Heart Choice (22 page)

“If it's that huge china urn thing—”

“Rrrrr,” Drina said, trotting into the hall with a satisfied smirk. Mitchella frowned and disappeared into the ResidenceDen.

The Residence said, “I told the FamCat that the vase she just destroyed was one the late T'Blackthorn received as a wedding present and which your parents didn't care for.”

It made a nice bang.
Drina licked her paw.
Mitchella can clean up the mess.

Straif said, “So far I haven't seen much Flair from my FamCat. Perhaps I'll decide the amount of jewels on her collar by how much Flair she shows, such as cleaning up her own messes.”

He sighed. “Residence, do we have a litter box?”

Mitchella called from the ResidenceDen. “I had a self-cleaning, scented litter box taken from one of the attic storerooms.” She appeared, holding a shard of china, scowling at Drina. “I hope you enjoyed destroying that vase.”

Mitchella winced. “I heard that ‘ugly.' True, but it was valuable. I think Straif could have paid for your collar with the price he would have received from it.”

Drina separated her toes to clean between them.
Since the woman doesn't appreciate My assistance, I will take a nap on My new bedsponge, under the veiled canopy
. Her mouth curled.

“Drina's going to her room,” Straif said. Seeing Mitchella's set mouth, he took her elbow. “Show me the ResidenceDen.” He didn't want to enter the room, but harmony demanded it. Only five beings living in the Residence and the relationships were complicated enough to demand compromises.

At the sight of the room he stopped in amazed horror.

Fifteen

“It's. . . round,”Straif said, stunned. Full-length win
dows circled the room. All had a high view of the ocean. “Illusion.” How could he infuse his words with anything but dismay?

“Yes, illusion. I'm one of the best at holospells,” Mitchella said proudly, brushing against him as she entered.

Straif took a grip on the doorjamb. He supposed he should have told Mitchella that he had a problem with heights, but why? His home was a solid four stories. A very solid four stories. The ResidenceDen had been on the ground floor. Once.

“It's a very good illusion.” His voice cracked. “I recognize the lighthouse on Meindwyr Island.” He'd planned to never, ever visit again.

Even cliff edges were better than being in the middle of a small, tall structure that trembled in fierce winds and where you couldn't see any land at all. His sister, Fasha, had danced straight up to one of the windows and looked down and said you could see nasty, pointed rocks, but he hadn't moved from the doorway, and his mother had 'ported them right back to the boat. Straif had no problems with boats. He swallowed.

“You don't like it. Sorry, Antenn is going through an ocean phase, and I got the idea from him. It
is
completely different,” she said.

“Completely,” Straif agreed from a dry mouth.
What was an ocean phase?

“There's always something the client dislikes,” Mitchella said philosophically, turning in place and studying the room.

She made him dizzy. He watched as she strolled around the windows. She could fall out of one of those windows, maybe one that was a real wall, and hurt herself, and Straif couldn't move a muscle to save her.

His mind scrambled. Take big, deep, breaths. That's how to handle heights, take big, deep, breaths.

Mitchella shrugged, and his gaze locked on her breasts. Much better thinking of those breasts than taking big, deep, breaths. In fact, he'd like
her
to take big, deep, breaths.

“Ah, well,” she sighed, and it had more than a hint of weariness in it. He wondered if she'd slept as poorly as he had the night before, anticipating when they'd truly be lovers.

“If this is my worst misjudgment, we're lucky,” she said.

Straif got the impression that it had taken a lot of energy and Flair to make the room. Pity.

Mitchella snapped her fingers, and the illusion disappeared. Straif reeled against the doorjamb as reality shifted. And formed into something wonderful. The room was empty, and he saw the elegant shape of it for the first time. The walls had been newly tinted a dull, metallic gold that held a bit of a shine, the floor was a mellow golden marble with flecks of the real precious metal. The ResidenceDen looked nothing like it had been in his childhood, reminded him of no other room.

His parents had decorated with silver. Straif entered the room to judge its atmosphere.

“This was my first concept,” Mitchella said, frowning at the window that overlooked the tangled, riotous plantlife of what had been the front grass gliderdrive. “When I removed the rugs, I found this marvelous floor, so I tinted the walls to match.” She bent down to fiddle with something beneath the low window sash of gleaming reddwood, and Straif decided her bottom was the most marvelous thing in the room. Lush, ready for his hands.

“What's that?” he asked, trying to keep his libido in check.

She looked over her shoulder. “It's a viz button, to help anchor the illusions.” Her face flushed. “I don't have a great amount of Flair.”

“You have other great assets,” Straif assured her.

She narrowed her eyes. “What's your favorite view?”

He didn't think she meant her bottom. “My favorite
scenic
view”—he smiled wolfishly—“is the Great Labyrinth. My cuz Holm wed his HeartMate, Lark, in the center of the Great Labyrinth north of Druida. I attended. I hadn't been there for a long time. It's beautiful.” The thought crossed his mind that this had been another Ritual he hadn't missed. T'Hawthorn, a FirstFamily GreatLord had officiated, so that event could definitely be counted as a GreatRitual.

“It's in a huge crater, right?” Mitchella asked. “My cuz Trif went to the wedding.”

“Yes, the path spirals from the center of the crater to the rim.” As a panorama, it was about as far from the top of a lighthouse imaginable. The descent was gentle, so standing on the rim didn't affect his fear of heights. It would be a steep roll down, but definitely a roll. Children loved it. “The Noble Families all have small shrines as decoration.”

