Heart Search (18 page)

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Authors: Robin D Owens

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: Heart Search
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Tiana’s forehead creased. “I . . . don’t . . . think . . . so. Just this office, and I’m sure we can contain the curse . . . or at least send it to follow the one who invoked it, so it rebounds on
him
and not you.”
“My father,” Camellia said flatly, a little too intensely, because Tiana grimaced at her.
“I’m going to call in a couple of my mentors—a FirstLevel Priestess and Priest.”
Treading quietly, athletically, Laev T’Hawthorn moved closer to Camellia. Brazos leapt to her shoulder and stretched out his paws as if he wanted to lay on both of them. With a little burble, Mica jumped up and Laev caught her.
Get close,
Mica ordered.
Another step and Laev slid his arm around Camellia’s waist. Her heart began to thud strong and fast. His grip was tight so he could take them all when he teleported to a location he knew.
“Where?” she breathed out.
“To my ResidenceDen,” he murmured.
They were all so quiet that Camellia noticed that the cheerful conversations had picked up in the dining rooms of the teahouse. She shut her eyes and prayed to the Lady and Lord that her clients would be safe—as well as the business that was the livelihood of her and her staff. When she opened her eyes, she found that she was within a hairbreadth of leaning against Laev’s shoulder.
The rustling of robes announced the arrival of the priestess and priest. Their Flair swirled through the room.
The priest made a disgusted noise. Bushy silver and black brows lowered over rich brown eyes set in a thin, lined face. “We’ll take care of this.” His voice was hard. “We’ll make sure the insult and curse is removed from here, attached to the one who profaned. He will pay for the hatred that is his life.”
“When?” asked Tiana.
Bending a stern look on her, the priest said, “You were right to call us, and you may work with us, but only the Lady and the Lord and the offended Sheela Na Gig will determine when the curse activates. Go.” He turned his head to stare at Laev. “If you please, GreatLord T’Hawthorn. This is no place for you.”
“Will the patrons of the dining rooms be safe?” asked Camellia again, watching the priestess as she sprinkled a powder on the rug that revealed a black and oily spot.
“Yes,” the priest said. “Only this space will be affected, and we will cleanse it thoroughly when we are done. Go!”
“Thank you, T’Sandalwood,” Laev said. Of course he would know the priest; T’Sandalwood was only one step lower in status than the FirstFamilies. Camellia stared at the man who was the highest priest on Celta. She’d never seen him up close before.
“On three,” Laev said. “Let me do the teleporting.” Well, of course, she couldn’t visualize his ResidenceDen.
His arm drew Camellia close until their bodies touched along the side. Her head whirled with the scent of him.
“One, Mica cat. Two, Brazos cat,
three
!”
Camellia’s Flair seemed to merge with Laev’s . . . and she felt his strong psi power. Magic that had been bred into his blood and bones for centuries—even before his ancestors had landed on Celta. For a moment she felt caught and was pirouetting through a spiral of darkness with bright multicolored pinpoints of flickering light. Then there was an instant’s sensation of falling and Camellia found her feet on a thick rectangular carpet that obviously served as a teleportation area for the elegant room.
A room that smelled like Laev, only more so. Generations of Hawthorns. A room that looked like him, intelligent, sophisticated,
noble
. Another deep breath and Camellia realized the odd atmosphere in the room was because the house—the FirstFamily Residence—was a sentient being itself.
She stared around her, at the bookshelves that lined the walls around the windows, the thick, darkly patterned rugs of an incredible knot count.
This is My house. It is FUN. Come with Me, Mica!
Brazos shouted excitedly.
“Wait!” Laev commanded. “I don’t want you running all over the Residence, distracting or upsetting people. You are to stay in the ResidenceDen.” His arm dropped from Camellia’s waist and she let her breath out in a whoosh. The place—the man—was overwhelming. She wouldn’t move from the teleportation corner chamber.
