Heart Quest

by Robin D. Owens

  “Will you tell me—”

  “I’ll tell you to be careful. Very careful. Abandon your quest for the moment, Trif.”

  Her lips thinned. “I think we should discuss this.”

  At that moment, a faint pop announced that Lady D’Ash had arrived. “Trif!”

  Trif grasped Ilex’s hand, squeezed. “Meet me in the caffhouse in the basement shops of MidClass Lodge at Mid-Evening Bell.” Then she turned to D’Ash.

  “Greetyou, Danith.”

  The petite GreatLady’s gaze went first to Ilex, caution in her eyes, though she smiled. She dipped a head to him. “Greetyou, Winterberry.”

  “Merry meet,” he said—not words of greeting, but cutting off all comment by impatiently starting the ritual farewell ceremony.

  “Come along, Trif, I have a present for you,” Danith D’Ash said, taking Trif ’s hand. “It’s waiting at T’Ash Residence.”

  “Really? Zow,” Trif said.

  “And merry part,” Trif and Danith said in unison to Ilex.

  “And merry meet again,” Ilex murmured.

  “Tonight!” Trif shouted, then winked out of sight as Danith D’Ash teleported her away.

  Thank the Lady and Lord they were gone and safe! Ilex stepped back into GrandLord Ginger’s estate. He touched the gate. “By order of Guardsman Black Ilex Winterberry, I seal you to all.”

  The greeniron gates clanged shut.

  He lifted his hands and sent his Flair searching for the body. His psi flowed around plant life and found a large corpse, probably male. Evanescent traces told him that three live people had been there briefly, less than three minutes—probably to drop the body. This had occurred not more than a septhour and a half ago.

  The body was several meters to his left—and someone else was there.

  Halt! His spell would immobilize the person. He ran toward the essence of death, his Flair deluging him with information that he’d later recall and sort out.

  He burst into a tiny clearing. As he’d feared, the body of a young man lay sprawled faceup. Hunched over the body, his face set with fury, was Tinne Holly.

  “A fighting Holly standing over a dead body,” Ilex murmured. With a snap of his fingers, Ilex mitigated a portion of the spell and said, “You may speak.”

  Tinne dragged in a breath. “What are you doing here?” he spit out.

  Raising his brows, Ilex said, “Investigating. And you?”

  “I was looking for him!”

  “Time passes and trace evidence can vanish quickly. Let me do my job.” First, observation. Ilex looked down at the naked body of the young ginger-haired male victim. Not a mark on him. His skin was pale, his light blue eyes glassy. The scent of death was recent. And it hadn’t occurred here; none of the plant life sent out psi terror-trembles of recent violence.

  “Step back, Tinne. Leave the area as undisturbed as possible. Don’t touch him.” Waving a hand, Ilex freed him from the rest of the spell.

  “Don’t touch him! Gib Ginger is—was—one of my best friends.”

  “I’m sorry. Please retrace your steps so I can use my Flair to record everything possible. Every instant, information is lost.”

  Muttering, Tinne glided back a few steps. “This is where I ’ported.”

  “Thank you.” Ignoring his distant relative, Ilex took a personal sensorball, a clear crystal orb he could curl his fingers around, from his guard belt-bag.

  He settled into a light trance, extending all his senses, pushing his Flair for the best record he could make. He didn’t think, didn’t evaluate, merely used all his senses to compile everything around him. This included the fading recent muscle-memories of the body, the infinitesimal pressure of others’ fingers upon the skin—how the body hair lay, whether any follicle had been disturbed and how.

  Ilex distanced himself from the last echo of emotions of the body, the last sensory impressions. The last thoughts of the brain were already gone.

  His sensorball noted the strange scent surrounding the corpse—a mixture Ilex could not identify, but which was recorded now for further analysis.

  He scanned the scene, the area, drew in as much data as possible about the three people who’d dumped the body. He wished he could see tracks, like T’Blackthorn, but the killers had spent little time here, at least one of them had enough Flair to teleport. So tracking Flair wouldn’t have been much use in this instance. Too bad.

  When he reached the limit of his Flair—and when he knew the trace clues had disappeared, Ilex stopped and rose from the light trance. His sensorball was black with the load of information.

