It took only a few more moments to fry the small motes of spores in the rest of the house. He did a thorough job, though he was impatient to get back to Bonar, and Blush.
But as soon as he arrived at the HealingHall—by glider since it didn’t take as much energy as teleporting—Blush put the whole matter of his grumpy G’Uncle Bonar in Dri’s hands to return to the cottage and supervise an inspection.
Dri saw his G’Uncle examined, Healed, and admitted overnight for observation before Dri returned to find Blush hard at work.
The door to the cottage was open and she stood with a young priestess half their age. Dri watched as a stack of nicely folded clothes, appearing new—tunics, trous, shirts—was translocated from the house to the front sidewalk. The pile was as high as Blush’s chin. She placed her hands atop the clothes, murmured a few Words, and drifts of dust fell, sinking to the ground or whisked away by the small breeze.
“Nothing here but clothes and they’re now cleansed,” Blush said with satisfaction.
The priestess raised her hands, palm out. “I agree. Nothing resonates of strong history or emotions as it would if a Family heirloom was involved.” She pulled a pad and a writestick from her sleeve pocket. Her lips moved as she counted the items. “The temple will give you the proceeds from our sale, less our percentage.”
“Thank you,” Blush said.
The clothes pile disappeared—translocated to the priestess’s temple—and another stack, nearly identical except for the colors, settled onto the sidewalk.
Dri strode forward. “You’re sure you didn’t get rid of the Paris item?”
The priestess jolted; Blush turned and stared at him. “Yes, I am, and Priestess Bursa of Buckthorn Temple is skilled in antique resonance, and has concurred with all my decisions.”
“All?” How much had they cleared? He stalked past them into the front room of the cottage and was surprised and disappointed. For a moment he’d dreaded and hoped that a great deal of the house had been cleared. Instead about three layers on the left had been cleaned out . . . where a huge old breakfront cabinet stood.
Blush joined him. “As you can see, we’ve been careful.” She stared at him in pointed silence. “And we’re going on the assumption that your Paris Family item was not in Bonar’s bedroom.”
She was mad at him for questioning her expertise.
“Let’s get this thing gone.” He studied the cabinet.
Her brows went up. “I thought that you—or Bonar—would want to keep it.”
The wood was stained, had warped doors, even sat crooked. “Why would we want the thing?”
Blush waved at the cabinet. “It’s a good, solid piece with charm and only has minor problems.”
“Looks like it’s ready for splinters to me.” Then he smiled, flipped out his hands, made the sound of fire. “I can make it go whoosh!”
“You want it or not?” she asked.
“We’ll move it.” He stared at the space, the light, the proportions. He took her hand, enjoying the jolt of desire, and walked from the room into the sunshine. There he took deep breaths. Squeezing her hand, he said, “The cottage already seems better. Did you do something?”
She shrugged. “A few minor housekeeping spells.”
“Like?”
“A light dust suction spell that couldn’t harm anything.” She frowned at the stack of clothes still on the sidewalk. “An air-freshening spell. It will be better when we reach the walls and can open the windows.” She led him to a level place in the front yard. “We can translocate the cabinet here.”
With a glance, she brought the younger woman to them. “Link hands and visualize the breakfront.”
They did and a connection formed between the three of them. Dri had the best image of the cabinet and the spatial dimensions. Mentally he sent the women his image and they refined theirs to match his. He counted down, “On three. One, Arbusca. Two, Willow girl. Three!”
He put some Flair magic energy into moving the thing. Discovered that the priestess might be good at item verification, but Blush had been doing all the heavy lifting. Before his short grunt escaped his mouth, the cabinet was in the yard.
Blush dropped his hands, stepped to the piece, and put her palms on it, said a short chant, and the breakfront turned into a whole and gleaming piece of fine furniture.
Dri’s gasp matched the priestess’s.
Blush leaned against the sturdy cabinet, no color in her cheeks.
“You’re doing too much.” He reached for her, but she levered herself up.