With every scan of her gaze, she lusted more for a room like this—and the reason it was so wonderful was because it was nearly four centuries old. She could spend a massive amount of gilt replicating the room with antiques the same age, furniture—that incredible burled desk—everything else, and her room still wouldn’t be the same. No, she didn’t move as Laev spoke to the cats.
Brazos was throwing a fit, thrashing around, black hair flying from him in his stress.
This is MY home and I WANT to SHOW it to MY FRIEND. Especially MY ROOM.
There was a click. “I have physically locked the door,” said a quiet cultured voice.
Camellia jumped, looked around, felt foolish when she realized the Residence itself spoke.
“Thank you, Residence,” Laev said.
Clearing her throat, Camellia said, “Mica, come back to me. This was an emergency teleportation. We weren’t invited here.”
Laev’s back and shoulders stiffened. He moved to face her, his expression blank. “You
are
invited. I would not have brought you here if I did not want you here.” He sounded courteous, but it was clear to Camellia that she’d insulted him. Of course he had the Flair to teleport anywhere with two cats and a stranger.
“Thank you.” She stretched her arms out for her FamCat. “Mica!”
The calico ignored her. Sucking in a breath, Camellia translocated the cat from near the door into her arms, held her Fam tight.
Behave or you will not get furrabeast steak like the rest of us for dinner.
Mica subsided.
“Thank you very much for your help, T’Hawthorn.” She dipped a curtsey. “I did want to tell you that I spoke to my friends about the Salvage Ball. Neither of them recall any other items that Nivea brought to the party.” Camellia would never tell him about the strange item she’d sensed. Didn’t want to think about it herself.
She dragged in a breath. “I’m sure you understand that I’m concerned about my business. I need to monitor what’s going on from my other location. If you will excuse me—”
“You don’t take tea with us?” asked the Residence.
Camellia jumped again.
Twelve
 
T
’Hawthorn Residence continued, “Our housekeeper has retrieved
some tea made by a D’Hawthorn two centuries ago, for your delectation and experienced palate,” the Residence said, almost silkily.
Camellia hadn’t realized that a Residence could express itself so well. She didn’t say so. In fact, she couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. “Ah, hmm.”
The door clicked and swung open. Brazos shot through it. Mica leapt from Camellia’s arms and bolted from the room after Brazos. A woman dodged them but chuckled tolerantly, saying, “Tea and sandwiches from the hands of GreatLady Huathe Blanca D’Hawthorn. Made in the year 219. The best cook the Family has seen.” The housekeeper beamed. She pushed a tray through the air that contained a complete tea for two—teapot, fragile cups and saucers, cream and sweet pots. There was a tiered tray that held tiny, crustless sandwiches.
Laev was staring at the setup as much as Camellia.
“That isn’t the same pattern as the vase you took to the Salvage Ball,” Camellia said and wished she’d kept quiet. Then her mouth dropped as a fully set table appeared next to one of the windows and nearby chairs moved themselves in front of the place settings. She heard Laev mutter under his breath, “Lord and Lady.”
“No, the china is not the same,” the housekeeper answered Camellia. “The vase was the last of a set that an ancestor brought with him when he wed one of our GreatLadies. Residence never liked it.
This
set is GreatLady Huathe Blanca’s herself. Tea and sandwiches and all.” Camellia wasn’t sure about drinking and eating food that was a couple of hundred years old, no-time or not. She kept her mouth shut.
Housekeeper and tray had positioned themselves close to the table. “Laev, escort GraceMistrys Darjeeling,” the housekeeper ordered, obviously a Family member with strong Flair.
“Of course,” Laev said. He angled himself toward Camellia, bowed formally to her as if she were a GreatLady herself, offering his hand.
Another thing she stared at . . . his long, elegant fingers. More than a few heartbeats passed before she gathered her wits enough to take the couple of steps toward him and put her hand in his.
A surge of lust with a hint of
more
, of intense possibilities. Camellia’s mouth dried, and she yearned for the tea. The fragrance steaming from the spout of the teapot was something she’d never scented before.