  A white-faced Tinne was grimly recording the scene himself with an image sphere.

  “I’ll take that for the investigation,” Ilex said, walking past the body and sweeping the sphere from Tinne’s hands, stowing it in a pocket.

  Tinne frowned, but said nothing.

  “And now you can tell me why you are here.” Ilex stepped close so he blocked Tinne’s view of the corpse.

  “I was worried.” Tinne let out a shaky breath and speared his fingers through his silver-gilt hair. “Gib was supposed to have lunch with my wife and me at T’Holly Residence. He didn’t show. I got worried.”

  “How did you know to look for Gib here instead of along the main gliderway?”

  Tinne’s face tightened in arrogant lines proclaiming that he hailed from the highest class. He looked down his straight nose. “You know better than that, Black Ilex. I’m a Holly, I can sense death as well as you can.” His shoulders shifted. “The recent demise was human. I looked. I found Gib.” He swallowed. “This isn’t the first of my friends who has died under odd circumstances lately. There’s another.”

  Ilex stilled, then wrapped a hand around Tinne’s elbow, ready to move him on so Ilex could shield the body and signal his Chief.

  Tinne jerked his arm away and settled into his balance, and Ilex knew nothing short of brute force would move him.

  “How many more, Winterberry? And why hasn’t the guard notified the FirstFamilies of these killings?”

  Staring at him coolly, Ilex said, “Currently, you haven’t been cleared to received any information. Furthermore, you could be a suspect in this killing.”

  Complete shock crossed Tinne’s face and he straightened. “No.”

  “We’re going to my office,” Ilex said.

  “I had nothing to do with Gib’s death!”

  “I’m inclined to believe you, but it would be best if you were cleared by a truth-sensor.”

  Tinne looked briefly interested, then shook his head. “I should be with the Gingers. My word of honor that I’ll drop by in a couple of hours.” His mouth flattened. “And we are all too aware what happens to a Holly who breaks their word of honor.”

  Ilex said, “You don’t seem to realize that you’re in trouble.”

  With a shrug, Tinne said, “A truth-sensor will clear me.” Face hardening, he continued. “I want to know what’s going on, and the FirstFamilies will definitely hear about this from me.”

  “As you please. You may direct them to my Chief, Sawyr, who is in charge of this matter.”

  Grimacing, closing his eyes and opening them, Tinne said, “Oh, man. That guy believes silence is a religion. He might give a few of the highest FirstFamily Heads like my father and GrandLady D’Grove some facts, but I won’t hear a word. And it’s my generation that is being murdered, isn’t it? It’s murder and it’s men my age.”

  They locked stares. Tinne could be useful, and no dark taint of recent death clung to him. Finally, Ilex inclined his head. “Yes, another man your age was killed.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Tinne softly. His hand rested on his blazer gun—not a threat to him, Ilex thought, but a willingness to fight to discover the killers. An eagerness to destroy those who’d murdered his friends.

  There would be no keeping this quiet. At the very least, the FirstFamilies Council would have to be told. Right now, reports had only gone to the Captain, T’Hawthorn
, the previous Captain, D’Grove, and Tinne’s father, T’Holly. Soon all twenty-five of the great nobles would be sent reports, and probably their spouses too.

  Ilex only hoped the Chief could keep them from interfering in his investigation. Ilex himself would have to take a strong line against them, not easy when they were the most powerful people on Celta. But one or two of them might be able to help. Like T’Blackthorn. Like Tinne, who now had a personal stake in the case.

  Ilex nodded toward Gib Ginger. “He’s the third.” Ilex lowered his voice too, made it coaxing. “Think, Tinne, what did Tern Sedum, Anetha Dill, and Gib Ginger have in common?”

  Blood drained from Tinne’s face again. “Anetha? No one told me of Anetha. Her Family said it was…was fluctuations in her Flair during another Passage echo. That’s one thing they have in common. Unstable Flair, suffering through Passages that linger, or return.”

  “Yes.”

  Tinne licked his lips; his fingers switched from blazer to sword and caressed the pommel. “They’re young. Gib is my age—twenty-two. Tern was younger—twenty.” His face set. “And Anetha was just eighteen.” He raised stormy eyes to Ilex’s. “Tell me what I can do to help. Tell me.”

