Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) (10 page)

But she had a Fam.

“Hmmm,” Garrett said, his fingers absently rolling a coin in one of his sleight-of-hand tricks. His eyes met those of Tiana’s sister’s, skimmed over her mother and father, then away. “You know, ah, one of the folk names of Mugwort is—”

“Artemisia,” her father said, beaming at his older daughter.

“St. John’s plant,” said her mother, sharing a smile with her HeartMate.

“Muggons,” Tiana offered, such a fun and friendly word.

Garrett shook his head. “A lot of nicknames—”

“I could come up with a couple more.” Her father’s eyes twinkled. “Naughty Man . . . but I think I know what you’re going to say, Garrett.”

A
nother common name for Mugwort is Felon Herb,” Garrett stated.

RatKiller abandoned Tiana’s skritches to stare at her brother-in-law.
FE-LON. FE-LINE. I like it!

Tiana choked but didn’t have the heart to tell him the meanings weren’t close.

I AM FELON RATKILLER MUGWORT. I AM FELON RATKILLER MUGWORT!
Tiana’s new Fam accompanied his mental shouting with awful yowls.

A Fam! I hear a new Fam! A CatFam!
came the cheerful mental stream of Garrett’s young cat, Rusby. He shot into the room from the open door of the hallway, a nine-month-old orange tabby cat, stopping pretty much where RatKiller—Felon RatKiller Mugwort—had, sniffing around the spot.

Felon RatKiller’s tail slashed as he stared coolly down on the young cat.
You are rude to sniff before talking to Me. But I will not swat You because We are Family.

The young cat’s mouth seemed to drop open in horror, and he leapt backward.
RatKiller. It is RatKiller.
With one leap, the smaller, healthier-looking tom hopped onto Garrett’s shoulder, no doubt aided by Flair. Rusby had a lot of Flair, and Tiana wondered how much her own Fam had. As far as she knew, he’d teleported a couple of times, and that indicated solid Flair for a Fam.

RatKiller showed his fangs with a little hiss.

“That’s enough, Felon,” Garrett said.

Narrowing her eyes at Garrett, Tiana resumed petting the knobby spine of her Fam. “I don’t think I want to call him Felon.”

I AM FELON RATKILLER MUGWORT!

She rolled right over her cat’s loud mental projection. “I think I’ll call you Felon Herb. Felonerb. It’s more respectable.”

I will allow that
, the Fam said. He surveyed the room.
So there are only two Fams here so far? The odd coon and the immature tom?

“That’s right,” said Tiana’s father. “But we expect you to obey the rules of the House, the Residence—”

“And be a clean cat,” Tiana’s mother added.

“What say you, Residence?” Sinjin asked.

Felonerb’s eyes went wide.
I am living in a real Residence?

“You are living in the
oldest
Residence,” said the House in its grumpy-old-man persona. “And you’d better be clean or you will regret it.”

Felonerb sniffed wetly, and the Healers, Artemisia and Quina, focused on him.

“We really need to examine him,” said her mother. “Or contact Danith D’Ash to do so.”

“I doubt Danith or Gwydion Ash will take on such a one as him for free,” Garrett said. The coin in his fingers transformed into a metal tag and Tiana didn’t see him do it. “I, however, have an account with the Ashes, and especially Gwydion, to look after my feral band. I can have him check out Felon RatKiller.”

Gwydion Ash
, Felonerb said reverently.
Big, kind man with Flaired hands. I have heard of him. Yessss, I would like to go.
Felonerb articulated, “Yesss.”

Garrett held up the tag, spun it so it flashed in the light. “You gotta pay, cat.”

Felonerb rose to his feet and did a couple of hops on Tiana’s lap.
What? What to pay? How many rats? Would you like a live one? How about just guts? The guts are good eating.

“You have to treat my Fam, Rusby, with respect.
Great
respect. And Artemisia’s raccoon, Randa, too.”

