Hearts and Stones (Celta HeartMate)

by Robin D. Owens

  A snapping twang that Garrett couldn’t identify.

  “So why do you not respect the current T’Hawthorn?” Garrett asked. Could it have anything to do with the thefts?

  The silence lasted so long that Garrett gave up and began walking to the door. He’d put his hand on the latch before the being answered.

  “Laev married an unacceptable woman against the GreatLord’s wishes. Laev would not listen to any of Us.”

  Garrett felt at a disadvantage because he didn’t know enough of the Hawthorn history as he should have. No use but to reveal his ignorance, and let the Residence look down its nonexistent and supercilious nose at him. “When was this?”

  “In the year four hundred and seven, when the boy suffered his SecondPassage at seventeen.”

  “Seventeen,” Garrett repeated. Lord and Lady knew most boys -- new adults -- made mistakes at that age.

  “The boy didn’t listen to us. None of us.”

  “But they -- Laev and his wife -- lived here, right?”

  “The GreatLord relented, against others’ advice, and allowed them to move back from Gael City years ago. But the dreadful mistake continued.”

  “In what way?” Garrett pressed.

  Shutters over the fireplace clanged shut. “Laev has your contract ready.” The door opened. Garrett shrugged and sauntered out of the chamber.

  When Garrett stepped from the sitting room, the young maid he’d seen before shoved a piece of papyrus into his hand and hurried away. Oh, yeah, sure, the Residence and the Family would Reveal All to him. He snorted, glanced at the inventory sheet, then folded it and put it in a tunic pocket.

  He took his time walking back to T’Hawthorn’s home office, what they’d call here the ResidenceDen. Fancy cloth lined the walls, and if not cloth, murals, and if not murals, then richly tinted walls with wainscoting. Carpets and rugs that looked old, but kept in perfect condition.

  Because of the great psi power the Family had, the spells they coated the Residence with, imbued into house and grounds ... and had for centuries.

  Couldn’t forget that, the sheer Flair these people commanded, especially Laev T’Hawthorn. And though the old, late GreatLord had impressive wealth and power, every generation demonstrated more Flair, so the younger lord would be innately stronger than his predecessor.

  Garrett allowed himself the nigglings of envy at the wealth and beauty of the house and furnishings ... but as he walked through the halls -- the too cool halls -- he reminded himself that the GreatLord’s Family hid secrets from him. That many of his relatives held little respect for him. That his Residence didn’t speak to him and even the FamCat preferred the chef to the new head of the Family.

  The case had flipped on Garrett. It was no longer about Black Pierre, but about Laev T’Hawthorn. The man superseded the cat, not because of his humanity, or because he now paid Garrett, but because his need was more.

  As expected, when he entered the ResidenceDen, T’Hawthorn sat behind the desk and gestured to a printed papyrus contract. “My funds are transferred to your account, but have a hold on them until I scry to release the gilt after we sign the contract.”

  Garrett nodded. “Good enough.” He sat in the leaping-goats embroidered cloth wing chair and gathered the two page contract to read.

  “It’s a general contract for services, billed on a septhourly rate, to include a fair retainer and enough funds to purchase missing items. Open to renegotiation by either of us when the original terms have been met. That would be finding the thief as well as my Family treasures, and the recovery of those treasures as much as possible.”

  “Yes,” Garrett said, and wished he’d brought one of his own contracts. But he’d thought he’d be working for a cat, and how would the feline sign, with a paw print? Not that cats believed contracts to be important. Mutual self-interest deals with equal to win or lose on both sides worked best with them.

  He scratched out a couple of phrases and reworded the contract, signed it and handed it back to the GreatLord. “I’m sure your housekeeper reported on my conversations with her and the Residence, particularly with regard to my to-them-less-than-stellar-qualifications.”

  T’Hawthorn stiffened. “I will make my own determinations. While you conducted the interviews, of which I only received a short summary, I contacted the Gael City Guildhall with regard to your business and they informed me that your company remains in good standing there. They have removed all disparaging remarks from GrandLord Cowitch since a number of businesses have filed suits against him for breaking contracts, non-payment, slander and libel.” T’Hawthorn gazed at Garrett, tapped his fingers together. “You haven’t filed suit against the man.”

