Heart Secret (17 page)

“I was told not to report today,” she said.

“T'Heather wants you here for a debriefing. Come now.” She signed off.

Garrett grimaced. “I can inform the guards of our discovery.”

She grabbed at the chance to get away, flexed a smile at the guards. “Artemisia Panax. You can reach me at Primary HealingHall. I must catch the next public carrier.” She gestured to it a few blocks away.

“Fine,” the male guard said. “We'll contact you later.”

With a last inclination of her head, she walked at an even pace to the public carrier plinth. She wanted one last, long glance at Garrett but she didn't want to see the body.

She didn't turn and welcomed the carrier's cool air as she stepped into it and rode away from the past—recent and long-ago—and to her career that would ground her in the present.

The time with the other Healers, FirstLevel Heather and Holly and the great T'Heather himself, and their discussion of the experiment eased Artemisia until she was as involved as they in the final conclusions. Garrett's blood should provide them with excellent information to use against Iasc sickness.

*  *  *

T
he guards contemplated the body, then the guy held out his hand to
Garrett. “Fol Berberis.”

Garrett clasped arms with him. “Garrett Primross.”

The guard smiled. “I know.”

Garrett turned to the woman, who offered her arm. “Rosa Milkweed,” she said.

He clasped her arm.

When they finished recording the scene and had sent the body to Druida Guards' Death Grove, he accompanied Berberis and Milkweed to the main guard station, under the command of Black Ilex Winterberry, Captain of all the Druida guardsmen.

While Garrett waited for Winterberry to end a scry, he rolled a couple of new coins on the backs of his fingers. The guards were intrigued at the sleight of hand.

“Can you do something with a softleaf? I love softleaf tricks,” Rosa said.

Agreeable, Garrett asked, “Do you have a softleaf?” He had a scarlet silkeen one precisely folded and tucked in a front belt pocket for an impressive appearance, but the trick he was thinking of could be done with any.

Fol grunted and pulled a large square softleaf from his pocket and handed it to Garrett. He folded the thing into a little dancing-lady poppet, sang a jingle as he made her perform, and ended with a final “Hey!” as she did a high kick.

Rosa laughed—she'd watched every movement intently—and the men chuckled. Garrett presented the softleaf back to Fol with a flourish. The man's brows came down as he looked at the unfurling folds as if trying to see the pattern.

“Poppets were a way I used to track and find the Black Magic Cultists,” Winterberry said. “But poppets made with and infused with Flair.” He smiled but the topic had returned to the serious study of murder.

It wasn't a hardship to spend time at the guard station discussing a mystery. A whole lot better than suffering through sickness and nightmares and at the mercy of a bunch of female Healers. Now Garrett was in control and part of a project with like-minded men and women. Relief swept through him with enough force to nearly blow the top of his head off.

Nothing he liked more than a puzzle, and no one seemed to recognize the dead man. None of the local guards near Apollopa Park knew him. From the labels on his clothes, they were made in Gael City, and the man looked as if he'd done hard work for most of his life.

The Death Grove Healer stated that he'd been struck on his head and drugged with pylor, then his wrists had been slit so he'd bleed out. Things that
almost
made sense. It looked like the killing was
almost
part of a ritual. The man's features were
almost
like someone Garrett—and others—recalled.

After a couple of septhours, Garrett got an exasperated scry from Danith D'Ash to come pick up his new Fam, and waved a hand at the guards as he left. The case wasn't his, but he'd found the body and made himself agreeable and had a good enough rep as an investigator that they'd keep him informed.

When he hopped on one of the infrequent public carriers to Noble Country, his muscles felt looser, he had more energy, and he resented only a little that he'd lost weight and was out of shape.

He'd never appreciated a day more. The streets of Druida widened and the trees lining them grew larger, the buildings opened to vistas. The sky was deep blue, and the dark clouds had transformed into high, white crystal-glitter scarves. The sun was the usual tiny blue white.

He was alive.

Some poor guy was dead.

