Heart Choice (24 page)

Beyond the drip of the lessening rain, she heard something. Antenn! She thought she saw a smudgy shadow cutting across the overgrown grassyard to the Residence.

“Antenn!” she cried. It echoed back at her in a din that hurt her ears. The moving object didn't hesitate.

 
 
Vinni looked down, smoothed the fabric of his trous.
“Some think that even asking questions changes the outcome.”

Straif grunted.

“If you want such a limited reading, I can give it to you, but the answer may not please you.”

“I know, from the moment your predecessor refused me a consultation before I left.”

“In our GreatHouse History she stated matters were in great flux around you at that time. The winds of destiny still howled. No knowledge could have come of a consultation.” Vinni met his eyes. “I will not speak of her or our histories further. If you want your consult now, give me your hand and send yourself into a meditative trance.”

Straif offered his hand. Vinni took it, and Straif felt nothing from the boy but Flair waiting for direction. Breathing deeply, Straif set aside past angers and regrets and expectations and cleared his mind.

Vinni's Flair built a many-faceted crystal between them, but this time Straif couldn't see images in any of the sides, as he'd glimpsed before.

“The question?” a voice asked, sounding too deep and resonant for a boy.

“Will I find a remedy for my flawed genetic heritage?”

The crystal spun, flashing diamond-bright light into Straif's eyes, blinding spears that he
felt
sink into every vein of him, every cell.

Distantly he heard, “The question has been answered.”

 
 
Desperate, Mitchella watched the small blurred figure
move away. There was some sort of shield between her and the world.
Antenn!
she shrieked mentally. Her head banged hard against the tree trunk. When the pain receded, she realized the shield had used her own Flair against her. No doubt the more Flair, the more a person tried to use it, the more trapped they would be. Perhaps it was lucky that she had just common Flair.

She slumped against the tree trunk and found she had a good ten centimeters between her and the strongest branches, even around the largest part of her—her hips. She still couldn't move her arms upward, the cage was too high for her elbows to angle out. Her thrashing had freed her legs up to her knees. She might be able to slither down and out.

But she had to overcome the Flair shield as well as the strong basket of branches around her, and she didn't know its properties.

She eyed the cage near her knees, much narrower than her hips. Bracing herself, she jumped and plunged forward, jumped and plunged forward. Five times. Ten. Rested.

 
Slowly Straif exhaled and rose from the depth of his medi
tation. Fully awake, he found young Vinni examining him with hazel eyes glinting with silver. Straif froze as if being stalked by something bigger and nastier than himself. “Was the answer to my question revealed to you?” His voice was hoarse.

Vinni blinked, and his eyes changed color back to blue gray.

Straif set his jaw.

“The answer to your question has always been clear,” the boy said gently, not sounding at all like a boy.

“And that is?”

“You will find an immunization against the Angh virus.”

Total relief washed through Straif, leaving him weak. He thought his blood had drained to his feet. He leaned back against fat cushions. “Thank the Lord and Lady.”

Vinni performed a little half-bow and crossed the room to pick up his iridescent raincape. “Perhaps,” he said.

“Perhaps?
Perhaps
I should thank the Lord and Lady for a fix for my heritage?” Straif jumped up. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you only wanted the answer to one question,” Vinni smirked.

Straif growled. Before he could grab the boy, the Residence spoke. “T'Vine notified me that the Prophetic Session is finished, so I wish to inform you that the Seer, GrandLady Lobelia, has left an urgent scry message for you.”

 
 
Mitchella jumped and kicked out, jumped and kicked
out. Jumped and kicked out and hit the mud and slipped and fell downward until branches dug into her hips and stomach, her legs slanting out, heels jammed against wet clods of soil.

She panted. Sweat dribbled down her. Nasty. She leaned against the tree and tried not to think of all her body's scrapes, scratches, and aches. She'd never been beaten, but thought she knew what it felt like. When she got her breath back, she looked out of the cage . . . and couldn't see her feet.

