Heart Journey (41 page)

Raz ordered the glider to auto into Druida, turned to Del. “Our lives aren’t very alike, are they?”

She met his eyes. “No.”

Honest, as always. He didn’t think of Del as being a woman who would compromise. He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “You are a very special woman, Del.”

“Thank you. I think the same about you.”

He flashed a smile. “My thanks, too. I have to return this glider to T’Cherry Residence and report to my father about the trip . . . and the break-in and thefts.”

“Of course.”

“I want you to stay with me at T’Cherry Residence tonight.”

She raised her brows. “With your Family?”

“Yes.” He didn’t want to speak the
HeartMate
word. Didn’t want to get into any discussion of that. His gut squeezed as tight as a miser’s pouch at the thought. Not now.

But there was a shadow of a notion in the back of his brain about the thefts and diary that needed to solidify. He knew if he gave it a couple of hours, it would coalesce, and he sensed he needed to be in T’Cherry Residence for the revelation.

Tilting her head, she met his eyes. He felt the feathery brush of her mind through their link. She frowned, then nodded.

“Good,” he said.“You showed Dad and me around D’Elecampane House, let’s show you around T’Cherry Residence.” Again he kissed her hand, tasted her unique flavor . . . wild herbs. “I can promise you a fine meal and fine wine and entertainment.”

She smiled back. “How can I resist?” Her brows dipped. “I have a change of good clothes, though they need to be freshened.”

I have not roamed the T’Cherry estate,
Shunuk said.
It will be fun.
The fox slid a glance to Rosemary.
You will love the other kitten.

OTHER kitten!
Rosemary screeched.

She is very elegant,
Shunuk went on. He scratched his ear with his hind leg.
But you are bigger, though she is older.

Rosemary hissed.

“We won’t be staying,” Raz said. “I don’t live there anymore, won’t be living there in the future.” He thought of his apartment that he loved, thought of his career and the general idea he had of buying his own small house in the area where most actors and artists lived. That almost seemed a lost dream.

Too much brooding on old plans. An actor needed to be flexible in his mind, his body, his parts to make a good career.

“I also have a . . . feeling . . . about the diary.”

Del’s eyes widened and he smiled inwardly; it was hard to impress the woman, get any strong reaction from her—out of bed.

“I’ll let you know when we get home.”

She stilled and so did he. He’d meant T’Cherry Residence, but it wasn’t truly home. Nor was his apartment. He thought of the landscape globe he’d chosen from her workshop that was sitting on a shelf in his dressing room, wondered if anything was showing in it yet. Something had been building in it the last time he looked.

No, he wasn’t sure what was home, but was sure that it would be in Druida.

Home, a hard and sticky subject between them.

“Let’s ride,” Del said and slid into the glider, and Raz knew she was wishing she was on the back of a stridebeast.

 

 

T
hey made excellent time and were at T’Cherry Residence in a couple
of septhours. Raz and his mother showed Del around the Residence and she appreciated his childhood home.

The concept of home again. He itched to get his hands on his landscape globe but didn’t want to leave Del. He was afraid she’d ride out—more afraid that he wouldn’t stop her.

After dinner the Family went into the mainspace and Raz sat with Del on a twoseat, his arm across the back, nearly embracing her. He wanted her close . . . until she left.

Playing with her fingers, he waited until his parents and his sister and her HeartMate settled. Then he projected his Flair through the room until everyone looked at him.

He kept his voice low, a standard murmur that might not alert a certain entity—and might not arouse the kittens who had hissed and fought and then curled up on pillows in opposite corners to nap, ignoring each other. “I have done some thinking about the diary.”

Everyone’s attention keenly focused on him. He liked that just as much as in the theater, and if this show progressed the way he thought it would, he’d be a hero. Anticipation was sweet on his tongue.

He glanced at Del. “Del gave me an idea when she asked whether the diary should have been in the HouseHeart.”

Del snorted. “Obvious question.”

“It’s not in the HouseHeart.” Raz’s father’s brows knit.

“But when the diary went missing, this house wasn’t a Residence,” Raz pointed out.

“We still had a HouseHeart,” Del’s sister said.

“Also true,” Raz said, then sank his voice lower. “But when the diary went missing, we couldn’t
ask
the Residence if it might be here.”

He snapped, “Residence, review all your spaces, check for an object that is not part of your structure but resonates of a human Family member, a box, perhaps, that has been hidden.”

“Yes, Raz,” the Residence said. “There is the box in the Mistrys-Suite placed there by D’Cherry.”

His mother flushed, threw up her hands. “Gifts. I hide holiday gifts!”

“And Seratina’s satchel in the HeirSuite bedroom.” His sister blushed, too. “Never mind that one.” The image of sex toys flashed into Raz’s mind . . . everyone’s minds, he guessed since they all stared at her. Her HeartMate’s ears turned red and he sat stoically looking straight ahead.

“The gilt wallet in this mainspace hidey-hole,” the Residence continued.

“Dammit,” his father said.

“And an item that I have been forbidden to reveal by T’Cherry . . .”

“Cave of the Dark Goddess,” his father exploded.

“Stop!” Raz said, carefully not looking at any of his Family. “Let me rephrase that.”

Bunch of secretive pack rats,
Del teased.
I suppose you have another treasure box here, too?

Raz didn’t dignify that comment with an affirmative answer. Del was just too used to having minimal possessions when she traveled. “We are interested in an object that resonates of a long-past human Cherry, that has been there since you have become aware of yourself. A box, perhaps, and if you can sense so far, inside the box might be old books.”

