Heart Quest (13 page)

“Yesss,” they said together, and Trif laughed and left.

 

I
lex had spent the day listing everything he sensed about
the individual killers. Right now, three seemed to be the correct number. Two men and a woman.

He'd gone over the sensorballs again and again, assigning deep laughter and taller height to one, a hitch in breathing and heavier perspiration to another…and on and on, trying to sort out distinguishing features. If he had enough, he could make poppets, and if the poppets were identical enough to the person, they might serve as compasses to the real human. It was a near-futile effort, since the best poppets needed something directly from the person and all Ilex had were a few skin cells left on Gib Ginger.

Again, he'd canvassed the incense shops, but for that too he didn't have enough information. He dreaded getting more, because that would mean another murder.

So he sat in the gloom of his apartment and brooded. He heard Trif laugh as she walked down the hall, murmuring to Greyku. The sound stabbed him as he recalled she was off to the Maypole to dance and mingle with youngsters her own age.

A cat's demanding growl near his feet surprised him. “Lights!” he ordered and looked down.

Vertic sat looking up, mouth open in a silent laugh. Beside him was a small, short-legged cat. One glance told Ilex it was feral.

This is Fairyfoot,
Vertic said.
She is an intelligent cat, of Fam quality.

“She's feral.”

She only needs to bond with a person. I told her you would find an acceptable human.

Ilex grunted.

The cat had big, round green eyes she used to great effect, making Ilex feel like she deserved a better life than being a feral. She stood and stropped his ankles, no doubt leaving cat hair on his trous. He shrugged. They were black.

Her pretty eyes, tufted ears, and slightly scruffy appearance reminded him of someone. Eyes narrowed as he considered her, he realized it was his cuz, Dufleur. He chuckled, then studied the cat. No doubt Dufleur hated living with his mother and hers. Narrowing his eyes, he visualized the cat and Dufleur together, using a smidgeon of Flair. They fit well.

Dufleur could do with a companion, and a Fam was a status symbol. If it came from Danith D'Ash.

“I'm picking you up,” he informed the cat.

He did so, and the scent of her had him tensing. He was sensitive to fragrances, and this was one he'd never forget. He'd smelled it on other cat fur.

A flash of the other experience rose to his brain. Incense. Scary-laughing adults with odd swooping lights—candles, and they were dancing, laughing, drunk on smoke? liquor?
Flair?

Trif had distracted him. Any fool, scenting the odor of incense, recalling the testimony of the Fams, would have come to the conclusion that there was ritual magic going on—ritual murder for
negative
magic. Black magic.

The fact no one had seen it before now—maybe no one wanted to understand the ramifications—didn't lessen his guilt.

Ilex knew his history. There had been some cases of black magic before—but not since he'd joined the guards. The fact was, most of the real misfits of Celtan society ended up leaving the cities and forging out into the interior of the planet. There was plenty of frontier on Celta.

But this wasn't mere alienation from society, or pursuit of other cultural beliefs than the mainstream.

This was evil.

He didn't know enough about ritual black magic—what these people wanted, why they were killing—to understand them and find them. He was sure the
why
was the biggest part of the puzzle that needed to be solved. So he needed to talk to someone who did. He had to get his clues in order: young people with uncontrolled Flair and Fams, altars, a special incense, the taking of the heart—
through
the body somehow—the cutting of the Fam. And that might not be the correct order of importance.

Should he go to the leaders of the Temple, priest and priestess? Or a mystic? Or a scholar?

The priests and priestesses would want to deny what was happening, or interfere more. Mystics tended to keep to themselves and their ideas might not be associated in any way with regular Celtan spirituality or black magic.

Who was the greatest mystical scholar on Celta? Were there any in Druida? He didn't know, but suspected they had to be a GrandLord, of the High Nobility—perhaps even a FirstFamily son or daughter.

Which meant he should scry Tinne Holly, who might know the name of such a person.

At that moment, his own scrybowl pinged. From across the room he could see the deep green with sparkles of white. His gut clenched. His mother.

H
e held the cat, stroking her as he crossed to the bowl.
“Here,” he answered.

The water stopped spinning and the hard, heavy face of D'Thyme looked out. She snorted as she saw him, then her glittering gaze fastened on the cat. “You have a Fam?”

“Yes.”

“We're on D'Ash's waiting list.”

Ilex shrugged. “What do you want?”

Her expression tightened. “The retrieval spell is placed on the amulet.”

“But is it done well?”

Frown lines etched deep and gray around her mouth. “You didn't tell us the amulet and spell were for your HeartMate. Your mother performed the spell in the HouseHeart and the HouseHeart possessed her—flooding her with energy and Flair—using her to craft the spell. She's a fragile woman. It nearly killed her. She's resting now. Come and get the thing. We want it out of the Residence.” The bowl flickered dark as she ended the call; then the water became clear and serene again.

Yowl!
The cat wiggled in his arms and he opened them to let her drop. She sent him an irritated look.

