how they all looked at me when they heard a sea monster had attacked Beadle on the beach. How long will that stupid mistake haunt me?” Vinni grumbled.

  Cratag put his hand on Vinni’s shoulder, much as he had Laev’s years before. He’d forgotten how small a thirteen-year-old boy’s shoulder could be, just the width of Cratag’s palm. His fingers and thumb lay on the boy’s chest and back. More vulnerable than he seemed with his intelligence and great Flair. “Never be surprised when an old mistake comes back to bite you on the ass. And the more people who know about the mistake, the more you’ll hear about it.”