“I know my limits,” she said, a little breathless.
“Your limits helping me are not the limits your mother demanded.”
He took her hands and clamped his fingers tighter when she tried to pull them away, then he sent her some strength and energy.
Blush sighed, leaned against him. When her cheeks pinkened, she stood straight again.
The priestess put her hands in her opposite sleeves and her face took on that fake serene expression that counselors use when giving advice.
“You two must deal with your anger before it explodes.”
“We’re working on it,” Dri said.
“Consider releasing such combustion in the bedroom,” the priestess said.
Dri liked her a lot more. “My idea exactly.”
“We’ve only known each other two days!” Blush sounded shocked, but not quite as much as he thought she should.
The priestess’s eyes widened. “I never would have guessed that. You work together so well. Your link is strong and far more open than most people who’ve just met.”
Dri caught Blush’s hands in his own. “We’ve been HeartMates for a long time, if not together.”
Mouth turning down, the priestess said, “There’s still anger. I can contact a superior who will craft a forgiveness ceremony for you.”
Blush drew her hands away. “Let’s just get this job done.” She turned and walked back into the house.
Dri said, “Thanks for the offer, maybe later.”
Though Dri tried to pace himself and the others, they were all exhausted by the time MidAfternoonBell rang and one side of the front room was clear. Blush wasn’t admitting she was weary, and it certainly didn’t show on her the way it did in the clothes that stuck to his body with sweat or the priestess’s damp face.
Soon the priestess left and he and Blush lay under a few budding birches in the front grassyard.
“How did you think you could clear something like this out in two days?” he asked.
She sat straight. “I can do it.”
“You could do it if you had the staff you’re used to, but not by yourself.”
Her lips compressed, then she nodded. “It’s not the staff, it’s the other resources. I’m used to more energy being invested in a house, and the help of an intelligent Residence.” There was a catch in her voice.
“You don’t have to impress me, Blush. You already have my greatest admiration. You don’t have to keep proving yourself.”
She looked startled.
“I sure don’t want to have to prove myself to you every day.” He took a big breath. “And since we’re on this topic, maybe we ought to talk about that anger thing again.”
Arbusca stared at him. It had been an emotional day and she’d nearly worn herself out on his and his G’Uncle’s behalf—and had shoved the anger issue out of her head. She didn’t want to consider the matter. “You think this can be resolved by talking?”
His grin was fast. “Nah, I think you think that. Me, I’d rather get rid of the anger in bed.”
She choked.
“I figure it could take lots of time—in bed—to work through our anger.” He smiled that lopsided smile that reached inside her and feathered against all her deepest dreams of love.
“We’ve got to overcome these old negative feelings to move on. Redeem ourselves in each other’s eyes,” he said.
She was shocked at his language. It sounded too femi
nine. “Who have you been speaking to?”
He grimaced. “I recalled some time I spent with a counselor years ago.” Then he sent her a hopeful look. “But I think that if we just spend time together, we’ll know each other better and the negative feelings will fade.”
“Especially if we spend time together in bed.”
“Exactly!” He winked. “I’m ready to give it my all.”
She refrained from looking down at his trous. “I’m sure you are.”
“Yes. Are you following me?”
“I’m understanding you clearly, but I won’t be following you . . . to your bedroom or anywhere else.”
“Not ready to talk or love, eh?”
“It’s been a demanding day.”
His expression shifted and he rose from the ground smoothly. “I don’t want to be demanding, Blush. I figure you’ve had enough of that in your life.” He was standing very close, his aura impinging on hers, serious now. “I liked the kiss you gave me earlier.”
He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his own, his eyes wide and looking into hers. All of her warmed. Blushed. He was right. With him she was Blush Willow.
Then he stepped back. “Tomorrow, Blush.” He grinned. “Another day of learning each other.”
She nodded, and with the last of her energy, she teleported home to her own waterfall room, quivering with need.