“Give me an image,” Mitchella said, meeting his eyes.

The link between them widened, and he marveled that she was so open to him. Much of it was her weaker Flair, but she was also an open and optimistic woman. He saw to the depths of her and found a dark shadow on her heart. He frowned.

“An image, Blackthorn, I'm waiting.” She'd straightened, and that was too bad. If he'd been more interested in watching her derriere than caught by that heart-shadow, he could still be appreciating her figure.

She made a disgusted sound, diminished the link between them—did she know what she was doing?—and flipped him the button.

He caught it and felt the lighthouse ready to materialize. With a thought he wiped that illusion clean, then with surprising ease, he formed one of the Great Labyrinth and imprinted it.

The labyrinth sprang up around them, the huge ash tree in the center towered over them. The rim of the crater, the horizon, was about eye level. All along the visible labyrinth path were symbols of the Nobles . . . a blooming hawthorn hedge, the Vine's blackberry bushes around a grape arbor.

“What time is it?” Straif asked. Vinni T'Vine should arrive for their appointment any moment.

She glanced at her wrist timer. “Nearly Midmorning bell.”

“Ah, then we have a septhour or so to make this room ready,” Straif said. He didn't think it would take that long. He looked around with a frown. “Much as I like the Great Labyrinth, I don't want to live in it.”

Smiling, Mitchella crossed the room and took the viz button. Their fingers touched, and a surge of desire flashed between them. The illusion around them wavered.

“Oops,” Mitchella said with the bright smile he didn't trust, the one she wore when she thought of their mutual attraction, he realized. A bright smile and a shadowed heart. He'd find out the emotions that engendered both.

But she walked to the window, and the illusion of the labyrinth diminished. When she reached the window, she set the viz back into place and gestured Straif over. “You imprinted many view segments. Tell me which you want the window to show.”

He joined her, stood a few centimeters from her, within her natural energy aura—it sizzled against the length of him and kept him pleasantly, achingly hard. He enjoyed her floral scent.

She'd sized the illusion to the window, and scenes flickered for a minute before Straif spoke. “How many views are there?”

She didn't move, and when she spoke, her voice held the husky note that stoked his desire. “The Great Labyrinth's a big place.”

He tilted his head so his lips were near her ear. “Why don't we do a scene from the center.”

The images whirled to those near the center. “What . . . what view?” she asked.

“The one with the stand of birches.”

With a tap of her fingernail, the illusion spread to the window, shifted, steadied. Straif glanced up from studying the slope of Mitchella's breasts to see the new panorama outside the window and caught his breath. Leaves from the ash tree edged the top of the window, the start of the winding exit path was to the far left, before him was a grove of birches, reflecting the pink of dawn on their white trunks; their green leaves fluttered.

Straif looked to another window, bare of illusion. The day was gray and wet. Rain pattered against the pane.

He glanced at Mitchella. She'd stepped away from the window where Bel had cleared the crater's rim. Golden sunlight danced in the birches, spilled into the room. He looked around again—even bare, the room was warm and welcoming.

“Very nice.” He smiled.

“You prefer it to the lighthouse.” She chuckled.

“Much. Let's keep holos for windows, not whole rooms.” He stared at the illusion window again and made a decision. “Why don't you put an automatic fade to diminish each day on the windows? The grounds must be perfect by the open house on summer solstice. By then I'll be accustomed to living here.”

“I have plans to change the landscaping that can be seen from the Residence.”

He stared at her in admiration. “You do?”

“Yes, I often work with a landscape designer. The immediate outside space around a home, a grassyard or garden is considered an extension of the home.”

“Good.” He walked to the windows but saw nothing but sheets of gray rain. “I hope the weather clears before the Ritual. I could weathershield the Grove of the Dark Goddess until the ceremony, but it would cost me Flair I can't afford.” Mitchella joined him, and he put a hand on her shoulder, testing their connection and his own control. The bond cycled sweet energy and attraction. His control was threadbare. He dragged his mind back to the Ritual. “Since you are the most informed person about the needs of the Residence you will be helping me shape and direct the spells and energy we raise tonight.”

Her eyes widened until her black pupils dominated the deep green of her irises. A very beautiful green, the prettiest shade of green he'd ever seen, true emerald.

Through their link, he felt her anxiety. “You're the expert.”

“You'll do fine,” said Vinni T'Vine from the doorway.

Mitchella turned to him, slightly pale. “You're the prophet, you should know.” She put her hand over her mouth.

Vinni beamed and pushed out his chest. “That's me, GreatLord T'Vine.” He glanced around the empty room, and his eyes changed from pale brown to green. He nodded. “This is correct.”

Straif thought Mitchella gulped as he did. Suddenly, he didn't want Vinni commenting about any other rooms. The Lord had already been in the small dining parlor and hadn't said a word, but Straif couldn't depend on the boy's erratic discretion.

There was only one way to keep Vinni in this room and away from others—make the ResidenceDen livable.

Straif strode to Vinni. “Why don't you link with Mitchella and me, and we can 'port a couple of chairs to use in our consultation.” Seeing Vinni as disconcerted as he often made others pleased Straif. He held out his hand. “We'll use common, household Flair, nothing that will tire us or won't be replaced in good time for the GreatRitual tonight.”

“All right,” Vinni said.

“Mitchella, you know the pieces and where they're stored. Will you join with us?” asked Straif.