Cold grue shivered up her spine. Her feet were there, she could
feel
them. She wiggled her toes, and her heels slid a little, and bark dug into her butt.

 
Straif stared at the Residence Den desk. There was no
scrybowl.

“A forecast from another Seer. Fascinating,” Vinni murmured. He took a seat, eyes bright, curious youngster again. “My ancestress knew you often consulted with GrandLady Lobelia.”

“Can you play the message from the cache and amplify it to us here?” Straif asked the Residence.

“Only audio. There is not enough humidity in the ResidenceDen to gather and project—”

“Yes, yes,” Straif said. “Do it.”

Lobelia's vibrant voice said, “Straif. You should reconsider staying with me during the renovation of your Residence.” Her voice quickened a little from her usual languid tones. “I see danger on and surrounding your estate. Beware—”

There was a crash. “What's that?” asked Straif.

The Residence sighed. “I'm afraid the message startled our new cook, and he broke the scrybowl.”

“The message is gone?”

“Regrettably,” said the Residence.

“Right. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” said the Residence.

Straif shot a look at Vinni who appeared troubled. “Danger?”

Vinni bit his lip. “Yes.”

“Here on the estate?”

Mouth compressed, Vinni nodded.

The door to the ResidenceDen banged open, and Antenn ran into the room, coat dripping. “Where's Mitchella? Residence said she went to meet me, but she
didn't.
”

Straif jumped to his feet, everything inside him went cold. “Residence?” he demanded.

“The Lady left by the front door, walking on the grassdrive.”

“And then?” Straif waved a hand, and his rain gear appeared. He pulled it on.

“Most of my outside scrystones are not working,” the Residence said mournfully.

Drina pranced in.
I have had a nice nap.
She purred at Straif, batted her eyes at Vinni.
The consult is done, did T'Vine confirm that We will continue to be THE T'Blackthorns?

“We'll search together, Antenn,” Straif said. “Drina, we'll discuss your concerns later.”

Antenn's mouth went white. He pulled a lump from under his coat and set Pinky on his paws. “Pinky will look, too. He can find her.”

“I'm a tracker, Antenn, and we're on my estate. There is no way we can fail to find her,” Straif said softly.

The boy scrutinized Straif, then leaned against a chair. His eyes closed. He jolted upward. “I felt her. She's hurt.”

“Hurt?” Straif passed the boy and ran down the hallway.

“Hurt but not badly!” Antenn shouted.

Just as Straif yanked the huge front door open, he heard Vinni T'Vine in his mind.
One last thing, T'Blackthorn. Ask yourself this, what price will you pay for that remedy?
The pop of his teleporting away echoed.

A shudder wracked Straif at the statement, then he filed it away to think about later. He had to find Mitchella.

 
 
“Mitchella.” It was the faintest whisper, so soft she
nearly missed hearing it from her heavy breathing. She couldn't tell if it was a boy or man.

She writhed, she wriggled, she fought, and slipped centimeter by centimeter downward until her weight broke the knee-hole open to slightly larger than her hips. With one last hard effort she pushed down, slithered under the cage and out! Her head thumped against the soggy ground. She moaned and shut her eyes a moment.

When she opened them, a pristine Drina encased in a weathershield was sniffing at her knee. The cat yowled, lifted her upper lip in the smell-taste extra sense that cats had, and sashayed away.

Mitchella attempted to sit, but her muscles rebelled, still trembling with strain.

She couldn't see past her waist and wondered how much of her was still in the shield. She'd lifted her head just as Pinky appeared, hopped over her elbow, and licked her on the nose. “Urrgh.”

Large hands curled around her feet and hauled her a couple of meters, scraping her body over every rock in the estate.

Pop! Suddenly she stared upward into the faces of Straif and Antenn, Drina and Pinky.

“Thank the Lady and Lord!” Straif said, swooping down and lifting her into his arms.

His warmth was incredible, heating her even through her clothes and the rainsuit. He cradled her gently. Wetness trickled down her scratched face. Since the rain had stopped she knew it was tears. She wanted to be cowardly and hide her head against his chest, but saw Pinky trotting over to a suspicious-looking rock.