Felonerb grumbled in his throat, looked at Garrett stroking his Fam, then Artemisia, then up at Tiana.

She said, “I don’t have connections with the Ashes.” She didn’t think they even knew who she was. “My mother or sister can take care of you fine.”

“He needs a bath.” Her mother put force behind the word but hid a smile.

Felonerb flinched and looked at Garrett.
I agree, Big Man Leader of the Ferals.
He looked at Rusby.
I will treat you very nice, Rusby. And the raccoon, Randa.

I will treat you nice, too
, Rusby said amiably.

“And now I need to go,” Artemisia said. She’d already dressed in her green Healer tunic and trous of expensive material because she worked at Primary HealingHall. The Family lived well enough off the land and bounty of BalmHeal estate, but there was no denying that Garrett’s gilt and Artemisia’s and Tiana’s salaries provided what they couldn’t grow or make themselves. And Tiana had forgotten to ask exactly how much of an increase in salary she’d get with this next promotion. There were five grades of FirstLevel Priestess and she’d been at grade four; had she moved one up . . . or, perhaps, perhaps, two?

But Garrett and Artemisia were leaving the House, Garrett saying, as he usually did, “I’ll see you to the HealingHall, and collect any information my band has on my current cases.”

“Have a good shift!” Tiana called belatedly.

“And you should go straight to bed,” said her mother.

Tiana acquiesced and pushed herself from her chair, dislodging Felonerb, who’d been grooming his claws and paws. “Yes,” she said, though she knew her mother and father also wanted to discuss all the news she’d brought—her reviews, her promotion, and, most especially, the Intersection of Hope cathedral.

She dragged herself to the second floor to her bedroom, following Felonerb RatKiller—what a name!—as he pranced up the staircase. “Residence?” she addressed the cranky entity who liked her less than her sister.

“Yes, Tiana?”

“Can we make a Fam door in my door? I can promise you the energy and Flair to do it. Well, not tonight, but tomorrow.”

That is a GOOD idea.
RatKiller approved. He stopped on a stair and gave her a broken-fanged grin. She managed a return smile. Not even Gwydion Ash would be able to do anything about that fang.

And she was grateful for Garrett’s intervention and offer to pay the Ashes for Felonerb’s physical. She
had
given it a little thought on the long ride, then walk, home. She believed one of the Ash children’s Nameday was upcoming, and she’d planned on offering a trade of creating a small, special Family ritual for them in exchange for an appointment for her Fam.

“Did you hear me, Tiana?” questioned the Residence, opening and slamming a door. She winced.

“I’m
so
sorry, Residence,” she groveled, knowing that it would not be as gracious in accepting her apology as Antenn Blackthorn-Moss. “I am so tired my mind wandered and I didn’t hear your very excellent advice.”

“I
said
”—it turned up the volume of its voice—“that you are lucky. One of the walls of your room had a Fam door opening onto the corridor at one time. It was a moment’s work to remove the wall and clear away the debris.”

“Oh, wonderful!” She put energy into her reply.

OH WONDERFUL!
screeched Felonerb, hopping around in the hallway.
CAN YOU HEAR ME, HOUSE? I AM THE NEW FAM! THE
CATFAM
!

“I hear you,” the Residence said sourly. “You do not need to shout, FamCat. And you may address me as ‘Residence.’”

“YES, HOUSE!” Felonerb answered with great enthusiasm.

Tiana’s teeth snapped together before she pried them apart and rushed into speech. “He meant no insult.” Despite her weariness, she sent a telepathic message strictly to the Residence.
I am sorry, but he is a Street Cat and I will work on his manners!

A floorboard creaked under her feet, a disapproving noise by the Residence.
It is a Rude being.

Yes, I’m sorry
, she said mentally, then aloud, “Oh, look, Felonerb, there’s your door!” It was nicely framed in expensive reddwood, highly polished.