His small bedroom was sterile, and the smell of fire haunted his dreams. Fire and destruction was his business, but occasionally the odor shot him back into the past and the worst moment of his life.
“My daughter is not your HeartMate,” the heavy old woman with calculating eyes and mean smile that showed sharp teeth repeated for the third time.
He knew she lied. And maybe she knew he knew and that pleased her even more.
“My HeartMate is in this Residence,” he said, his voice not as strong as it should have been for the man he thought he was at twentyone.
But the previous and following moments stripped him of any pride, any belief that he was a man.
“You would do well to forget that. Forever.” The woman leaned forward. “You are close to your father and brother, aren’t you? That stupid G’Uncle of yours?”
He sat in wretched silence. Almost too petrified to answer as image after image of what a powerful woman like she could do—ruin them.
Kill them and get away with it.
Then she nodded and settled back into the comfortchair built for her, still smiling. She flicked her fingers at him. “Go. And don’t return.”
He’d taken the ring that he’d had made for Blush from his pocket and put it on a small, fancy table. The ring gleamed as if it held all the hope he’d felt. Gone now.
He’d left, gone all the way to the southern continent, where he tried to prove to himself and everyone else he met that he was a man, and strove to forget he had a HeartMate.
She dreamt of a bad moment . . . one of a chain of memories— nightmares—that crept into her sleep and stole her peace.
Her mother surged into the room, beautifully dressed in an embroidered gown that would have fed a Downwind slum family for a year.
She was smiling in a way that made Arbusca straighten to perfect immobility and shiver inside.
“Arbusca, I’ve concluded negotiations with the Fumitory Family. You’ll wed the younger son in three months.”
Despite herself, Arbusca reeled back, had to set her hand on a paneled wall. The younger Fumitory was a weak man. He’d live here, in the Willow Residence, under Arbusca’s mother’s rule. “No!” she cried.
Her mother slapped her hard.
“I have a HeartMate,” Arbusca whispered.
D’Willow snorted. “He’s gone. Why would he care to claim such a puny thing as you? Your only value is to me.”
Arbusca knew that was wrong, but the slap had not been the first to pummel self-doubt into her.
Her mother’s smile widened. “Gone far out of Druida City into the wilds, and you don’t have the guts to follow? If you’re lucky, you’ll give me a female heir for the title. We’ll sign the marriage contract this afternoon after luncheon. Go ensure that the food will be good.”
Arbusca jolted from sleep to find the gray light of predawn seeping into the window. Her arms were clamped around a soft pillow and her nightgown stuck to her from fear-sweat. She wished with all her heart that her dreams would have been shared erotic ones with Dri. She panted and shoved the pillow away, rose, and stripped linens from the bedsponge and placed them in the cleanser, remade the bed.
But the dream could have been worse. She could have experienced that time when she’d found Dri’s ring and realized what her mother had done. That time when she’d nearly killed her mother . . . and the consequences of that action.
In actuality, her marriage had been bland, and Parv Fumitory had given Arbusca the blessing of her life, her son. Who now slept with his own HeartMate in the opposite wing.
With dawn came a new day. One she could spend again with Dri. “Blush,” she whispered, trying out the name of her girlhood, feeling that young again. “I’m Blush Willow.” Plumping the pillows, she smiled. “And someday I’ll be Blush Paris.” In the waterfall room, she washed away the lingering failure that coated her, as she had for years.
A few minutes later she checked the nicely rope-sized link between herself and Dri. He was awake.
Blush? It’s not quite dawn.
I’m surprised you’re up, she said.
Damn dreams. I don’t suppose you’d like a little mental sexual stimulation?
No.
Didn’t think so, he said. I can wait. Barely. But I will, until you’re ready.
Warmth filled her. Thank you. Why don’t you contact the HealingHall and see if your G’Uncle can be moved?
It’s not even dawn, Dri repeated.
Don’t often work in the dark?