  “What else, Tinne?” Ilex hoped his voice calmed Tinne. “You knew them better than anyone I’ve spoken with. What else?”

  A frown line etched Tinne’s forehead. “Tern and Anetha belonged to Families who have been feuding in the last year.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not Gib Ginger. The Gingers have tempers, but they prefer fistfight duels. Gib hasn’t been in one of those for—oh—six months.”

  “Ah.”

  Tinne tried to look around Ilex at his lost friend. Ilex shifted so Tinne still couldn’t see. His gaze filled with sorrow. “He was a good friend,” he said thickly.

  Banging came from the front gate, along with T’Ginger’s furious voice. “By the Cave of the Dark Goddess, what is going on here! Winterberry, you grychomp-treat, are you still here?”

  Ilex winched. Insults. He’d had an unfortunate incident with a grychomp beast in the wilds last year. T’Ginger was angry now, but Ilex preferred that to the heart-blow he’d deal the man. His youngest son, dead. This was going to be hard.

  Tinne straightened his shoulders, squared his jaw. “I’m a close friend. I’ll tell them.”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  Tinne just shook his head. “I’ll ’port to the house.” He blinked several times. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “They all had animal Familiars—Anetha, Tern, and Gib.”

  Ilex hadn’t known that, and it reassured him. He’d believed that Trif might fit the profile of the victims. But she couldn’t be a target. She didn’t have an expensive and rare telepathic animal companion. Thank the Lady and Lord.

  “Go on ahead. I’ll be right with you,” Ilex said. He had to examine the body more closely.

  Nodding, Tinne vanished.

  Ilex walked over to the body, placed his hand on the young chest—not fully developed into the heavy musculature of an adult man. Closing his eyes, he sent his senses into the body, confirming what he already knew.

  The body had no heart.

  Two

  Trif and Danith D’Ash teleported to a comfortable sitting room in T’Ash Residence.

  “What do you think happened back at the Ginger estate?” asked Trif.

  “I don’t know,” Danith said. She rang for tea. “Sit. I do know that it would be best for you to stop this…ill-advised…quest for your HeartMate. I would never have thought you’d be someone who’d wander alone in Noble Country. And being caught going door to door.” Danith blushed. “Not only is it personally humiliating, it reflects badly on your Family.”

  Trif sank into a plush chair. “Actually, Guardsman Winterberry was very decent about finding me using my charmkey.” She was glad he was a friend—well, a neighbor, and she was on good terms with everyone in MidClass Lodge. She’d talk to him tonight and persuade him her Heart Quest was no problem for him.

  When he’d said her name, she’d thought she might be in real trouble, but she’d seen the resigned humor lurking in his eyes and relaxed. He hadn’t been the authoritarian guardsman then, but an attractive man she often discreetly watched.

  Then something had changed and his whole bearing had exuded guardsman. His body had looked big and tough beneath his light brown uniform of simple shirt and trous. His face had become stern, his blue-gray eyes piercing. He’d moved like a guardsman, a hunter. Which, unfortunately for her, made him even more attractive.

  “Trif! I’m speaking to you,” Danith said.

  Trif eyed Danith warily. She was the most powerful of all Trif ’s friends, the highest in status. If Danith wanted to stop Trif in her quest, the GreatLady could do it. Trif wasn’t sure how, but figured Danith could probably think of several impressive and creative ways that would work.

  Licking her lips, Trif said, “I’ll consider revising my plan.”

  Danith’s narrowed gaze pierced her. “Oh?”

  “I’ll avoid lonely places—try my charmkey in busy residential sections of town, not Noble Country—mid-class and Commoner blocks. And I’ve stayed away from FirstFamily estates. I know those folks are weird.” She smiled guilelessly. Danith was D’Ash, now a FirstFamily GreatLady. And no one could call Danith’s husband-HeartMate, T’Ash, normal.

  Before Danith could reply, the door opened and the butler brought in a tea tray with a teapot and two mugs. Trif sighed. She didn’t like tea, but always drank what Danith served out of politeness.