“No, Pinky!” she screamed, hoping the cat would hesitate.

Straif winced.

She clutched his upper arm. “I think the rock is bespelled with a trap.”

He muttered a Word, and Pinky stilled, slitted his eyes, and growled over his shoulder at Straif. With two strides Straif was over by the rock. He looked down. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I can see the aura of Flair—the trace of the person who did this, but I don't know the trail. It is not—”

“Not what?”

“Not someone I invited tonight, I don't think.”

Mitchella knew that wasn't what he was about to say, but she was too tired and aching to protest.

Antenn went and picked up Pinky, petting him, soothing, and watching Mitchella from dark eyes that held a fear she never wanted to see again.

She struggled against Straif's grasp, and he slowly slid her down his hard body and set her feet on the ground. She winced. She hurt, was sweaty, filthy, humiliated. She wanted to get away from this ordeal, fast. She checked her timer. “I must ensure the Residence is as prepared as possible for tonight. I must—”

“Greetyou!” a man called. They all turned to see a smiling Holm Apple and his wife, Lark. Both had orange tabby tom-cats trotting beside them. Neither of the cats wore a weathershield.

The sun appeared from behind the last of the clouds and beamed bright rays around them. Mist rose from the ground.

Holm stopped by Straif and Mitchella and studied the rock. “I think I'd like you to invite your distant relative the guardsman Winterberry to the Ritual tonight,” Straif said. “We can turn the matter of the trap over to him.”

Holm's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. “I'll scry him from inside. We're staying with the Ashes, and we had a visit from young T'Vine. He strongly suggested that we come over here. I don't know why that boy has to plague us with prophecies.”

Mitchella started toward the Residence, Lark kept up, but stared at Mitchella with a Healer's probing gaze. “You're hurt.”

“It's nothing much.”

“Hmm,” said Lark. She scooped up her cat. “Take Phyll, he's very good at Healing minor injuries.”

Just lifting her arms to accept the cat made Mitchella grit her teeth in pain. “Very well.”

“You should soak in a hot mineral pool,” Lark said.

“There's one in my guest suite,” Mitchella said. Phyll's purring seemed to sink under her skin to soothe her muscles.

“Very good,” Lark said to Mitchella. “Is your cuz Trif coming to the Ritual tonight?”

With a shrug that didn't hurt as much as she expected, Mitchella said, “I don't know. T'Blackthorn issued the invitations.”

Lark nodded and returned to the men and all the cats near the rock. Phyll twisted in Mitchella's arms to see what was going on. His purring paused, and a rush of aching pain flooded Mitchella. “Please, Phyll, can you concentrate on me? I hurt.” She added a whimper for good effect. Phyll cuddled in her arms and revved up his purr.

Straif watched as Mitchella slowly walked up the drive to the Residence. Holm continued talking about the trap, but Straif didn't listen. Mitchella had been so brave, so smart. A survivor, like him, but he must make the estate safe for her.

The sway of her hips was different than usual. She walked with pain. Straif swore, then felt the soft warmth of Lark's fingers on his arm. “She'll be fine. Phyll is an excellent Healer Cat.”

“She's only been here a couple of days, but she's worked so hard that the Residence is already shaping up. She works
too
hard.”

“Yes,” piped up Antenn. “She's thrown herself into this project. It's a beautiful house. I think her heart aches to see it in such poor condition.” He slid his gaze to Straif, then flushed. “GentleSir Holl—Apple, did you say you met Vinni T'Vine at T'Ash's? He was supposed to meet me here. Huh.”

Holm sighed. “Yes.” He patted a pocket, drew out a twist of papyrus. “This is for you.”

Antenn shook his head at the note. “That boy Vinni is more than a little strange.” Antenn's eyes gleamed. “But I bet the Clovers and I can teach him a thing or two.” He read the note. “He put off the scrim with the Clovers until tomorrow, after my WorkEnd bell.” Antenn's lip curled.