“I didn’t think—” Tinne began.
“I’ve lived in Holly Residence for two years and a season, Tinne. During that amount of time, even I learned a thing or two about fighting.”
“You certainly did,” Ilex said, sending a telepathic probe down his link with Trif. She was already being revived by a Healer.
“Where do you think she went?” asked Genista.
“The amulet is bespelled to take her to Intake at MidClass HealingHall first, then any other close HealingHall.” He knew she was at MidClass HealingHall through their bond.
“Let’s find out,” Genista said cheerfully. She walked over to the small teleportation pad, waited until some Noble newcomers departed, and flicked the safety light off. The three of them stepped onto the pad and Genista held out her hands. “I don’t ’port well, so why don’t you take us, Tinne?”
“One, Genista. Two, Tinne Holly. Three!” Tinne whisked them away and they arrived at MidClass HealingHall Intake.
“I’ve never been here,” Genista said, looking around at the pale pink walls and pastel art. She shrugged. “Not much to see. Bland decorating.”
“Greetyou,” Trif said, rubbing her jaw as if in remembered pain.
Greyku mewed a greeting. Then Trif smiled at a hovering FourthLevel Healer. “As I said before, you can charge Genista Holly for the fee.”
Genista looked surprised. Tinne laughed.
Trif walked up to Ilex and linked her arm in his. “Now, I will ’port us home to MidClass Lodge.”
“Trif—”
Her eyes flashed up at him. “Ilex. I have something to prove to myself and you. I won’t fail this time.”
Behind the determination, he saw just the hint of anxiety, and something more—hurt, as if his abrupt departure that morning had injured her feelings. Her lips trembled, then firmed. “You promised to teach me teleporting. And we’re not done yet.”
I will help, Greyku said.
He found his hand grasping hers, and the bond between them grew from thread to braid. “Very well.” In the back of his mind, he’d had strategies to implement to mask himself from her if she got too close to finding him. She was far too close.
They crossed to an area designated for teleportation. Trif turned off the light and they stepped inside black lines. Before he could say anything, she sent an image to him of MidClass Lodge—with additional senses, the faint odor of dinners that drifted through the halls the quiet of the shadowy lobby at this time of night.
“One, silver flute. Two, Greyku kit. Three.”
Her Flair took them fast and strong and correctly. They materialized on the landing pad of MidClass Lodge Lobby.
Trif smiled triumphantly. “I did it!”
I helped, Greyku added, though she hadn’t.
Ilex could do no less than acknowledge her feat. “Well done.”
She looked away. “The program says that for some people there is one last fumble just before the teleportation skill is learned.”
“You’re right. I’d forgotten.”
She brushed his mouth with hers, and once again fire flooded his veins. He fisted his hands and hid them from her.
“Thank you, Ilex. I’m glad we’re friends again.”
She walked down the hall, her hips swaying under the fluttery dress.
The kiss must have meant nothing to her. Just as well.
Still, Ilex was glad he didn’t have to pass her room to reach his own.
The next morning, Ilex stared at the recording spheres of Trif ’s music on his home desk. There were more than twenty. He had no idea he’d made so many. He’d promised Tinne Holly a few to give to his mother, D’Holly, the composer who might be interested in teaching Trif. Part of Ilex’s plan to distract Trif from her questing.
So he sorted his spheres, and realized he didn’t want to give up a one. Muttering under his breath, he chose the three he liked the least—more renderings of Earthen tunes than Trif ’s own—and sent them to the T’Holly collection box.
Then he walked into the hallway and used all his disguising spells on his apartment door. It would open to Trif ’s charmkey if she tried, but he hoped that his threshold resonated of impressions of others he’d layered on it, as well as an avoid spell. In the past, he’d been grateful that his space had been closer to the lobby than Trif ’s and he wouldn’t have to pass her apartment door all the time. Now he wondered at that strategy.
