“Ah, cat-boy, I know.” She smiled. “Clever kitty, to divert me. Will you tell me more about the cards?”
“If you tell me more about the dream.”
“We were punished for it.”
“You what?” John caught her hands and drew her closer.
“Hari wore a collar. The starlord was joined to it. When we disobeyed, or just when we upset him—and sometimes it didn’t take much—Hari was subjected to agony, like you wouldn’t believe. I shared it on occasion, when he couldn’t shield it from me.”
“I’ve heard about those collars. Efficient. Deadly. It was said that they could inhibit morphing.”
“Yes, all that and more. Hari tried many times. I know for a shifter to be denied morphing, it’s akin to death.” She shivered. “Trust me, you can never know the degree of pain the collar could inflict. Like stripping every nerve raw and then prodding it with electricity. We were punished for the tarot dream.”
“Why? Weren’t your dreams there for the monster to enjoy?”
“He said the…” Sam swallowed down as panic welled up. Panic from the lesson born of pain. “He said the knowledge was forbidden. The starlord tore the cards to shreds and demanded we forget. I refused. Hari got fried and I don’t recall much else after…”
“Except you remember the cards.”
“I’ve been seeing some, yes, when I meditate in the bowl. How many cards in a Chizan tarot?”
John chuckled. “Sixty-nine.”
“What? Typical!”
“Just teasing, kitten. Like the human tarot, there are seventy-eight cards.” He paused, studying her. “They’re important to you?”
“Yes, but I don’t know why. That prison dream-sequence just came out of the blue, and the cards. You said it was Hari’s interest?”
“More than interest. He is…was…a fer-het-sar.”
“A what?”
“It’s difficult to translate. Fer-het-sar means a diviner, but so much more than a simple fortune-teller.”
“And the writing in the border looks familiar, sorta like Egyptian hieratic script, but more geometric.” She smiled. “I can read hieroglyphs and hieratic, but not this… I almost understand, kinda like an echo. Sorry, I’m not making much sense.”
“I feel the same way, kitten. I should know the writing, but I don’t.”
“I’ve been researching, your library is amazing—” On her exploration of the house, she discovered that John’s library contained extensive hardback editions, many of them antique twentieth century sitting alongside modern digital recordings on every subject imaginable.
“Our library, kitten. All I have is yours! And if you want more, then just order it through the dispenser.”
“You’re spoiling me.”
“Not enough.” He looked again at the sketch. “This card is one of the Major Arcana. The Emperor. The script around it…”
“I just made it up.”
“No you didn’t, kitten. It’s Chizanii, very old, arcane.”
“It is?” Sam lifted her gaze to his. “This was one of the cards I remember from the dream. What does it mean?”
“Few can truly read the cards. Hari most certainly, though he never told me what the writing meant. I suspect incantations. He probably gifted you the cards during the dream sequence. It’s a special bequest, unheard of for an off-worlder.”
“He gave me many gifts.” Sam touched the paper. “Then, I’ll re-make the tarot deck, for Hari.”
John nodded. “But you’ll have to go to Chizan for research. My father’s library is extensive. He’ll be only too pleased to show you. The pictures and the writing must go together for the cards to work.”
“Spells and hocus-pocus?”
“Not so much the hokum, kitten. Magic exists, you just have to know how to manipulate the ether. Magic and technology are indistinguishable on many worlds. Chizan was a hot bed of wizardry, at least during the time of the daman-san, provided it was the male using the magic. If women did so—”
“They were called witches and not suffered to live. I know the drill. You had your own equivalent of Salem?”
“Yes,” John whispered, avoiding her gaze. “Yes, we had the burnings for the women unfortunate enough to be born fer-haet-sarina. The female diviner, rarest of the rare.”
Sam rubbed her temples. Something niggled, pricked her consciousness, but remained out of reach, out of knowing. “Just when I think I’m beginning to understand, you throw me off center with all this talk of magic and stuff. I’m getting a headache.”
