Heart Quest

by Robin D. Owens

  “No, thank you. I still have work to do.”

  Smile strained, T’Willow said, “I’ve cut down the amount of consultations I provide for the time being.” He splashed expensive liquor into a bell glass. “The ladies universally disapproved—and currently disapprove—of my actions.”

  “The ladies?”

  With a gesture of his glass, T’Willow indicated the sprawling Residence around them. “My G’Aunts, aunts, cuzes…Except for me, my Family is female.”

  A little sound of commiseration escaped Ilex before he knew it.

  T’Willow gave him half bow, downed a couple of fingers of brandy.

  Ilex considered the man, spoke slowly. “I noticed that you requested a full report of the murders this morning and the Captain of the Councils sent you one.”

  The GreatLord indicated a small sphere on his desk. A very expensive, very Flaired information orb.

  “So you studied it and know about the murders,” Ilex said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know who your HeartMate is.”

  “Your cuz, Dufleur Thyme.” He lilted her name as if it were the rarest wine to sit upon his tongue.

  “Right. I’ve just come from reviewing a memorysphere of her ordeal. It wasn’t pleasant. If you experienced anything of that event, I need to know. Now.”

  A crack came as T’Willow tightened his fingers so his brandy glass fragmented. It, and the liquid it held, vanished at a Word from him…a curse word. “You’d best find these murderers or I’ll kill them myself for what they did to my lady.” His lips curled in a feral smile. “And others will come with me. T’Ash, T’Holly, perhaps even T’Hawthorn.”

  The Chief had been right. Armed and dangerous First Families Lords and Ladies prowling the streets of Druida. It wasn’t an image Ilex liked. He lifted both hands and sent a wash of calm he didn’t entirely feel himself to the GreatLord. But the use of his Flair for that purpose was so standard that it was second nature.

  T’Willow settled back into the comfortable leather couch, tipped his head back, and breathed evenly, closed his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Let me lead you through it. Dufleur bent down and picked up your HeartGift….”

  “Yes!” Now his smile was pure male triumph. “It had attracted her. I hadn’t dared to hope it would fall into her hands so soon.” He tensed. “It’s somewhere else now, not in the building where she suffered. Oddly enough, it fell away when the fliggers were ’porting her to Landing Park.” He turned his head, and his green eyes gleamed curiosity. “Why Landing Park?”

  “We believe a couple of them live in that neighborhood. Frequent it anyway.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Please don’t investigate on your own. It will only muddle our inquiries.” Ilex didn’t know if his request was futile or not. “Back to your impressions from your HeartGift…” He guided T’Willow through the event, step by step, in excruciating detail. Twice.

  Finally, they were both wrung out and they rested in silence.

  “Have I helped at all?” asked the young man.

  “Yes.”

  The GreatLord waited, but Ilex said nothing more. Then T’Willow frowned. “Whatever report you file tonight, I will get shortly.”

  Ilex gritted his teeth. Working around—it seemed never with—the FirstFamilies was a frustration leading to a major migraine. “Yes,” he said. “You provided me with some vital pieces of information.”

  T’Willow straightened. “Yes?”

  “There are six members of the cult.”

  “I told you that?”

  Ilex stood. “You gave me enough detail for me to deduce it.”

  “What else?”

  “I could dimly see the room. I have enough information on one of the men to add to a poppet I’m building that may actually take me to the murder place.” He shouldn’t have said that. Fierce anger molded T’Willow’s features.

  “My thanks,” said Ilex, then to distract the man: “You now know Dufleur is your HeartMate, and can sense where your HeartGift is. You could retrieve it.”

  Smiling ironically, T’Willow said, “Then drop it conveniently in her path? Give it to you? No. There are Flair rules for such matters and I will follow every last one. I will not call it back.”

  “Even if you suffer?”

  “Suffering’s part of life, and I will conduct my courtship right.”

  “As you wish.” Ilex hesitated. “I don’t think Dufleur is looking for her mate.”

  “Certainly not like Trif was looking for you. It seems neither you nor your cuz wants love and marriage.”