And there was her own door, and behind that door was her bed, and near the end of her bed was her fireplace. She
yearned
for the soothing, unrhythmic pop and crackle of flames . . . the very best way for her to sink into a meditative trance was listening to a fire. But she didn’t think she had the energy or Flair to light the kindling. Some other time.

Without another word, Felonerb zoomed through his door, leaving the thin wooden flap swinging. A few steps later, Tiana was through her door, out of the public portion of the House, in her own private sanctuary. She tottered to the bedsponge set on a frame just low enough for her to fall facedown on it, sink into the thick feather comforter, and let out a moan of relief at finally being alone and done with this interminable day.

THIS IS A WONDERFUL PLACE. YOU HAVE MORE THAN ONE ROOM. AND YOU HAVE A LITTLE CLOSET THAT DOESN’T HAVE MUCH IN IT. I NEED THAT CLOSET! ALL THE
BEST
CATS HAVE THEIR OWN CLOSETS. I HAVE LEARNED THIS FROM THAT BRAZOS HAWTHORN CAT. I NEED A CLOSET LIKE HIS.

Felonerb was still shouting. And hopping. He hopped all over her back with little hard paws.

“Please don’t shout, Felonerb, my head aches.” All of her ached. Every. Single. Muscle.

I will
“whisper.” He managed to enunciate the last word.

“Wow,” Tiana said. “What incredible skill you have vocalizing.”

I know
, he said smugly.
I will go explore the whole House and look for some pillows for My closet. The House will learn to love Me.

“I’m sure.”

He left and Tiana was finally alone and in silence enough to hear her own thoughts.

Was the High Priestess right? Had she misinterpreted her HeartMate? Decided he hadn’t come for her because of the scandal surrounding her Family?

There
were
other reasons for men not to look for their ladies—or women not to look for their lords. Her friend Camellia’s HeartMate had been married to another woman; her friend Glyssa’s HeartMate hadn’t believed in love. Had Tiana been wrong about her own HeartMate? Wouldn’t he love her despite her past? The essential her?

She
did
know that one night had changed all her philosophies about life, that night her Family had run for their lives.

So many of their friends had abandoned them that she thought
he
, whoever he was, had abandoned her, too.

Status and fortune had been ripped from them because GraceLord T’Equisetum had managed that, could do it. And though her Family hadn’t been broken by those acts, though they’d become a stronger unit, it had been impressed upon Tiana that status mattered.

And she’d believed her HeartMate hadn’t come to her because he knew her and her low status and wished not to be tainted by associating with—marrying—her.

She could have been wrong.

Just before she slid into sleep, using all of her small, replenished Flair, she
reached
for the link with her HeartMate.

And found nothing.

*   *   *

A
ntenn slept and heat rose inside him and he thrashed and had sex dreams and didn’t know who the woman was but did know he didn’t deserve her. Not he, a common boy from Downwind, brother to a murderer.

He moaned and Pinky patted his face, and he opened his eyes groggily to see his Fam lick his paw as if it were damp . . . or had salt on it. Burying his head under his pillow, he subsided back into dark unconsciousness.

*   *   *

A
yowling screech jolted Tiana from sleep and had her yelling herself, jackknifing to sit, flinging her comforter—and her new Fam, Felon RatKiller—nearly off the bed. Nearly, because he’d hooked claws into comforter. The bundle of him, wrapped in the quilting, wailed even louder.

Her head pounded and she put her hands over her ears, trying to keep the burgeoning migraine from crippling her.

“What is going on!”
her mother bellowed.

Tiana whimpered and curled up in a ball.

“Ohhh, shhh.” It was the slightest of whispers and Tiana felt the bedsponge sink as her mother sat next to her . . . then her mother’s warm hands moving her own from her head and the touch of her mother’s Healing fingers and blessed relief.

Except for the shrieking cat.

“You stop that, now!” ordered Quina. “Can’t you see you’re hurting your FamWoman?”

Felonerb stopped midhowl.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, all too aware that her body had slicked with sweat during the moment of migraine, Tiana began to uncurl.