His wrist timer vibrated, notifying him of his imminent appointment with Sedwy Grove. Vertic trotted up. Ilex had never actually seen the fox teleport, but there was no way his Fam could be in some places unless he used Flair. Maybe he walked through walls—a talent no one had ever mastered. Ilex frowned, making a note to ask a Healer about how a heart could be removed from a body with no trace…lifted through chest walls? The thought made him shudder.
“Greetyou, Vertic.”
I wish to accompany you.
“Oh?”
Last night I saw this woman you visit. She had an interesting smell.
Ilex raised his brows. “What sort of interesting smell?”
She walked through grass full of insects and mice and voles.
“Ah.”
Where she lives would be an excellent hunting ground for my kind.
“I see.” He held out his arms and Vertic sprang into them. Vertic’s fur wasn’t nearly as soft as little Greyku’s, but his presence was much more comforting to Ilex than the kitten’s. He and his Fam understood and respected each other—something he wasn’t sure was possible with a small, vain, female kitten.
“Since you’re with me, let’s ’port from the apartment.” With a Word, Ilex opened the much-bespelled door, entered, and kicked it closed. He sent a mental questing to D’Grove’s estate and found it secured against teleporting inside, with only a spot by the front gates accessible. “Ready?” he asked Vertic.
Yes. Vertic hummed a little in his throat. It is always a pleasure traveling with you.
“I’ll return the compliment.” His Fam felt warm and vital in his arms.
A moment later, he was addressing the scrystone outside D’Grove’s greeniron gates, and Vertic had melted between the bars and into the estate, already lost to view, even in the bright sunlit grassyard. Ilex tapped the scry a second time, deepened his voice, and added an authoritative note. “Guardsman Ilex Winterberry to see GentleMistrys Sedwy Grove.”
The scry projected a holo inside its crystal planes, and cool blue eyes in a haughty face studied him. “I believe GreatMistrys Sedwy is under the impression that this meeting is a social appointment.” The butler enunciated each word precisely. “By T’Winterberry, or WinterberryHeir. She wasn’t sure of your exact title.”
Or lack thereof. “You know me,” Ilex said steadily. “I consulted with D’Grove fairly often when she was Captain of the FirstFamilies Council.”
The butler’s nose lifted. “You may teleport to the atrium of the round tower. No one is there at this time.”
“My thanks.” Once more, he glanced around for a hint of red fur or plush tail. Nothing. Vertic was on his own business.
The butler met him in the round tower’s small entryway. “Lady Sedwy is in the top dormer room. I’ll lead you.”
Ilex had never been in that room, but was sure the man was taking him there to keep an eye on him instead of showing him the way. They wound up two flights of stairs spiraling around the tower wall. When they came to a large, old oak door with leather straps, the butler rapped sharply, then opened the door and strode in. Ilex followed.
It was a small room, tucked under the conical roof of the tower, lit by two small dormer windows opposite each other. The furnishings were cherished antiques, with a few scars that showed family living—the chairs were of deep brown wood and pale green velvet; the carpet was thickly woven with a background of beige to a deep green grove of leafy trees. Sedwy Grove sat on a twoseat.
“Guardsman Black Ilex Winterberry,” pronounced the butler. Then he withdrew, m
ore rapidly than Ilex expected.
“A guardsman, how interesting,” she said, and her considering gaze made Ilex think that this interview could tip one of two ways, chilly and polite and uninformative, or flirtatious and social and very informative.
He swept a flourishing bow and caught her lips twitching. “I’m afraid the music at the Maypole last night wasn’t conducive to good conversation.” With as much grace as he could muster, he walked to her and waited for her to offer her hand. When she did, he took it, pressed her fingers and lightly brushed his lips across the back, then released it with a lingering squeeze.
Her flirtatious smile was back. Since she seemed to expect it, Ilex took the seat next to her. “And last night I had asked Tinne Holly about you.” Ilex smiled and shook his head. “He said you were a scholar of the occult, and that piqued my interest. Hard to believe.”
She threw back her head and laughed, spread her arms wide. “You don’t think of me as a scholar?”
He was a man, and appreciated her lush breasts and hips, and let her see his interest. “I am sure no man would look at you and think ‘scholar.’”