“When we return to Chizan for the child’s naming ceremony, I’ll show you the archives and my father’ll explain more, answer your questions. You’ve the right to know.”
“Okay, you’re on. Now, what’s this about another ceremony?” Sam rolled her eyes.
“Kinda like a christening, but so much more. A naming ceremony is very special. Almost as important as the mutatis ritual.”
“And that party lasted for a week. Feegling hell!”
Sam sighed and lifted the tarot design: it was the king on his throne, the card she associated with Harimal. “Saphyna will sing star songs and she will know the meaning of the cards, she… Feegle it!” Images, sensations raced through her mind, so fast she could not capture any, save one—the name. Her daughter’s name. Saphyna. Sam looked up at John and saw his smile.
“Yes, kitten. You give our daughter her felinus name and you gift her with a mother’s prophecy. The star-singer. It’s the felinus way.”
Sam ran a hand through her hair. “Stars! You gonna explain all this to me? Tonight?”
“Mm.”
“You promise?” She ran her nail over his gut, tweaking the mutatis jewel.
He smiled gently. “I might be persuaded.”
“How might I persuade?”
“Use your imagination, kitten-mine. Or just continue the path of your nail, lower, ah…lower.” He sucked in his breath.
“Persuaded?”
“Oh, yeah!” He paused. “Except it’s not night time.”
“It is on Chizan.” Sam glanced at the chronometer on the wall. In their offices, they each had two clocks, one for earth-time, the other for Chizan. “It’s just near midnight.”
“The witching hour.”
“Yes.”
John leaned into her. “You a witch, kitten?”
“Come to bed and see.”
“Ah…I can’t.”
“You…what?”
John set her carefully back on her heels. “I’ve got work to do. Emails. Starwatch business.”
Sam gaped.
“Sorry, kitten. I have to. We’re getting prepared for the first pre-trial conference against GTC.” He handed her the sketch. “Put your mind and energy to better use and make a card. Choose any card and I’ll explain it tonight.”
“You promise?”
He touched the tip of her nose with his and purred. “Prrrrrromise.”
Sam watched, holding her breath as John turned on his heel and strode from the room, the sarong flapping around his ankles, the fabric stretched tight across his ass.
Stars, that garment was indecent. She turned to her painting, but her fingers shook so much she couldn’t hold the feegling brush.
Her mind whirled with thoughts, with possibilities and with tarot card designs—designs that Harimal had implanted which made little sense to her, but to a Chizan diviner, would be only too familiar. Important. If Hari had shared his secret with her, she must re-create the cards, no matter how long it took.
She rubbed a hand over her face. The incongruity overwhelmed her—the arcane and the modern existing side by side on Chizan: spaceships and crystals, digital books and tarot decks. The complexities and subtleties of the felinus world, mirroring the complexities and subtleties of their nature. Such was the spirit of the cat—textured and as enigmatic as the Sphinx—to outsiders.
She sucked in her breath. But I am not an outsider! Chizan fire runs in my veins. I carry a f
elinus child.
Yet, even so, human warred with felinus. Is this how John felt, balancing between both worlds? But he was more felinus than human—he had always been so.
And where did she fit in the scheme of things?
Once before, she had questioned her loyalties, her human-ness, when John had been ill with the mutatis fever; when she had soothed Taren; when the three of them had loved one another to comfort as much as to love. She had chosen her path, that day, yet soon after that path, her resolution had been torn asunder by the starlord…
There was only one place where she could find peace, perhaps answers. Sam retreated to the gold fish bowl and lay down on the thick mat, calming herself, breathing, ready for the meditation.
In the center of the room the two Chizan crystals glowed with their own life, but now their color was more vibrant.
Days before, John had explained that they were growing, a fraction each year and in the future they would meet in the middle, like stalactites and stalagmites in a cave.
Again, as she studied the crystals her memory stirred of the dream-cave, with warrior-Hari, whom she named Reamon. Instead of retreating from it, she held it fast, analyzing.