You squeezed her too hard,
Vertic said, cocking his head.
A night full of adventures. Where do we go first?

Ilex stared down at the cat, who stared right back up at him. Something bit his arm. He slapped his sleeves, then muttered a spell vanishing fleas. “I'm taking her to D'Ash. She can evaluate Fairyfoot and get rid of the livestock. Are you sure she's Fam?”

Fairyfoot turned her back on him and flicked her tail.
You are rude. And snide. But the Fox has confidence in you. Take Me where I must go to fulfill My destiny.

That was interesting.

“Where were you that you smell of incense?”

The cat shrugged.
Don't know. I go to many empty places
.

No help there.

I would like to teleport,
said Vertic.
We have not often teleported.

“You haven't wanted to.”

Because I am a fox and run fast and fine.

Ilex sighed. “We go to D'Ash, then to my mother's house.”

Vertic's ears pricked.
To your kit den?

“My childhood home, yes.”

Interesting.

Ilex didn't think so. “I believe
that
cat would do well with my cuz, Dufleur.”

The cat looked over her shoulder, sniffed.
You do?

“I used my Flair,” Ilex said stiffly.

Lashing her tail, the cat turned back to stare at the door.
The fox trusts you. I will see your cuz.

With a half bow in the Fams' direction, Ilex said, “Good of you.”

Yes.

“I'm picking you up again so I can scry D'Ash. Try not to infest me with any more of your fleas.” Gingerly, he picked the cat up. She didn't wriggle or scratch.

“T'Ash Residence, Danith D'Ash, please,” he ordered the scrybowl.

The bowl played an echoing melody, then D'Ash said, “Greetyou, Winterberry.” She was flushed and laughing. She held a bundle, a solid toddler with the black hair and dark blue eyes of her HeartMate. Just seeing the child made Ilex's spirit lighten. T'Ash had had a hard road, and cherished his son. The little boy clapped fat hands. “Win-ter-bee!” he said, then beamed up at his mother.

“He remembers you,” she said proudly, then brushed a kiss atop her son's head. “He's precocious.”

“I wouldn't have expected anything else of T'Ash,” Winterberry said.

D'Ash flung back her head and laughed.

Beautiful woman,
Fairyfoot breathed, almost in awe.

D'Ash had a way with animals, and her Flair got stronger every year.

Her stare fixed on the cat. “Who do you have there?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “My Fam brought her to me. They both say that she's a Fam.”

“She's feral.”

“Yes.”

“Hmmmm.” D'Ash studied the cat. “Zanth was a feral Fam. It doesn't happen often, but…Yes, bring her to me.” The scrybowl water rippled.

“One moment. I used my Flair and think she'll be right for my cuz.”

D'Ash looked out at him once more. “Very well.”

“I'll be 'porting, and bringing my Fam, Vertic.”

Eyes bright, D'Ash said, “The fox? I get to see the fox? Yes!”

“The fox gets to see you.”

D'Ash laughed. “Come now. I'll hand this one”—she jiggled the boy on her hip—“off to his father. You may end the scry, Nuin.”

A plump little hand slapped the water.

 

T
rif felt the throbbing vibration of the music before she
opened the Maypole's rose-colored door. Bespelled instruments, for sure. She grinned, impatient to see the band.

She wasn't known to the Maypole management—it was a far too expensive and high-class place for that—but her name was recognized by a few musicians. Maybe she'd be lucky and she could play. On that off chance, she'd packed her silver flute—also bespelled with her own Flair.

There was
nothing
better than playing for a room packed with people enjoying themselves, who sent off bits of Flair in happiness and flirtation with the opposite sex. A charged room, oh, yes.

“Are you ready?” she asked Greyku, whose little rump was stuck to Trif 's shoulder with a spell.

Oh, yes.

The door was taken from her hand by a doorman inside dressed in rose and pale green. He nodded to her, a touch of disdain in his eyes. “GentleLady.”

Greyku hissed. The doorman started, then narrowed his eyes, bowed. “And Fam.”

Trif walked to the counter, where she paid an entrance fee, then went to the glowing door in the translucent shieldspell that would let her through into the low-lit club. She hadn't often been to the Maypole, but it was
the
place to dance. A place where Nobles mixed with Commoners, a place where many single people gathered to play—or connect. A perfect place to leave T'Willow's HeartGift. She was glad that he'd given her an excuse to indulge herself in a treat, even though she'd be eating meals she'd saved in no-time storage for emergencies.

As she wound her way around the huge dance floor to a small, empty table for two she'd spotted, a man swung her into a dance, yelped as Greyku scratched his hand, and hastily let Trif go. He melted quickly into the crowd. The embroidery on his cuffs had proclaimed him the Heir to a GrandHouse.

Rude man,
Greyku said, licking a drop of blood from her claws.

I like to dance. And like to listen to the music even more. We'd better put you somewhere safe.