“I am aware that there were journals,” the Residence said with dignity. “They have been spoken of often, all the hidey-holes and secret caches have been searched.”

“All of them that we know. But what of something that is not you, but has always been with you, never moved, yet has lingering human traces.” He studied his Family, all of whom wore dubious expressions. No, not a hero this time.

Del squeezed his hand.
It was an excellent idea.

“There is a small warmth . . .” the Residence said in nearly a whisper.

Everyone leaned forward. “Rather like my HeartStones. Always there. Always mine.”

“But not a HeartStone,” Raz’s mother said in her most comforting, soothing voice.

“No. It is not in the HouseHeart.”

“Maybe it should be,” his father said gruffly.

“I like it where it is.”

“May we please look at it?” Raz’s sister asked. “Please? We want it, too. We won’t ever take it away from you.” Her glance swept around the room and they all nodded in agreement with her words, even Del.

“It is mine,” the Residence said.

“It is ours, yours and ours, as all is.”

“Someone is hunting it, hurting your Family looking for it.” Del’s voice was practical, and sharp.

“Where is this thing that is all of ours?” Raz’s mother asked.

A
change in air pressure had the windows sighing. “It is behind the
pantry.”

“The original Cherry
was
a baker,” Raz’s mother said.

Everyone had instinctively risen to their feet—except Del. Her face was impassive. “I’ll stay here.”

She was his HeartMate, but neither of them had admitted it.

“Oh, but—” his mother started, then stopped and nodded.

So they trooped through the house to the large kitchen, through it. The pantry was large enough to hold them all.

His father cleared his throat. “Thank you very much for helping us, your Family. Where is it, Residence?”

“To your left, third shelf up.” The Residence’s voice had become smaller, younger, but there was trust in it.

The shelf might have been too high to see for older generations, but Raz’s father could reach it. He pulled down a multitude of jars, grimacing as he did, handing them to his HeartMate. She frowned, too. “Your great-great-FatherDam’s gooseberry jam.”

Raz’s sister stuck her tongue out. None of them liked gooseberry jam. His mother sighed. “These should have been thrown out years ago, but I forgot about them.” The jars were over her head. She chuckled. “Of course the Residence didn’t remind me of them.”

Soon the entire shelf was bare, but there was no evidence of a safe or even a seam in the paneled wall. Raz’s father stuck his hands in his pockets.

Raz said, “Residence, can you open the space for us?”

With a slow creak and a fall of dust, a panel square swung out. Inside was a polished box of gleaming cherry.

Raz’s father hissed a breath, lifted it out, stared at it.

“Please shut the alcove,” Raz said.

The panel swung shut, clicked in place. Raz put all the jars back up as his father continued to stare at the box.

“The breakfast room,” T’Cherry said.

It was one of the oldest in the Residence, the most intimate for a Family of four—or six.
We are meeting in the small breakfast room,
Raz told Del. “Residence, can you give Del directions?”

They took their usual places around the circular table . . . and Del sat next to Raz. His parents were near the door, Raz next to his father, his sister between her husband and his mother. Del was the last one in, every footstep echoing with a creaking board . . . the Residence being nervous.

“We’ll put the box and contents back, Residence,” his mother said. “We will want to read the journal, and perhaps viz it for copies, but we
will
put it back.”

Thank you,
the Residence whispered in their minds. The curtains around the windows fluttered, though the room was usually without drafts.

Raz’s father continued to stare at the box without touching it until Del sat. Raz took her hand, saw his sister was grasping her HeartMate’s and mother’s hands. Raz put his other hand on his father’s near shoulder; his mother did the same.

Del reached across the table to take his brother-in-law’s hand and the connection between them all snapped into place. Raz felt a vibration through his body, not only from the Family energy but from the floor beneath his soles to the crown of his head. “Residence, we feel you,” he panted. “A little less energy, please? We know you will survive beyond us, and you are one of the threads that keep us Family.”

A soughing came from the hallway.

“Residence, that’s enough. Stop acting like a distrustful child,” Raz’s mother scolded.

The lights flickered at the reprimand but then brightened and remained steady.

Raz’s father cleared his throat. “All right.” He lifted the lid; it came easily and emitted a slight
whoosh
as a long-ago spell gave way and left the scent of rosemary . . . bread made with rosemary and sea salt, an old Family tradition.

The Cherrys sighed.

Raz’s brother-in-law licked his lips. “Smells good.”

“I haven’t made that in too long,” Raz’s mother and sister said in unison, then smiled at each other. His sister gave a watery sniff.

T’Cherry lifted a book out. “There’s two,” he said. He passed the first one to his wife, took out the second.

“We don’t have time to read all the entries tonight.” Raz’s mother stroked the cover of one and the connection among the Family diminished. Raz’s sister put her free hand on her mother’s shoulder and once more all let out a sigh as they became connected—everyone.

The books didn’t look like books made on Celta. Four centuries old. Raz’s heart pumped hard at the thought.

“Could you just read near the front and the back to see if she mentions any map? Flip through it for a drawing?” his sister asked.

But his father already was skimming the pages. “Plenty of little drawings, faces, the ship . . .
Lugh’s Spear
.” He stopped and stared. “Broken.” He whistled. “Lucky there weren’t more casualties.”

Del’s grip nearly crushed Raz’s hand. He squeezed back.

The pages fluttered faster, sped by Flair instead of fingers.

“It appears that mine is the first.” Raz’s mother turned to one of the opening pages, frowned. “The entries are hard to read, old script.” She lifted her chin. “But I can do it.”