When she had first entered the bowl, weeks ago, the crystal pendant around her neck had chimed to the larger crystals. Gradually she had found sanctuary in the gold fish bowl. Now, weeks later, that feeling of security deepened.
As she puzzled over it, she sensed a shift within her, shadows parting, like a veil. Not enough, not nearly enough, but it was better than the tight, desperate feeling that had previously dominated her. She stretched, mentally and physically and breathed deeply, a new breath, for a new beginning.
Slowly, the image of the Emperor-Magician on the tarot deck formed in her mind. Emperor. Magician. Diviner. What had John called it? Fer-het-sar. She concentrated on the card and the border with its unknown script glowed. She saw Harimal in her mind’s eye and smiled. The Emperor on his throne became Harimal.
Other images of Hari layered over the Emperor, foremost the singer sitting on his cushions, at the Rendezvous Bar, his voice evoking the deepest pleasure. She saw his smile, remembered his gentleness, his intensity, his protectiveness of his family.
The dream-memories raced through her mind. Yes, the horror was there, but now stronger were the images of herself and Harimal. She had known him in all ways, perhaps better than any other living creature. Harimal had offered her his heart and soul, his inner fears and desires—as much as he could to a woman who was not his mate. There was more within Harimal, but that was secret, to be shared only with his woman: his essence—his everything.
Hari was dead.
But his songs, his memory lived on within her. His cards. His divination. His gifts. These she would remember—the good times and the bad… because in the bad, they had shared secrets and laughter and other things…
She let the prison-time experiences wash over her, through her. She cried, she smiled. She laughed. She set the horror aside. She slept. She dreamed.
She saw John as his cat-self, stretched full length on their bed, his tail swishing back and forth across the silk. The sound reminded her of the times when his fingers swept over her skin, whispering… Ah! The delicious memory.
He rested his large, beautiful head on his paws, his golden eyes narrowed. His black tufted ears twitched back and forth. He growled and eased from the bed, low to the ground. Stalking. What was he chasing? What…ah should she re-phrase that to who? He lifted his nose, scenting, eyes sparking. Sharille!
Sam started awake at the sound of her name, smelling felinus scent all over her. Had he been with her, sharing her dreams? She quashed the thought. John would not intrude. He had promised her the time she needed and she knew he would not break that vow.
But he was intent on mischief. He thought he had been clever, but not clever enough, kitty-cat.
Initially, she had been bewildered. Why did she tremble when he was nearby? Why did she feel that deep intense ache, the frustration that came with long sexual abstinence?
The answer hit her that day on the patio, when she had smelled his pheromones. He had said no and walked away, leaving her hot and bothered.
He was deliberately seducing her, being the cat and plying his scent.
He wanted her and she wanted him.
So why all these games?
Because she retreated from the one thing they both desired. The soul-touch, the schahor. In her denial, she hurt herself and she hurt him.
John was fighting back in the only way he could—by seducing her, by convincing her she had nothing to fear.
Tonight would see an end of it—for good or bad. She had to face her demons. She would reveal all, no matter what he asked, and hold nothing back.
The decision left her cold and scared, her mind filling with those terrible what if scenarios…
There is no such thing in the felinus world, kitten, no what if, or if only—just what might be.
Harimal’s voice reverberated in her mind. Had Hari said that to her? Hadn’t John, also?
Cards from the Chizan tarot flashed before her eyes, an invisible hand shuffling the deck. One flicked over, presenting its face.
Fata Morgana: the Woman of Flowers—she was fey, the woman of destiny, the witch… The fer-haet-sarina. What had John said?—the rarest of the rare, the female diviner.
Sam gasped. She had been the witch in the dream-world. Was this card a facet of her personality, now, in the real world? Had Harimal gifted more to her than the understanding of the cards? Had he given her hidden knowledge to utilize the cards, as he?