Eyes twinkling, she said, “Thank you.” She gestured to a nearby table. “Caff?”
“My mouth is watering.” He gazed at her.
Chuckling, she opened the cabinet, and Ilex realized it was a no-time storage. She pulled out a silver tray with caff pitcher and cups.
As they drank, they spoke of Druida, and Ilex scraped his memory for stories of the social scene of her class. It wasn’t his class, but he was assigned to the FirstFamilies, so he tried to stay informed. Of course, the biggest news was the killing, but he couldn’t bring that up without violating his orders from the FirstFamilies Council to keep the murders confidential.
After his last swallow of caff, he cast her a puzzled glance. “You really are a scholar.”
She smiled. “I really am.”
“And of the…occult.”
Placing her cup in the saucer, she leaned back and said, “Yes. The dark side of our religion has always drawn me. It’s so forbidden.” She slanted him a look. “And being a guardsman, you wouldn’t know much of it?”
“Not much. I attend ritual circles.” He gestured. “Healing circles, Sabbats. Full and New Moons celebrations. But those are all…open, sanctioned. And being a guardsman, I’m curious about everything.” He smiled slowly, wondering if she’d take the bait.
She leaned forward, face animated. “Yes. Every child is taken to Celtan rituals, taught our culture, but we don’t talk about what could be done with Flair outside our ceremonies. Black magic.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t we talk about it, or why participate in black magic?” She smiled. “As I said, it’s forbidden. As for practicing black magic—inverting our psi power of Flair into a purely negative force—simply, Power.” She flicked her fingers. “The use of Flair always demands a price, physical or mental exhaustion, and from my experience it’s difficult to form a great ritual with all minds in harmony for the same purpose.”
“Straif T’Blackthorn had a Residence Renewal ceremony last year.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And how many favors and alliances did he have to promise?”
Ilex shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“When it comes to doing something major, few agree on all the particulars…like cleaning up the slums Downwind. That’s what we all think of rituals…for the common good of a Family or our society.”
Her smile turned a little cruel. “But with black magic, it calls to the basest emotions in all of us. We can agree that we want, oh, a boost in Flair, more energy, more vitality.”
“And…sacrifice?” asked Ilex.
“In our societal GreatRituals, we all sacrifice a bit of ourselves—our energy, our Flair, to power the changes we want. In black magic, it could be animal sacrifices.”
Or human. “The greater the sacrifice, the more the benefit.”
“Of course.”
So whatever the participants of this particular group were doing, they were worse than the triad gangs that had preyed Downwind.
She looked at him from under lowered eyelashes. “Sex would most certainly be a part of the rite.”
Ilex lifted a pastry. “And food.”
Laughing, she said, “Probably.”
“Drink?”
Now she frowned. “Difficult to say if alcohol or the more potent herbs would be used. Not if you wanted the greatest outcome. But then, once you tap into the black part of our souls, it’s hard to deny other lusts of drink and drug.”
No doubt the cult figured that human sacrifice gave them great power, even if they indulged in herbs and alcohol. “And the trappings would be rather the same as our ceremonies, only…inverted? Incense? Altars?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. The symbols on the altar would be different. Instead of a circle, the participants might try and make a more angular pattern—a square or rectangle.”
“Interesting,” Ilex said truthfully. He frowned. “What sort of incense—”
The door opened and D’Grove streamed into the room, tall and matronly, surrounded by great Flair. As former Captain of the FirstFamilies Council, she’d been one of the first people to be informed of the murders.
Though her hair and eyes were the same color as Sedwy’s, their features were different. D’Grove nodded abruptly to Ilex. “Guardsman Winterberry, I think it is time you leave. I will not have my daughter bothered with this matter.” She was every inch a mother defending her young. His heart twinged. He couldn’t imagine either of the women living in D’Winterberry Residence bestirring themselves on behalf of their children.