  “Neither of us have seen love in marriage.”

  T’Willow shrugged. “You had a bad Family life. So did I. It happens. My MotherDam, the former GreatLady D’Willow, loathed that her title and estate would pass to a male for the first time in three centuries. She considered it a personal failure. But I remained open to love. Did you and your cuz?”

  Feeling heat around his collar, tinting his cheeks, Ilex said, “There is more to my situation than I prefer to disclose.”

  The man stared at him for a long moment, nodded. “Very well. I am not in your shoes. Merry meet, cuz.”

  Ilex flinched a little. “I’m just beginning to know her and already you want to barge in.”

  T’Willow laughed, slapped Ilex on the shoulder. “My Family is very supportive. I’ll look forward to having a stalwart cuz.”

  “Merry part,” Ilex said.

  “And we will definitely meet again…always merrily, I hope,” T’Willow said.

  Ilex couldn’t resist. “It seems to me that shirt would benefit from some embroidery. I can recommend the shop, Dandelion Silk.”

  The GreatLord’s smile was incandescent. Lady and Lord, what beautiful smiles the children his cuz and this man would have. Smiles powerful in themselves.

  Ilex wasn’t ready to go home. Trif would be there, and he wasn’t sure if they would ignore the enormous chasm about their disagreement on their future together. If she had decided she no longer wanted him. He could delay that pain indefinitely.

  The rest of the day had gone well with his investigation. He’d made additions to the poppet of one of the men, had used his Flair to bespell it as strongly as possible—to indicate where the man had been. Then he’d walked the city. He’d been led to the place where Dufleur had been held and the other girl murdered. There guards had gathered even more evidence.

  Again, he’d reformed the poppets; again, they’d found another murder scene, a room similar in size and shape to the first. Observation there and from the impressions he’d received from the witnesses had given him enough knowledge to figure out the type of place the cultists preferred for their unholy rituals.

  Sawyr had sent guards all over the city to find rectangular rooms of a certain size in old, deserted buildings.

  It had been a good day’s work.

  Leaning back in his chair, Ilex allowed himself to feel the upsurge of hunting anticipation—the strongest and cleanest emotion he’d felt all day. He didn’t dare think about Trif.

  On the other hand, T’Willow’s words about Family and love had prodded a splinter that had been recently embedded in his soul. He needed to reconnect with his brother. And his brother needed to fight for his title of T’Winterberry.

  The night guards had gathered in the common room and Ilex’s office was dim and quiet. Once again, he leaned back; this time, he focused on the bond with his brother. Meyar, he sent down the link. Scry me. Guardhouse. He projected the message three times and almost heard the words echoing in his own head.

  A few minutes later, his steel scrybowl rang loud. “Here,” Ilex said.

  “You called?” Meyar’s expression had a hint of humor in it. Something Ilex was glad to hear.

  “I’d—” He realized he didn’t want to talk to his brother through a bowl full of water. “I want to talk to you. To meet.” The unadorned walls behind Meyar gave no clue to his wherea
bouts. “I can’t come to Gael City. You haven’t left for Brittany yet, have you?”

  “I’m closer than you think. I can see you in half a septhour.”

  Ilex blinked. “Yes?”

  “I moved back to Druida a couple of months ago. Our bond was—unsettled. I couldn’t go south.”

  Ilex’s throat nearly closed with emotion. He cleared it and said, “I’d like to meet you by Father’s memorial.”

  Meyar looked startled, then his face set in grim lines. “If you insist.”

  “I’d prefer it.”

  “See you there.” Meyar ended the scry.

  Greyku was dancing with excitement when Trif entered the apartment after her studies with D’Holly ended. The kitten had left mid-afternoon for another tinting session.

  Look at Me, look at Me, look at Me now!

  Trif studied her. She couldn’t see anything different and didn’t want to disappoint her Fam. “You look wonderful.”

  Greyku pranced back and forth, beaming. It is best when it is dark. I made the windows in the bedroom dark, let’s go in there!