  “No.”

  An inclination of the head. “I think you should.”

  Garrett shrugged. “Not worth it, his insults made me move up here to the capital where I anticipate getting more and better paid work.”

  “The FirstFamily GreatLord T’Birch has also filed suit against Cowitch.”

  “There you have it, then,” Garrett said. “The GreatLord probably lost a whole lot more gilt than I did and will get paid first from any suit.”

  “I understand.” T’Hawthorn’s eyes deepened to purplish and Garrett sensed anger scratched at the man -- at dishonorable practices? “I also spoke with the Captain of the Gael City Guards for information regarding you and your services. She stated her respect for you and that she’d never known you to break a contract, or a confidence. She also said she believed you to be one of the most courageous men she’d ever known.”

  “Oh.” That would be because the Captain knew the circumstances of Garrett surviving the plague. He cleared his throat. “Good to hear.”

  The GreatLord stared at him and Garrett stayed stoic. Then the man took a writestick and initialed the changes to the contract, signed and sealed it with spellwords that tugged at Garrett, making him aware of the promises he’d given. Placing his hand on the pages, T’Hawthorn made a copy for Garrett, and a third he sent to the GuildHall cache to be filed.

  Then he stood and walked around the desk. “That’s all well and good, but this is what matters.” He offered his forearm for Garrett to clasp.

  Garrett stood and they matched in grip and a sympathetic energy ran through Garrett and probably through the lord, too. If they’d ever had to do a spell together, merge their Flair, they’d work well together.

  Interesting, but not all together surprising.

  “So the Residence did not speak to you of me,” Garrett said.

  “No.”

  Garrett allowed himself a brief smile. “The house is concerned enough about you that when it lagged in answering my interview questions and I pointed out that I charged by the septhour, the Residence spoke up.”

  T’Hawthorn grunted. “More concerned with Family funds than with me, though we have all we need for generations, and I’ll be making more during my lifetime. The Family is secure forever.”

  Garrett believed him. “You are correct in that T’Hawthorn Residence is angry with you.”

  The man slanted him a look that showed Garrett had stated the obvious.

  “Because of your wife.”

  A rush of color flooded the man’s face and his expression went stiff and impassive. The GreatLord had been so open, Garrett hadn’t thought he could become so completely unrevealing. He went back to sit in his comfortchair, but this time his hands stayed still. But his jaw flexed, and he said coolly, “It’s well known throughout the noble circles,” he slanted Garrett a look, “and I’d thought throughout the whole strata of Celtan society, that I wed a woman whom I believed to be my HeartMate.”

  And what the fligger did that mean? Of course any FirstFamily child would wed a HeartMate, that was one of the reasons those Families stayed on top. They wed for Flair, and Flair psi power came more often to the children of HeartMated couples than not. Most people who had HeartMates wed with them.

  But the man evidently meant something different than wh
at Garrett heard, so he parsed the words and listened to the echo of whom I believed. “Not your HeartMate, then,” Garrett said, taking his seat.

  “No. And I thought all of Druida City, if not Celta itself, knew that, too.” T’Hawthorn’s face continued devoid of expression, his voice flattened due to bitterness. Then T’Hawthorn ended, “Everyone gossips about the FirstFamilies.”

  True.

  Not getting anywhere here, change to what Garrett really wanted to know. “Did you love your FatherSire?” he snapped.

  “Yes!” T’Hawthorn replied. Then he sank his face in his hands and scrubbed it, speared his fingers through his hair. “Yes. I loved him. We’d -- and me and my father -- had ... distant relationships until the Hawthorn-Holly feud. But when my father died in a duel, and we lost the feud and the whole horrible situation came to a messy end,” T’Hawthorn flapped a hand, “my FatherSire mellowed.”