Demolishing something? Nope, not likely if I want to make sure nothing is around to be harmed. He sighed. We’ll do it your way. No bedsponge or anything else in Bonar’s bedroom though.
You leave the furnishing to me. I deduced his tastes.
You’re a wonder. We can sell some paintings to pay for the furnishings.
She hesitated.
You sell them! We don’t need any Willow castoffs.
Does your Family have any old furniture in storage? she asked.
My father wouldn’t give Bonar a stick.
All right. I’ll get some good, solid furniture from the Clovers. She had plenty of money; she’d buy the summer meadow. It was worth a bedroom set. Set some paintings aside for me to take to the Enlii Art Gallery.
She sensed Dri whistle.
Best gallery in the city. Bonar won’t like it, but he’s well enough that I can be tough with him. He won’t thank you, but I will.
You’re welcome. She was smug with the satisfaction of helping. I’ll meet you later.
Yeah, later, lovely Blush.
The whole conversation gave her flushes and chills. She’d dreamt of a bad time and sensed he had, too. Their sleep wouldn’t be good—the erotic dreams wouldn’t come; they couldn’t HeartBond during loving—until they’d settled the issues between them.
By the time she teleported to Bonar’s house, the furniture had already arrived, along with the old man, Mel, and Dri. They were in the bedroom.
Bonar, his linens, and his nightrobe appeared clean, even though his blond hair stuck out.
“So my prodigal nephy has returned.” An old-man snort bounced off the walls. With a curled lip, Bonar looked down at Mel. “And my FamDog.”
Mel smiled ingratiatingly, stood on his hind paws, and licked Bonar’s hand. You are much your old self. Much!
The elder scrubbed the dog’s head a little too hard, then shot a sneering gaze at Blush. “So you’re the gal who’s HeartMate to my boy.”
“That’s right,” she replied. She couldn’t help it, a couple of watercolors on the wall—floral bouquet studies—were cro
oked, and she straightened them.
“Keep your fingers off my work!” Bonar said.
“You have a wonderful talent,” she said.
“Good enough,” he grunted. “You’re daughter of that vicious bitch, Saille D’Willow.”
Blush turned around slowly, answered even more carefully as she met the man’s gleeful eyes. “You may keep my mother out of any conversation. I will have respect from you.” She stared at him until he shifted, dropped his glare.
“You got it,” he mumbled. “Knew your MotherDam, your mother’s mother; now she was a good woman. Maybe you take after her.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“But your mother didn’t treat my boy right, and neither did you. She threatened him and you let her do it. You didn’t fight for him. You didn’t break away from her. Showed no spine until your own boy came back.”
“I beg your pardon—”
“You should.”
“G’Uncle!” Dri protested.
“Dri, don’t you tell me you don’t think the same thing,” Bonar shot out, complete with spittle.
Mel growled.
“Dri and you aren’t the only ones who were disappointed in this whole matter,” Blush said.
“Humph. Looks like you’re mad at my boy, too. Both of you angry. That’s what comes of not claiming your HeartMate when you find him.” He glanced at Dri. “Or when you find her. Despite everything. Couple of twits. Get out of my sight.” He pulled the covers up to his chin.
“Blush came to help, and you try to alienate her so she won’t stay,” Dri said.
“Oh, got me all figured out, do you, boy?” Bonar still didn’t look at them. “I don’t have the thing.”
Blush met Dri’s eyes. “The what?”
“The whatever the Paris Family wants,” Bonar said slyly.
“Who could ever tell?” Blush said with a sniff like one of the cats would make. “All this worthless stuff.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come.
Dri held the door open for her. The stiff slant of his shoulders showed the old man had stirred up Dri’s anger.
Hers had revived, too.
“He riled us up deliberately,” Dri said.
“Yes.”
Dri hunkered into his balance, his jaw flexed. “So what are we going to do about it? The longer we hold this anger between us, the more it can poison us. And the more people can manipulate us.”
Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta Page 17