  A frisson ran up Trif ’s spine as she imagined how Greyku would have made the bedroom dark. She hoped the drapes her aunts had made her didn’t have long claw marks or pulled threads. Still, she followed Greyku into the room. The drapes looked fine; the tie-backs lay on the floor, the tassels suspiciously tattered—or chewed. That wasn’t too bad.

  Shut the door!

  Trif looked down indulgently at her young cat, then shut the door.

  Eyes!

  She shrieked. Fell back against the door, hand to her throat.

  Huge eyes glowed at her.

  Wonderful fun. “Yessss!” said Greyku. Citrula painted some of the very tips of My coat in a different pattern. Watch this!

  Swallowing hard, Trif stared at the luminescent eyes—whites, bright blue pupils with a touch of red in the center, and black kohl-like lines outlining them. The muscles of Greyku’s side tensed and relaxed as she jumped to the bureau, making the eyes ripple.

  Trif shuddered.

  Greyku lay down atop the chest of drawers and huge eyes stared down at Trif, humanlike, but with no expression. Somehow, they looked three-dimensional too. Layered painting on the fur.

  And Citrula said if I moved like this—

  The eyes blinked. Opened slowly again. Stared.

  Trif pressed hard against the door. The eyes were completely eerie.

  Magnificent, aren’t I?! Greyku purred.

  “Oh, always,” Trif said faintly, then, “Lights on!” She sighed in relief to see her small cat lying on her bureau, tinted much like she had been this morning.

  Greyku looked along her side and sniffed. It doesn’t look the same in the light.

  “Amazing,” Trif said, and snicked the door latch open.

  Wait! It is different on the other side of me!

  “The…the other side?”

  Reversing herself, Greyku demanded, Turn off the light again.

  Goddess preserve her. Trif gathered her nerve, then banished the light. Round, red, menacing eyes glared at her with split silver pupils. She made a stifled noise, then managed. “Lights on!”

  I am very beautiful.

  Trif cleared her throat. “Is this the last of the tinting?”

  Yes, We are done now. I wanted More. I am glad you gave Me More.

  “What did the other Fams think of it?”

  I scared Zanth-sire. He left in the middle, then came back! He said he was not frightened, but he jumped and his claws extended and tail went fat. She grinned. Drina said it was unusual and Samba was most impressed. Doggie Primrose piddled on the rug.

  “Sounds like Danith D’Ash had a wonderful time,” Trif muttered. “How long is this new tinting going to last?”

  Baby Nuin laughed and laughed and clapped his hands and said “Kitty!”

  “I’m sure Danith was very proud.”

  T’Ash was impressed too. Looked Me over top to tail.

  “Checking how Citrula tinted you, no doubt.”

  “Yesss.”

  “How long is this new tinting going to last?” Trif repeated, a little less casually.

  I am bespelled. Three quarters of a year.

  “Oh, fun.”

  “Yesss.” More is very good.

  She’d come to think so, but now doubted. Clearing her throat, she said. “In fact, you are so impressive, I’d like to put a dim-fur spell on you.” She patted her heart. “So you don’t keep scaring me.”

  Greyku sniffed, considered. Very well. When I am with you.

  The kitten hopped from the dresser to the bed, then to the floor, bouncing all the way. Sire Zanth is so struck with my tinting, he is taking Me hunting with him tonight.

  That stopped Trif. “You’ll be careful?”

  Very careful. And I can teleport too. We learned together and We are good.

  “Very well.”

  Maybe Sire and I will let Vertic fox come too.

  Trif considered that, shook her head. “I really can’t imagine him appreciating your new tint.”

  Sometimes he is no fun, Greyku agreed.

  And sometimes Ilex was too serious also. Their disagreement wasn’t something to be taken lightly, but they’d find a way around it. There must be some way to fight the vision. She wouldn’t accept his death, would work hard to prevent it.

  As for tonight…Trif grinned. She wanted more, and she’d make sure he had fun tonight.