Garrett was more interested in the mystery than in the man himself, accepted that and said an absent blessing for the dead. He, himself, was alive and life was fine. As he exited the carrier, he stretched and popped some muscles. Yeah, he felt good. He jogged past the sign “Danith and A. Gwydion Ash, Animal Healers” and through the arched stone tunnel. The corridor was pretty, with climbing plants, but Garrett wasn't fooled, it was a security measure—and for Commoners who took the public carrier. He let the annoyance burn off.

The door was open when he reached it, a small woman with brown hair standing on the threshold, arms crossed: GreatLady Danith D'Ash. “Garrett Primross!”

He winced.

She turned and he followed. She had such an aura of nobility, it was hard for him to recall she'd been born a Commoner. She led him past her office reception rooms to a small white room reminding him of TQ's sterile walls, then pointed to a cage behind the examination table.

His Fam sat in it, looking pitiful.

Sixteen

J
ail for you, huh? Poor cat,” Garrett said.

“He's too young to be away from his mother,” Danith D'Ash said.

Am NOT!
Rusby shouted telepathically.

“His choice,” Garrett said.

Danith D'Ash narrowed her eyes. “He's small. He got into the housefluff burrows and scared some mothers and kits.”

Housefluffs hop fast!
Rusby said gleefully.
They ran and ran!

Garrett bit the inside of his cheek, hoping he looked properly serious.

Danith showed her teeth in a smile. “That's two hundred gilt.”

That sobered him up. Garrett nearly yipped in pain.

“For all the time I'll need to soothe the housefluffs and their babies, make sure they took no harm physically or emotionally. I must keep them longer and ensure they'll go to homes that won't make them nervous after this incident—place them in homes without cats.”

Garrett looked at his Fam behind bars. The kitten tried to appear pitiful, but there was still a gleam in Rusby's eyes; the tip of his tail flicked with joy.

“You cost me more than three months' worth of feral animal injuries,” Garrett grumbled to Rusby. Concentrating, he translocated two one-hundred gilt pieces from his home safe, plunked them into Danith's outstretched palm.

She slipped the gilt into her tunic pocket, opened the cage, and set Rusby on the firm permamoss bedsponge on the table. “He's small for his age, and will remain a small cat.” She placed a holo orb next to the kitten and sheets of papyrus with instructions. “The care and feeding of a kitten,” she said, plopping large tubes of milk on the table. “Some initial feedings. Every two septhours.”

An appalled expression stretched Garrett's face. He'd been anticipating a good, long, and uninterrupted night's sleep. He looked at his kitten with a jaundiced eye.

Rusby drooped, curled into a small ball.

Danith was right: The kitten ball was too small. But Garrett was stuck with the little guy. He picked Rusby up and held the softness of him, the fur caressing his palm. Soft as Artemisia's hair.

No, he wasn't thinking of her.

He put the kitten on his shoulder, attached him with a spell. “That will keep you out of trouble.” As he thought of Rusby tearing through the housefluff burrows, he had to keep a straight face again. “Good to see you again, Danith.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Males.”

Garrett grinned.

“Also, I'm handing over your regular account—your stream of feral informants who get sick or wounded—to Gwydion. He'll be Healing them.” She put her hands on her hips. “And if they want to become adopted Fams, they stay with us.”

“Always the deal,” Garrett muttered.

“I expect you to get more of them off the streets.”

“Some like the freedom of the parks and the estates . . . and the streets.” He smiled his slow and charming smile that he knew she liked. “I might have a raccoon for you.”

Her eyes widened. “A raccoon! They're almost extinct.”

“One's been hanging around MidClass Lodge. It might want to be a Fam.”

“They always had the potential,” she agreed.

Garrett stroked Rusby. “I'll need a recall collar for this guy.”

“Of course.” She turned and opened a drawer, displaying collars of all sizes.

I want the sparkly one!
Rusby demanded.

“Sparkly is for girls,” Garrett said.

“This is a temporary collar,” Danith said, whisking out the white one with bits of glitter. “A recall collar if you get in trouble. It will activate to bring you here.”

Garrett sucked in a breath between his teeth and eyed Rusby. Surely soon he'd grow so he couldn't fit into housefluff burrows. Garrett would stuff the little one with food.

Every two septhours.