“What’s wrong, Mother?” Sedwy’s lovely brow wrinkled. “We were just talking….” Her eyes sharpened, her face set, and she suddenly resembled her mother very much. She turned to Ilex. “It wasn’t just idle conversation or flirtation. You pulled the information you wanted from me quite easily. Very persuasive.” Her voice was brittle now.
He inclined his torso, kept his own face serious. “I am under orders from the highest authority”—he glanced at her mother—“not to speak of this matter. Thus my methods are not as pristine as I would like, especially when speaking with such a fascinating lady as yourself.”
“What did you question her about?” demanded D’Grove, fear shadowing her eyes.
Ilex stood, bowed. “GreatLady, your daughter is an expert on the occult. Isn’t that why you called her back? When did she arrive from your estate?”
D’Grove paled to her lips. “She came to consult with me. She arrived after…much later than certain events.”
“What is going on?” Sedwy rose.
“I am still under orders for silence,” Ilex said.
“Mother?” asked Sedwy.
D’Grove made a cutting motion with her hand. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“If it involves my studies, we certainly will,” Sedwy said coolly. “I think I’ll go on that outing Zinga asked me to.” Sedwy nodded to Ilex. “Merry meet.”
“And merry part. It was a real pleasure sharing your company, under any circumstances.”
“And merry meet again.” She left.
After a hard look, D’Grove offered her hand to Ilex. As he bowed over it, he banished irritation, thought of something more pleasing, and allowed himself a smile. “My Fam is a fox. Currently, the only den is located on T’Blackthorn’s land. I believe more foxes might like to establish one here. Would that be agreeable to you?”
She looked startled, blinked, then the first genuine smile crossed her face. She dipped a tiny curtsy. “My household would be honored.”
There was a bark and Vertic sat by the door, mouth open in a half laugh, bushy tail waving languidly.
D’Grove stiffened, then tilted her head. “How did he do that?”
Ilex smiled his most charming smile. “He’s my Fam, and I don’t know. But I believe that everyone is entitled to a few secrets, right?” he asked rhetoric
ally, and stood as Vertic leapt into his arms. Then he let his smile sharpen. “As long as they harm none.” He ’ported to the guardhouse.
A note from Tinne Holly lay on his desk. That young Lord had had several casual conversations with people his own age. As far as he could determine, Sedwy Grove had returned to Druida a couple of days before the first murder had occurred.
Greyku jumped up and down on Trif’s back as she tried to get in one more minute of snuggling in the warm bed before she had to prepare for work.
The kitten screeched and Trif shuddered, reached for a pillow. It wasn’t there.
Come, come, come! shouted Greyku mentally. There is a message for Us! From Citrula about tinting ME! Today! Come. The kitten nipped at Trif’s bare shoulder.
“Why did I ever want a Fam?” Trif mumbled.
You wouldn’t know what to do without Me. Greyku walked down Trif’s spine, and she had to admit it felt good.
She grunted. “Getting up. Waterfall. Breakfast. Work.”
Listen to the scry! More jumping up and down. Lucky it wasn’t on her kidneys.
“All ri’, all right,” Trif replied in a husky morning voice. She rolled over, tossed back the covers, and slid from the bedsponge, straightening her nightgown, pushing one of the straps back up her shoulder.
Scrybowl first!
Trif stumbled into the mainspace. Her dreams had been a noisy confusion of the Maypole, with Ilex dancing with every woman, then disappearing into the shadows with them, while Trif played her fingers bloody. She shuddered. She much preferred erotic dreams of her HeartMate.
Finally, she reached her scrybowl and found the water rippling in a rainbow pattern. She snorted. Artists. She tapped the rim of the bowl to access the cache.
“This is Citrula. I will be in Druida tomorrow, Qwert.”
Today, squealed Greyku, who’d jumped onto the small rectangular scry table and was circling the scrybowl.
“I’ve arranged a room to tint the kitten at D’Ash’s office. I have a preliminary concept that I think will be appropriate. Pastels. See you and the kitten Mid-Afternoon Bell. The cost will be eighty gilt.” Citrula cut the spell with no farewell.
Heart Quest Page 16