  Twenty-three

  Ilex reached the overgrown area in the far corner of the Winterberry grassyard before his brother. Twinmoons were almost full, and with their fullness would come the holiday of Samhain and New Year’s, the first month of Birch. He knew in his bones the cult would demand a sacrifice, and waited impatiently for Tinne to get back to him with the name of a Noble who might be at risk. Very bad, but thank the Lady and Lord that Trif was too “common” for the cult. They’d want someone of title—and even greater Flair.

  He found himself pacing the circular memorial grove, and as he walked, tending it. With ancient spells he scythed the long dead-brown weeds until they lay smooth, revealing the last green color of lower, thicker grass. It was a soothing process that showed immediate and positive results. Something he definitely needed in his life right now.

  Meyar appeared and without a word, matched his stride, matched his Flair, and they tidied the memorials together—sending gentle cleansing Flair up the stone plinths, darkening the color of tinted and chiseled letters.

  They stopped at their father’s cubic stone.

  “He was a good man,” Meyar said.

  “Yes.”

  “Unlike Mother.” There was bitterness in his voice.

  “true.”

  Meyar glanced at the yellow-lit windows of the Residence, then away. “I sensed when you visited her, came back here.”

  “Did you?”

  “Oh, yes. Turmoil due to Family problems is so easy to recognize.”

  They did another circuit of the grove.

  “What do you want of me?” asked Meyar.

  “Why did you leave? Give up on the estate?”

  “It would have taken a major legal battle to wrest it from her clawed hands.”

  “You have the name, the Flair.”

  “The estate didn’t have the gilt to survive a fight like that. As for the rest, my other concerns weren’t major. I’ve found that major catastrophes are sometimes easier to deal with than minor, day-to-day life problems that nag you and drag you down. And she was always good at that—belittling us, pecking at us to do as she wanted, never accepting our decisions. Even if I had won, she wouldn’t move out, and there’s nowhere I could send her. This is it.” He spread his arms wide. “The ancestral Winterberry estate—a large grassyard and townhouse near Landing Park.”

  “Not too shabby a location,” Ilex said.

  “But all we have. She’d have lived with me and would have nagged at me every day about every fliggering thing and I�
�d have killed her. One of us had to go.” He slanted Ilex a look. “In fact, both you and I had to go. Maybe if we’d been girls…but not men she couldn’t boss around, manipulate. So I went, and left Druida too.”

  “You’re back.”

  “So I am. For the moment.”

  “Don’t give up on us.”

  Meyar whirled, his mouth worked a moment; then he said, “It’s too late for me and her.”

  “And us?”

  “I won’t give up on you.” His lips flattened. “You are…not calm and steady as I’ve sensed for so long.” He shrugged. “I know you’ve met your HeartMate.” For a brief moment, their eyes met before Meyar looked away. “I remember that nightmare of death that you had in childhood.” He shivered. “I never envied you that touch of Flair you got from Father-Dam’s Family. I wanted—to be near,” he mumbled.

  “Thank you. Do you stay?”

  Meyar didn’t answer for a long moment, then stated, “I’d like a good wife.”

  “You had a good wife.”

  He laughed harshly. “I was too young to know it then and she left me. We had a small Flair bond. I knew when she died several years ago. But she gave me a fine son.” Again, his gaze slid in Ilex’s direction. “I don’t have a HeartMate in this life and whatever you may say, I’d want one. Everyone wants a HeartMate. But I’d settle for a good woman, a good marriage, and there’s more chance of finding that here in Druida.”

  Something about his brother’s speech didn’t ring quite true, but Ilex couldn’t discern what it was, and wouldn’t probe.

  “I do want something of you,” Ilex said. “I want you to fight for your heritage. I want you to reclaim the estate and the title. I want it to be respected again.”

  Meyar just stared at him, hands jammed in Commoner trous pockets. He gazed up at the house. “I don’t know if I have the Flair or energy to fight for that. Or the gilt to restore the place.”

  “I’ll help. She recently siphoned off my savings as fee for an amulet for my lady, so there’s gilt in the household account.”

  Shaking his head, Meyar muttered, “More fool you.”

  In a low tone, Ilex said, “The Residence is barely alive.”

  His brother flinched.