  The new GreatLord raised his head, his face pale, his eyes reddened. “I disappointed him immensely, but he stood by me, and loved me.”

  “That’s good to know and remember,” Garrett said.

  “You think such questions apply to this case?” T’Hawthorn asked.

  “Maybe. It’s additional background for me.”

  T’Hawthorn rose stiffly so Garrett did, too. The GreatLord gave him a short nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to leave for a business appointment.”

  The first time the man had lied to Garrett. “Fine. I have a few more interviews here--”

  “Be at home,” T’Hawthorn said not quite automatically and met Garrett’s gaze for a few seconds, then said, “I think we understand each other and will work well together. Please call me Laev.” He offered his arm once more and Garrett grasped it in beginning ... acquaintanceship.

  “I’m Garrett,” he said, then felt foolish. Of course a noble would call a commoner who worked for him by the first name. Well, Cowitch hadn’t since he hadn’t recalled Garrett’s name on the few occasions they met.

  T’Hawthorn, Laev, smiled as he dropped his hand, then continued on to a corner set with a square rug that Garrett belatedly realized served as a teleportation pad.

  The door opened and the housekeeper bustled in, “Wait, Laev, where are you going?”

  Obviously the Residence had been listening in and reporting on their conversation.

  Laev T’Hawthorn stepped onto the rug and sent her a bland look. “Out for business.”

  “You don’t have any appointments on your calendarsphere!”

  “Later,” he said aloud, but sent Garrett a private telepathic stream. Do what you can to follow this case through.

  Garrett also replied mentally, I will be searching for some of your lost items this afternoon.

  Lave looked surprised. The housekeeper sidled toward him. “Now, Laev, dear ....”

  But T’Hawthorn vanished.

  The housekeeper whirled and hissed out a breath. Garrett wondered if she’d been hanging around too many cats. He had, but he made sure he didn’t mimic their behavior.

  “That man!” Her hands fisted, and when she caught Garrett watching her, she smoothed both face and fingers.

  “He is a man, and a FirstFamilies GreatLord, and I’ve gotten the impression that the loss of these treasures came as a shock to him.”

  She sniffed. “Some treasures.”

  “Nothing you’d care to claim?” Garrett asked mildly.

  “Nothing to cause so much fuss.” She swept a glance around the room, as if noting changes the new lord might have made, focused on the comfortchair, the up-to-date scry panel, then frowned at the corner where Laev T’Hawthorn vanished. “But he won’t give up on this situation and he won’t listen to us.”

  “Just as he didn’t when seventeen?”

  “None of your busi--” she stopped.

  “The Residence told me, and I think the past very much affects this case.” He raised his voice. “Residence?”

  “I hear,” the Residence said with a tight creak.

  “How long has that ring, the last item to go missing, been gone? he asked.

  The housekeeper gasped, clutched her arms, curled into herself. Oh, yeah, Garrett nosed down the right trail.

  “Sixteen months.” A whisper on the air came to Garrett.

  He tensed and repeated, “Sixteen months.”

  Mouth screwed narrow and shut, the housekeeper marched from the room.

  “That is correct.” The Residence fell silent.

  Over a year -- three months over a year -- and no one said anything to Laev Hawthorn until a ... kitchen worker became newly jealous of a cat and a chef.

  Garrett had to push this. “Sixteen months. The late GreatLord Huathe Hawthorn knew of the thefts, then.”

  After a few seconds, the Residence said, “Yes.”

  “But he didn’t report them to the city guards.” As soon as the words fell from his mouth Garrett knew them to be stupid. Of course the lord wouldn’t report personal Family thefts to the guards. And no one else of the Family who kept this secret for all these months would go against the GreatLord’s wishes.

  And the old GreatLord hadn’t bothered to contact a private investigator like Garrett either. So he knew the thief.

  The case cracked wide open.

  “But why did he ... allow the thefts?” Garrett asked.

  Another pause. “We did not discover the thefts for some time since the items were ... are ... very minor heirlooms. Not worth finding.”