Danith addressed Rusby. “As all Fams know, a
real
collar is given to the Fam in three months if the Fam is
good
.”

Garrett figured Danith meant if the kitten didn't chase housefluffs. “The Fam's companion decides whether the Fam is good. That means no adventures on the beach,” he said.

“Oh.” Danith pursed her lips. “I'd forgotten you lived in MidClass Lodge.” Her gaze slid toward him. “I'd heard you spent some time in the Turquoise House.”

“Didn't agree with me,” he said. Then, reluctantly, “I wasn't asked to stay.”

“Maybe
you
should have asked the Turquoise House. Mitchella D'Blackthorn will start redecorating tomorrow and TQ should be ready for occupancy the day after.”

He wondered what the rent would be. TQ was in a middle-Noble-class neighborhood. Probably too rich for his blood and his gilt.

“TQ is farther from my office than MidClass Lodge.”

“Can't lose anything if you don't ask to stay.” Danith muttered cleansing spells and a slight wind picked up . . . and carried the fragrance of disinfectant herbs that made Garrett's stomach squeeze hard. He took the three paces to the door and opened it to regular animal smells in the hall. The walls of the examination room swirled with color and Rusby squealed, hid his head in Garrett's neck, and dug his claws into his shoulder.

Garrett yelped.

Danith snorted. “Your Fam has only been within
white
walls of a House. He demanded white.”

Looking at the sweeps of pastel, Garrett didn't blame him.

The animal Healer's lips compressed. “Already at five weeks, he's set in his ways.” Her gaze drilled Garrett. “As you are. You should live in more upscale lodgings if you want to grow your business.”

That flicked a nerve. “I like MidClass Lodge. I do get some business from the residents.”

Danith grimaced. “You want Noble clients or middle-class clients?”

Despite his Fam's fear of pastels, Garrett moved back into the room, leaned closer to Danith. “Both. I don't want to be exclusive to the Nobles, to only people who can pay me a lot of gilt.” If Dinni had been Noble or had had a lot of gilt, they wouldn't have turned her away from the clinic. He'd never base his services only on price.

Danith's eyes widened.

“Mama, you all right?” asked a rough voice from the door.

Garrett turned and saw that Gwydion Ash, at fourteen, had grown since the last time they'd met. He was already centimeters taller than his mother, and Garrett judged he'd be taller than his father, and with as heavy a build as the blacksmith. Still a boy, though.

“GentleSir Primross and I just disagreed about living with a lot of people.” Her smile was reassuring for Gwydion and the boy relaxed. Garrett noted he was like his mother and didn't have an up-front killer instinct like his father . . . or Garrett himself. Though there was no doubt that Gwydion would have had the best fighting training possible.

The youngster was an Animal Healer. No matter how much he grew to look like T'Ash, he'd have a soft spot inside if life didn't harden him. Gwydion was a second son accepted by his mother into her practice. Blessed and didn't know it.

For some reason Garrett wanted the boy-man to keep that soft spot.

Danith continued, “GentleSir Primross is happy at MidClass Lodge.”

A dimple creased Gwydion's cheek as he smiled back at his mother with easy love. “And you wouldn't be,” he teased.

Lifting her small nose, Danith said, “That's what happens when you grow up in Saille House for Orphans.”

Garrett stiffened. He hadn't known that part of her past. Both mother and son remained casual, so it wasn't a touchy topic. He relaxed with an easy smile. “So if you were in my shoes, GreatLady, you'd ask to stay at the Turquoise House.”

Gwydion laughed. “She wouldn't be able to take a step in your shoes.”

He joined Garrett, measured feet. “Thought so. Mine are almost as big as yours and she can't walk in mine.”

Danith sniffed but still smiled. “I told GentleSir—”

Garrett offered his arm to Gwydion to clasp. “Call me Garrett.”

Nodding, Gwydion squeezed Garrett's arm with just enough firmness. “I heard that I'll be taking over any Healing of your motley ferals.” He beamed.

“And he might have a raccoon for us!” Danith said.

“Great.” Gwydion rubbed his hands.

