Heart Journey (5 page)

With a whistle, she called Shunuk, though he was reluctant to come since he’d smelled fox-spoor and was tracking it to the closest dens.

After a half-septhour PublicCarrier ride, she and Shunuk stood in the large flagstone rectangle that was ringed by the city’s theaters. They walked to the Evening Primrose Theater. Del stared at a short animated holo projected from a poster that showed a brief scene from the performance inside. Raz Cherry and Lily Fescue starred in a sophisticated mystery. Del’s gaze was riveted on Raz as she watched the holo time and again. Looked like she’d go to a play tonight.

Shunuk pointed his narrow muzzle to the poster.
We know that man.

Her HeartMate was Raz Cherry. She’d had a viz of one of his performances, had watched it time and again, and hadn’t understood that the actor was special to her. But the man in this poster was older and smoother and more accomplished than the young man who’d played second lead in the viz she’d watched.

He’s my HeartMate,
she said.

Yes.
Her heart beat faster, her gut clenched with wanting, but she managed a casual shrug. Then she thought of her strong shoulders, her strong muscles, her less than smooth skin. Not much like Lily Fescue, for sure, or the man himself.

What kind of partner could Raz Cherry be?

R
az didn’t sink into the character he was playing completely, was
oddly distracted. He told himself that his failure to stay in the present was the thought of a new play by Amberose.

That famous and reclusive playwright hadn’t issued a work for more than a decade. What a triumph it would be to star in it. He could only hope the male lead didn’t call for a big bruiser like Johns.

Lily slapped him on stage and it was more than they’d practiced. Fire was in her gaze, her sharp words, the way she flounced away. Raz set his jaw. She’d been right to bring him back to the here-and-now and he didn’t like that he’d slipped. So he concentrated and became the hero, followed Lily across stage to grab her arm and swing her back—with the exact force they’d done for one hundred and eighteen performances.

By the time the traditional curtains closed, he was pleased with his work and grinned at the loud “bravos,” some of which were for him alone. He and the cast took several bows and he soaked in the applause. There was nothing in the world like it.

He returned to his dressing room imbued with satisfaction.

Until he opened the door and found his room ransacked, objects scattered, possessions broken.

His shout gathered them all, brought the two guardsmen who had lingered to see the play for free. The sweet pleasure of triumph transformed into fury. He plunged forward to the broken models of the three starships that his father and he had made when he was a child.
Arianrhod’s Wheel
and
Lugh’s Spear
were twisted metal as if they’d been stomped on,
Nuada’s Sword
was unrecognizable. A groan tore from Raz as he picked up
Lugh’s Spear
, the ship of his ancestors. One of the models had always stayed in the theater while he was on a job.

“Sir, you shouldn’t—” started a guardsman.

Raz whirled on him. “This happened during the show. Where were you?”

The man winced. “In the front.” He widened his stance. “We talked to all’a you, all’a the stagehands and crew. Got lists of missing items. No one saw anyone, anything.” He glanced at the gathering in the hallway. People shook their heads. The guard turned back to examine the room. “Can you tell if anything has been stolen?”

Curling his lip, Raz scanned the mess, nodded to the shelves dangling from the wall. “Holospheres, old scripts.” His favorites.

The other guard had a sensorball, recording the chamber with sweeps of his hand. “Papyrus, holos taken. You keep a journal?”

“No.”

A throat cleared. The manager stood in the door, folded hands over his small paunch. “Sorry, Raz, but you should leave this room as much like you found it as possible. You and the two guardsmen were the only ones in the room since this morning?”

“Yes. Had to happen since my last costume change. ’Course I was on stage for the last half septhour.” Raz found he was stroking the cool metal of the
Lugh’s Spear
model with his forefinger. He followed the guards from the chamber, stepping over debris, avoiding looking at the fat cushioned couch that showed puffs of stuffing leaking from slices; the crumpled, ripped, and ruined world map tapestry that had hung on the wall. Sparing a last glance over his shoulder at the other models, he let loss fill him, then let it go, searched for a positive spin in all this.

Perhaps when he told his father, they’d repair
Lugh’s Spear
, make new miniatures of
Arianrhod’s Wheel
and
Nuada’s Sword
. Maybe reclaim some closeness they’d lost when Raz had turned his back on the Family business to train as an actor.

As he stepped into the hall he bumped into someone, then squinted at the usual dark aura of a crewman that let him move around on stage unnoticed. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry.” The shield was dropped and Raz stared at a short, familiar woman.

Sighing inwardly—he liked to be charming to all women, especially the ones he worked with—he bowed and said, “My fault. I ran into you.”

Her face was puffy and eyes red, probably why she’d shielded. With a grimace, she looked in his room, then away, her lips trembled. “They broke the stuff in my locker. Earlier.” She glanced around, shifted from foot to foot. “Bad luck.”

The manager clapped. “People, the guardsmen will have my office. They have requested that none of us leave until after the performance later tonight. I’ve ordered catering in. While the guards are investigating, we will be using the Noble Lounge. Raz, let wardrobe know what you need for the show tonight.”

Raz’s mouth twisted. “Everything except what I’m wearing now.”