  Zanth, T’Ash’s scruffy tomcat Familiar, and a tiny white kitten followed the butler. With a grunt, Zanth flopped onto Danith’s feet. The kitten climbed over him, snagged claws in Danith’s dark blue trous, and climbed up to sit in her lap. As an animal Healer, Danith always housed a menagerie.

  Danith studied Trif over her cup, and Trif attempted to be the picture of innocence. “How’s Nuin?” Nuin was Danith’s son, a toddler.

  Though Danith’s face softened, she just raised her eyebrows. “He’s with his father today at the ritual. I had other plans.” She eyed Trif; then, instead of issuing a gentle scold, Danith touched the small white kitten, and the little cat aimed big blue eyes at Trif. “Do you want a free Fam?” Danith asked.

  Delight surged through Trif. “Yes!” She hadn’t thought she’d be able to afford one for years.

  “She won’t be totally free,” Danith warned. “She has expensive tastes.”

  Since the cat sat like a queen, Trif was sure Danith was right. Still, a Fam of her own! A little friend, a companion she could speak telepathically to, who would live with her. Oh, yes.

  “She’s about eight weeks old. Zanth brought her home a week ago,” Danith said between her teeth. “She’s his daughter, of course, but we can’t get a word out of him as to her dam. Since most of the people on my waiting list want an impeccable bloodline—or at least a known bloodline”—Danith glared at Zanth snoozing on her feet—“I don’t feel right giving her to them.”

  “Me?” Trif clapped her hands together. “Me! I get a Fam! A teeny kitten Fam?”

  Danith sighed. “I’ll warn you right now that she will be a pai—challenge. Teeny kitten or not, she has very stubborn ideas in her head.” Danith put down her teacup and held up the kitten to scowl into serene blue eyes. The Fam smiled seraphically. “Unlike some kittens, I believe this one will remain pure white.”

  The kitten mewed, then pouted.

  Trif stared in fascination. She’d never seen a kitten pout before, but knew the look. Or maybe it was the tip of the minuscule tail twitching in annoyance.

  “This one.” Danith angled the little cat so Trif could see her better. “Gets around, and as I said, she has ideas.”

  Danith cleared her throat, and pinkened. “She visited Samba FamCat on the spaceship Nuada’s Sword and viewed The History of Cats. Apparently, she got some incredible idea that cats were once tinted on ancient Earth. ‘Cat painting,�
�� she said.”

  The little cat grinned, showing small pointed teeth. “Yessss,” she said.

  Danith slid her gaze to Trif, then away. “Do you know anything about this?”

  A wave of Flair flooded Trif—her psi power consisted of being able to see past events—even as far back as ancient Earth. The teacup trembled in her fingers, and she set it aside to grip both arms of the chair, steadying herself. She breathed through the onslaught as a parade of strangely decorated cats flashed through her mind. Centuries worth of tinted cats. How odd.

  Her always erratic Flair evened out, and her mind and body did the same. She wished, as ever, that she could control her Flair better. She wanted her Third and last Passage over, when she’d have command of her magic, but it was years away. She let out a slow breath and met Danith’s wide and sympathetic gaze. Trif smiled weakly. Danith too had had unruly Passages, had not progressed easily and evenly into her Flair.

  “If you ever want to talk, I’m here,” said Danith.

  “I know,” said Trif. She wished to return home, stand under a waterfall, and clean away the film of sweat that coated her skin.

  The kitten mewed imperiously. When Trif glanced at the small cat, the Fam slitted her eyes.

  Danith’s lips tightened. “She says you saw the truth of her words.”

  Trif said, “Yes, cats were painted for centuries. It was considered an art form—animal aesthetics.”

  Danith rolled her eyes. “Incredible.” Her jaw went tight again. “I think she wants something outrageous—at least it looks that way—very odd—when she’s tried to mentally send me the idea. Her image telepathy isn’t totally developed yet.”

  Trif stared at the kitten and wanted her. “She really is mine?”

  “She’s yours, though where you’ll find a cat tinter, I don’t know. I’ll send you home in a glider. Don’t teleport.”

  Trif flushed. Her teleporting lessons had not been going at all well. Instead of a smooth process from one place to another, she arrived somewhere between the locations, and fell down.

  Danith smiled, and it was warm and gentle and comforting. “The kitten’s name is Greyku.”