  “In the former GreatLord’s eyes.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not in the current GreatLord’s mind.”

  “Apparently not.”

  And disappearing sixteen months before. Well, there could only be one thief, then, right? Laev T’Hawthorn’s estranged wife, Nivea Sunflower Hawthorn. The woman no one liked, the wife the Residence still seethed over.

  But GreatLord Huathe Hawthorn loved his Son’sSon and would not have told him a grief like that, that Laev had married a woman who would steal heirlooms from the Family. Huge blow to the pride and honor of the man, not to mention the honor and integrity of the House.

  “The late GreatLord discovered the thefts after his daughter-in-law died,” Garrett said matter-of-factly.

  “Ye-es,” the Residence slowly confirmed.

  “And GreatLord Laev T’Hawthorn only recently discovered antique items had gone missing. After his FatherSire’s death.”

  “Yes.” A long creaking groan of a wood sigh from the Residence as if reluctant.

  Since he hadn’t gotten an answer before, Garrett said, “I ask again, T’Hawthorn Residence, did the late GreatLord T’Hawthorn respect and admire his heir?”

  Again the house didn’t answer. So Garrett changed the question. “Did the late Huathe Hawthorn love Laev?”

  “Of course.”

  Garrett said, “I would have thought that such a long-lived and intelligent being such as yourself would be more accepting of mistakes.” But apparently such a generational, immobile, smart ... person ... would hold a grudge longer. Certainly wouldn’t recall its own youth or any errors it had made in that dim time.

  “So you, Residence -- and many of the Hawthorns -- know that Nivea Hawthorn stole from her husband’s Family, from you, but kept it quiet from Laev.”

  And Garrett got the feeling that the Residence would have squealed and scolded if the old lord hadn’t forbidden it.

  But they’d gone beyond the point of denial of the thief.

  “Do you have any idea what she might have done with the items? Other than translocating them to the pigsty for kittens to find?” As far as Garrett knew, those two items were the only found treasures.

  “Rumors have come to my ears that Laev’s late wife might have made gifts of our items to her own minor noble family.”

  Though another noble house should have “Family” capitalized, it sure didn’t sound so when T’Hawthorn Residence used that tone.

  “The Sunflowers,” Garrett confirmed.

&n
bsp; “Yes.”

  “Surely not items marked with Hawthorn symbols.”

  “I do not know.”

  But the Residence still knew more than it was telling. “What else did she do with the pieces?”

  A low grumbling and the fire lit in this chamber, popped and hissed. “She might have given gifts to her lover or lovers that she met in Druida City.”

  Boom! The air concussed around Garrett, stopping his hearing, a not-so-subtle way of ending the conversation.

  He rubbed his ears. “Right.” He bowed toward a camera he’d noticed in the corner bookshelves. “Thank you for your confidences, T’Hawthorn Residence.”

  No response.

  “I’ll see if I can find and restore the treasures.”

  This time when he left the room, a long Ha, ha, ha, ha echoed on his heels all the way to a back door.

  First he’d check out the pigsty. After that he’d make rounds of antique shops. A tingle at the base of his neck told him that the woman might have actually sold other heirlooms, and he should follow that track.

  Buying back the ones she’d given to the Sunflower Family, who must not like the Hawthorns either, would be easier, so Garrett felt he could wait on that a bit.

  Finding the woman’s lover or lovers would take longest.

  He got directions to the home farm and walked through the sunlit day. Winter had truly passed, not to come again until after the turning of the new year at autumn’s Samhain. The air tingled along his skin, the ocean adding humid fizz and scent, the touch of salt on his lips.

  A huge amount of land, T’Hawthorn estate in NobleCountry, still a part of Druida City, within the walls, but complete unto themselves, the FirstFamilies.

  But tended and groomed. The grassyard seeded more than four centuries ago, smooth and already spearing up lush.

  And on the way, he puzzled out the Laev-Nivea background from what folk had concealed and revealed. Laev had been seventeen and undergoing his Passage to free his psi-power, fever dreams, or just past that time, when he’d married the girl