The small table was still empty. Trif rushed to it and claimed it, banishing Greyku's stick-spell so the kitten could hop from shoulder to the table. Trif glanced around. No one was paying her any attention. Not many people were even looking at Greyku. Trif hung her bag from one of the spelled security hooks on the underside of the table, then slipped her hand in it. Her fingers touched her silver flute first, caressed it; then she reached for the box. She set her thumbnail under the latch and opened it. The furrabeast leather pouch fell into her hand, nearly searing the skin of her palm, the heat was so intense. She jerked it out and dropped it on the edge of the table.

Greyku pranced over and settled near it, bracketing the pouch between her outstretched forelegs, claws evident.
I will guard.

Trif slid the kitten across the table back to the wall.
No, you will not. I must send the gift out.

The kitten stretched out a paw, but couldn't reach the pouch.
I like the toy.

It is NOT your toy.

At that moment a Maypole serving woman addressed Trif. “Do you want anything to drink?” Her gaze wandered to Greyku. “We have milk too.”

I would like cinnamon mousse,
Greyku said.

Trif winced. She couldn't imagine the price for that delicacy here. “I'll have Crimson Nut lager, and my Fam will have warm milk with a sprinkling of cinnamon.”

“Will do.” The woman shook her head. “This is the first Fam I've seen in here.” She looked around. “It doesn't seem the place for a kitten.”

“She's adventurous.”

“I guess so.” The woman smiled and left.

Leaning back in her chair, Trif looked toward the small stage and saw the man playing a lively jig on the tin whistle wiggle his eyebrows at her.

It was a friend—GrandSir RedMelon. He tapped his whistle with a free hand, gaze questioning. She dipped her hand in her bag, showed him her flute. His eyes widened. He gestured with his head for her to come up on stage. She shook her head, waving at the crowd on the dance floor. She wanted to dance and listen first. He nodded, then added a flourish and returned his gaze to the dancers.

The waitress arrived, carrying a tray. “Your lager.” She placed a glass beaded with condensation before Trif, then put her tray down and set her hands around a huge bowl twice the size of Greyku. Milk liberally spiced with cinnamon sloshed gently as she slid the bowl to the Fam.

Thank you!
Greyku shouted mentally, and had several people looking at the table.

Flushing, the woman nodded her head. “You're welcome.”

“How much do I owe you?” asked Trif.

The woman shook her head. “Drinks compliments of the chef.”

Trif slipped a gilt coin on the table. “For you then.”

“My thanks!” She whisked away, and as she did so, the pouch containing the HeartGift fell into her apron pocket.

Flair at work. Fascinated, Trif watched the woman check another table, clear one, and fumble with coins in her pocket, pull the pouch out of her apron, and set it with an absentminded expression on an empty table.

A man blocked Trif 's view as he came to her table. Young, like her, Noble, unlike her. He bowed. “May I have the next dance?”

“Yes.”

 

I
lex, Fairyfoot, and Vertic met D'Ash in her office. She
was full of efficiency as she banished the fleas from Fairyfoot and examined the cat physically, mentally, and psychically. Fairyfoot watched the woman with open adoration in her big round eyes. D'Ash certified the small cat as a Fam and sent the notice of record on to the proper bureaucratic clerk, along with the information that Fairyfoot was the Fam of Dufleur Thyme.

Then D'Ash and Vertic had a mutual-admiration session. She ran her hands over him, murmuring pet names, and did another certification. “My first for a fox!” She grinned. “He's beautiful.” Then she spoke to Vertic. “You can bring any fox kits with Fam qualities here to me.” She raised a hand, palm outward. “I vow to protect and raise them.” A frown line appeared between her brows. “You foxes are very rare. I don't want you dying out.”

We won't.
Vertic sat on her examination table. He raised a paw.

D'Ash shook it. “Done. You beautiful thing, you.”

Vertic opened his mouth in a foxy laugh.
T'Ash Residence is a good hunting place, and I have several food caches here.

D'Ash laughed again.

“Who is making my HeartMate too amused for my liking?” rumbled T'Ash from the threshold, a mock scowl on his swarthy face. His son rode his shoulders, small fingers clamped in T'Ash's hair.

“Greetyou, Winterberry.”

Ilex bowed. “Greetyou, T'Ash.”

T'Ash's gaze went straight to Vertic. He stalked over with a fighter's grace. “May I study you, Master Fox?”

I am Vertic,
the Fam projected mentally.

“I've heard Straif Blackthorn speak of you.” T'Ash circled the animal, eyes piercing. “Would you stand, please?”

Vertic did.

When T'Ash returned to his starting point next to Ilex, he was smiling and rubbing his hands. “I can predict a fad in fox jewelry this season.” He took his son, kissed the boy on his lips. “Will you take him, Danith? Inspiration has struck.” He handed the boy to his wife.

Nuin squirmed opening and clenching his fingers, reaching out for Vertic. “Foxy, foxy, foxy! Me touch!”