“A priestess and priest will be coming to cleanse the area after the guardsmen are done. If any of you want counseling, they will provide it. Performance in three septhours.” The manager’s lip curled. “Let’s show everyone that we are the best troupe in the business.”

A
fter Raz’s dressing room had been cleaned, repaired, and blessed,
he’d spent a few minutes lying on the new couch, testing it and meditating before his performance.

A lingering scent of serenity herbs combined with an atmosphere of soothing calm brought by the priestess and priest. Lily’s area felt less negative than it had since the run had started.

He’d contacted his father about making new starship models and had seen pleased gratification flash in the older man’s eyes. They’d settled on dinner and work at T’Cherry Residence Midweek when he had only an afternoon show. That had felt good.

The rest of the cast and crew seemed equally relieved at having a cleansing and a blessing in the theater. Those who’d lost gilt and jewels had already been reimbursed by the theater owner. A few of the women were looking forward to shopping the next day.

Once Raz took the stage, he knew it would be a good night. There was something about the audience, a certain Flair, that ignited his own. An energizing buzz slid along his skin and sank deeply into him. He sensed the energy of the audience more clearly. They were in a mood to be more entertained with the wit of the play than the mystery so he modified his part. Lily and the rest of the cast picked up on his slight change of character and adjusted their own.

At the end of the last act he was revved as the audience gasped at the final twist, shouted as the curtain came down.

The villain rose from the stage and plucked the dummy knife from his chest. He linked hands with Lily as Raz did, and when the curtain rose, the three of them took their bows.

“Few times in a lifetime do we get energy like this,” the villain muttered from the side of his mouth. “Damned if the place doesn’t feel better than last night, despite everything.”

Lily smiled and bowed with them, angling toward stage left, center, right, talking softly through curved lips. “It will be back to normal tomorrow night.”

The villain lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “That’s what I adore about you, your unwavering optimism.”

One last bow with all the cast and Raz left the stage with the others, retired to his dressing room. Unlike in the morning, he locked it. The day had been long and weariness hovered on the edge of his mind, ready to crash on him.

He hadn’t had enough time before the show to prowl his refurbished room, arrange his remaining possessions, and in two days he wanted to walk into a space that felt right. Tomorrow the theater was dark. He had the day off, but there was a party that night to celebrate this one hundred and twentieth performance.

A good number, and maybe that factored into why the night had been so successful. Appeared he’d be employed for another one hundred and twenty and that was good.

He arranged his belongings, packed the remnants of
Nuada’s Sword
and
Arianrhod’s Wheel
in a shielded box, placed the battered
Lugh’s Spear
in the center of a very empty shelf. He left, spellshielding the door. As he stepped into the hall, he realized everyone was gone and it was later than he thought.

He looked at the wall timer—a septhour before midnight. He’d be returning to another place that wouldn’t feel good. The decorator would have left her energy in his rooms. Muttering under his breath, he strode to the stage door, stopped when he saw a female guardsman. Raz cleared his throat, smiled, enjoyed the little flush that came to her face. “Good night. Take care.”

She nodded. “You, too, GrandSir Cherry.”

He caught an echoing sound. “Are there more of you?”

“Three. One for the main entrance and one to patrol.”

Now he felt her strong Flair, which reassured him. She was tall and the guard uniform couldn’t hide her breasts and hips. She wasn’t a member of the stage or the crew . . .

The HeartMate card came to his mind’s eye and he gave her another smile and a wave and hurried out the door. He couldn’t be too careful with new women coming into his life.

How was he to know who’d be safe for a nice, brief, sexy affair and who wouldn’t? Cave of the Dark Goddess.

He knew HeartMates usually connected during Passages—dammit, he’d had his last Passage at twenty-seven, a year ago!—and that they could have erotic dreams about each other, especially during Passage. He’d enjoyed those dreams, the slide of his hands along her skin, the slide of his body on hers, the slide into her . . . and damned if he wasn’t getting aroused.

As he left the building he thought he could almost recall her scent . . . an exotic mix of spices, the slight taste of salt on her skin. He tucked the memory into the back of his mind where it would be for comparison to women who came into his life.

Three steps into the street and wariness feathered up his spine as if someone watched him. He tightened his grip on the box containing his destroyed treasures. He was angry and
wanted
to smash anyone who attacked him, so he decided to walk the half kilometer to his rooms instead of taking the PublicCarrier home. He’d like to catch this vandal and thief.

Yes, he was actor enough to know when eyes watched him, a glance slid over his body. Adrenaline rushed through him and he loosened his muscles, kept his stride easy. His expression showed a man thinking of other things than his surroundings.

His footsteps tapped lonely on the street, though he thought someone followed close. He watched for shadows and saw nothing, listened for the slightest hint of another footfall, a brush of a shoe against a curb. Nothing.

Soon he was at the roundpark in the center of his neighborhood that catered to artists with unique shops and small restaurants and apartments. There were no footsteps, though he thought the watcher was still there. He stepped into the deep alcove of his doorway that led to the staircase to the four apartments above. With a murmured Word he was through the new, stronger spellshield and the sturdy door closed behind him. All the tenants had been burgled.