Didn’t her felinus name mean garden and where else would the woman of flowers be, but in a garden?
She was Sharille, but she was also Samantha. Which woman would gain ascendancy? Would fear prevail or love?
Looking at the card, she had her answers. If she dared.
This was a sign, the mystical power of the cards. Hari’s gift. Had he known she would need the magic to survive? In all probability.
She peered closer at the image and saw at the woman’s feet a pestle and mortar, and in it was blue paint and a brush. Blue was the symbol of every level of starlight. No mere chance that!
The brush lifted and of its own accord proceeded to write symbols around the border of the card. Her sprit resonated with the invocation of the spell. A lover’s spell.
No power in the universe comes between a cat and his woman. No power in the universe comes between a woman and her cat. She’d have to be dumb not to understand the message. Dumb I ain’t.
So be it!
The image dissolved and Sam blinked, brought herself to the present.
As she gripped her crystal pendant tighter in her right hand, warmth suffused her body along with the familiar chiming.
Tonight would see an end of this nightmare; all her nightmares. Tonight it would be she doing the explaining, not John.
He had told her to design a card and he would try and explain the symbology. No, there’d be no card tonight. Tonight she would be the Woman of Flowers. The witch.
No power in the universe would come between a woman and her cat—if it did, then the starlord would have won.
“No feegling way,” Sam whispered.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Sam asked, eyeing the plasti-shield.
“Kitten, this roof takes the weight of an air shuttle, when I don’t travel by sea. I don’t think you weigh close to a shuttle.”
“Not yet anyway.”
Smiling, he held out his hand and led her over the glass roof to the rug and the hamper he had packed. A thermal shield shimmered around the bottles of ginger beer.
With cushions around them they sat cross-legged on a rug spread over part of the roof. John opened a stubbie of ginger beer for each of them. He poured her a glass and handed it to her. They toasted.
“Chjival’i,” John whispered.
“To home and to us.” She smiled at John’s grimace. “I know human speak
is no match for felinus, sorry for the bad translation.”
He inclined his head. “Apology accepted, human.”
She let that pass. John was in one of those moods and when a cat played, he played hard. And rarely fair.
Sam glanced up at the night sky. “Show me Chizan.”
John crawled forward and sat behind her, drawing her back against himself. He lifted her chin with his palm, directing her gaze. “There, five degrees past Orion. Chizan.”
As she watched, her hair tickled his cheek. He stroked her bare shoulder, and planted a kiss on her skin.
“You raided my wardrobe, kitten. You’re wearing my favorite sarong.”
“Yep, but I’m not wearing it around my hips, like you do.”
He laughed. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Sam smiled to herself at his casual denial. Oh yes, he had noticed. Capital ‘N’—Noticed! She’d made damn sure. She had tied it on her right shoulder, and in so doing, the fabric molded her curves. The spark in his eyes when she had emerged from the dressing room had been enough for her to know how wired he was. And now, his hand stroking her arm was hot and trembling. Seduction, Kuno, is a two-edged blade. Every assassin knew that and Taren had trained her well.
“Oh, look!” Sam cried. “A shooting star.”
“You can see a lot of them at night around here. Make a wish.” The silence stretched between them. “What did you wish?”
“If I tell you, Kuno, it won’t come true.”
“That’s a human superstition. Felinus believe that a shooting star is a powerful portent and it should be shared with the closest friends.”
Sam frowned, her heart beating furiously. Am I human or am I felinus? The time had come for her decision. As if she could ever revert to human. Too many stars had crossed her path.
“Starlight, starbright, I wonder where the cat is tonight.” She sniffed back a tear. “Hari told me that. Is there an afterlife, do you think?”
“The greatest mystics in the universe believe so.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “But do you?”
“Yes, kitten. It wouldn’t make much sense to me to live and die and that’s it. We are energy, we are starfire. Starfire cannot be extinguished. Ever.” He paused. “What did you wish?”
StarlightComplete Page 38