They were both silent as he seated her and sat himself. The chairs moved closer to the table and Camellia pretended that she was used to that, even as she wondered whether the spell was on the chairs, the table, the rug, or something the housekeeper or Laev did. She considered how much it would cost for her teahouses.
She recalled what was going on in Darjeeling’s Teahouse and desperately wanted to be back there but didn’t dare contact Tiana in case the priestess was in the middle of a ritual.
“May I pour?” asked the housekeeper. Both she and Laev were looking at Camellia.
“Please.” She tried her best smile. “Forgive my distraction. There is a touchy situation occurring at my business.”
The housekeeper clicked her tongue as her hand tipped the teapot, pouring golden brown liquid with a little fragrance of bergamot into the teacups. Camellia knew that black and bergamot tea had been very popular on Earth at one time, but wasn’t currently a taste that Celtans liked.
“You think too much of work.” The housekeeper gave Laev a frown, too.
Camellia took a dainty silver spoon with a bowl in the shape of a scalloped seashell and sprinkled some sweet in her tea, tasted. “Lovely,” she said truthfully.
Laev drank, too. His jaw bunched. “Good,” he said, but Camellia knew he lied.
The housekeeper sighed and went to a corner cabinet that Camellia recognized as no-time dedicated to drinks only. A minute later the older woman returned with a coffee carafe in a subdued masculine-looking pattern. She removed Laev’s teacup and saucer and they vanished from her hand to be replaced by a sturdy mug that she filled with strong caff that overwhelmed the fragrance of the tea.
“Here you go, Laev.” Her tone was indulgent and Camellia stilled, observing. There seemed to be a pattern going on . . . both the housekeeper and Residence outwardly deferred to Laev as GreatLord T’Hawthorn but seemed to speak to him like a youngster. Not her problem, but . . .
“T’Hawthorn has been very kind to me today. And to
Nuada’s Sword.
” Camellia lowered her lashes and lifted her cup to inhale the fragrance again. She’d mix some bergamot into her teas and try them on her friends. “I know the SupremeJudge appreciated T’Hawthorn’s help.”
Laev angled a glance her way. His brows rose ironically. She understood then that he was very aware of the attitudes of his Residence and Family, and for whatever reason, he was letting them ride. The Hawthorns were a patient Family.
Diversion had worked earlier with the Ship, maybe she could use it now, too. She grinned up at the housekeeper. “If you ever need a job, you have one at either Darjeeling’s Teahouse or Darjeeling’s HouseHeart, in any capacity.” Camellia looked at Laev.
“I am honored to introduce my cuz, Alma Hawthorn, to you, GraceMistrys Darjeeling,” he said. He drank down some caff and his exhalation was soft and a smile curved his lips.
“I’m also honored,” Camellia said.
The woman flushed. “So kind of you to offer, GraceMistrys. I’m sure I wouldn’t know what to do if I left T’Hawthorn Residence.”
Camellia figured the woman would do just fine anywhere. “My loss,” she said. “And I am most honored that T’Hawthorn helped me.” She cautiously picked up a bite-sized sandwich and popped it into her mouth. Terrible, just terrible. And the ingredients were definitely fresh. Celtan tastes must have changed. Of course she wanted to spit it out and couldn’t.
She chewed and swallowed as soon as possible. “Quite unique.” Her gaze slid to Laev, and though his face was impassive, his eyes glinted with humor. She noted then that he hadn’t touched the food. Wise man.
Alma nodded. “I’ll leave you two.” She exited the room.
“Thank you for asking your friends about the Salvage Ball, and telling me,” Laev said.
Camellia choked a little before replying, “’Welcome.”
“Too bad you already ate the sandwich,” Laev said.
“Yes.” Camellia gulped down some more very good tea. “I noticed you didn’t touch it.”
“Once is enough for most of Huathe Blanca’s exotic food, though she really was a good basic cook. It shouldn’t harm you any.”
“Thanks.”
He rose and took the plate of sandwiches, dumped them on a piece of papyrus, tapped the sheet. “Farm pigs,” he said, and the whole thing disappeared.

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