All this 'coon, 'coon, 'coon,
Rusby grumbled, stretched along Garrett's shoulder.
You woke Me and didn't even admire My collar.

“Sparkles,” Gwydion said, hiding a grimace.

Past time for Us to go home!
Rusby said.

“That's right.”

Rusby licked Garrett's ear and he flinched. “Don't do that. I'll feed you when we get home.”

We need glider
. The cat twitched whiskers at Danith D'Ash.

“I'll arrange that,” Gwydion said.

“Thanks, Danith,” Garrett said, though he was feeling considerably less flush in the pocket.

“You're welcome. And teleport next time!”

Garrett moved tense shoulders. “Was under orders not to do that.”

“Oh.” She looked like she wanted to talk about the experiment. He reckoned everyone in the FirstFamilies knew what was going on. But Danith wasn't as close to the Healers as others. “Scry and we'll send a glider whenever you need it,” she said.

He wouldn't be doing that. Wouldn't do that now except weariness insidiously seeped through him. “Later.” He walked with careful steps to the office exit and into the sunlight. The adrenaline push he'd gotten with the discovery of the body had definitely crashed.

The glider door lifted. He frowned as he saw T'Ash's coat of arms painted on the thing, something people at MidClass Lodge would note. But he didn't have much time to worry about that because when he slid into the vehicle, he passed out.

More than one of his neighbors helped him into the building and to his door. Vaguely he heard someone ask if it was true that he'd been on a top-secret mission for the FirstFamilies. Whispers about the experiment were getting out. He wondered how soon the news about the murder would surface.

To his surprise, Rusby was able to manipulate the spellshield and lock to open his door, then hissed with mental threats—which Garrett didn't think anyone could hear—as Garrett was shoved on his couch.

His body sank into depressions he'd previously made in the permamoss cushion. Wonderful.

*  *  *

G
arrett woke at twilight. His body was fine, but in his muzzy state,
his mind
reached
for his HeartMate. Unlike the previous few nights, she wasn't with him and a quick, sharp fear spurred him awake.

A couple of seconds passed in disorientation, then his stomach rumbled and firmly grounded him. Of course his HeartMate wasn't near. She'd gone to her own home, wherever that was. Instinctively he tested their bond. It was wider than usual and he narrowed it.

He did sense she was disturbed. Without thought, he sent calm and affection down the bond, realized what he was doing, and shut it down. Not before he noticed that her anxiety had eased.

He was hungry. The apartment had a small kitchen with three no-times stuffed with food . . . another result of the most miserable days of his life, he realized. He always kept a lot of unspoiling food on hand.

By the time he'd taken a few paces toward the kitchen, his body was moving all right and he became aware of the
scritch, scritch, scritch
sound that had awakened him. Glancing at the wall timer, he saw it was NightBell. He sighed and rubbed his face. At least it wasn't TransitionBell. He hated waking then. And at least he was home tonight.

Scritch, scritch, rripp.

His chin angled and he abandoned the thought of food for now. His kitten was up to something! Crossing to the bedroom, he saw a dark kitten shadow on the windowsill, claws out. The spellshield was thin there, as if Rusby had already worked on it. Garrett had left the window slightly open, enough for a small kitten to flatten himself through if he could get through the reinforced screen. That Rusby was working on shredding.

Garrett scooped up the cat and got a snarl and scratches on his hand for the effort. He ignored the pain. “Time for food. You look hungry. I am, too. I'll program access for you to a no-time.” He'd have to limit the portions.

Rusby eyed him, gave a big smile, revealing his baby teeth.
D'Ash says I can have little furrabeast steak bites.

Garrett wasn't even sure where the sphere and the papyrus with instructions were. He put his Fam on the top of the small round kitchen table. “Stay there and I'll get you some furrabeast and milk formula for you.”

Formula is for babies, I am not a baby! I am a FamCat!

“Yeah.” But Garrett's neck was burning with the guilt Rusby wanted—he'd missed at least two feedings. He stepped to the no-time food storage unit and looked at the feastday meal section and opened it for Samhain—New Year's. The scent of prime furrabeast drifted out and his mouth watered. He heard little mouth-smacking noises from his Fam.