Heart Secret (12 page)

She let the brain-numbing fear whirl through her, coat her skin in cold sweat, drip tears from her eyes as she trembled and gasped, visualized all that could go wrong. Not a technique she used to weather terrible events, but this time it worked. When she was on the far side of panic, she felt stronger, able to recapture serenity.

Once again she checked on Gar—GentleSir Primross, and he appeared to be as well as possible. “Can you monitor our patient while I take a quick waterfall and change my clothes?”

“Of course, Artemisia.”

“Thank you.”

After she'd washed her panic-sweat away, was cleansed and smelling of fresh herbs, dressed in shabby, loose clothes that she could sleep in, she felt steady. She
wouldn't
let the sickness win. Nor would any of the Healers.

Garrett wouldn't, either. Even now he fought, muttering, back in that terrible time.

This time they would all win.

She was hopeful until he began shouting again.

“Dinni! Dinni!” He called so desperately it squeezed her heart and brought more tears. She bent and covered his fist with her palm. His fingers turned, grabbed, his eyelids opened. “Not Dinni!” His voice broke. He flung her hand aside and thrashed until he rolled and his back displayed a purple-bruised rash.

She gasped and hurried to smooth ointment onto his skin. When she touched him, he moaned and writhed . . . and pled for Dinni. Artemisia forced emotions away. She could not fulfill the man's cry for the woman. He was a patient who needed her help and that was all she could provide.

By the time the cream was gone, he'd sweated through his trous and sheets again. This she could deal with. And now he couldn't mind if he were nude, and it was better for them both.

“Clothes off!” she ordered and the spell-melding seams disintegrated. “Cleanse!” Garrett's body lifted and clothes and linens whipped from under him and rolled, dry sides out. The scent of fresh herbs flooded the room. “Fit!” New sheets skimmed over the bedsponge, tucked themselves in, again adding fragrance—clover in bloom.

She quickly replaced his fluids belt. He groaned again as she reactivated the spell, then checked it, sighing when all was working properly.

The FirstLevel Healers appeared and she listened to TQ's report. She walked to the observation door and gave her own, handing over the blood samples and fluid belts. Ura Heather seemed satisfied, Lark Holly concerned. Lark said they'd come by in the evening, then Artemisia and TQ would be on their own throughout the night.

Late in the afternoon she heard a bumping at the window and looked over to see cats sitting outside it, staring at Garrett.

Their mouths opened and they yowled in chorus.

“Stop that!” she snapped, then, “Soundproof the room, TQ!”

Silence descended with only the sound of Garrett's harsh breathing—and his joints cracking as he struggled to get out of bed. “Feeding time,” he gasped. “Must feed ferals. Cats on the bus? Do we have food? Grisc?” He looked to the window, blinked around crusty lashes. “I
hear
you already. What are cats doing on the front of the bus?”

Artemisia was amazed to see Garrett stagger toward the window. She grasped his unsteady body, using Flair to get him back in bed.

He tussled with her. “Must feed feral Fams!”

“I'll take care of it! TQ, the cats must be speaking to him telepathically. Tell them I'll be right out!”

“I am repeating that announcement through an outside speaker,” TQ said.

Garrett blinked again. “Dinni? You don't know the cats.” His head shook ponderously. “Not Dinni.”

“No, but I'll take care of the cats.” She didn't want to send him into his tormenting past. “Time for a little break, isn't it?”

He sat against pillows as if they were a driving seat, his fingers curled like they held a steering stick.

“Rest, get your strength up,” she said.

“To make the trip.” He glanced along the wall. “Dinni is still there. Old Grisc is sick.”

“We can do this.”

Garrett's shoulders set, his jaw firmed. “
Will
do this. Don' like the looks of that shelf road. Might crumble behind us. Gotta go fast as we can . . .”

Artemisia shuddered, then counted every second as she was decontaminated and drew on new clothes. Once TQ told her that she was Iasc-microbe free, she teleported out to the back grassyard.

Cats circled her, staring.

Eleven

T
Q's actor's voice lilted indulgently. “The SecondLevel Healer is
coming to feed you, please wait.”

“I'm here,” Artemisia said.

A short growl and inimical glare from a black-and-white tom.

“He says you have no food in your hands,” TQ said.

“You can speak with them telepathically?” she asked.

“Not quite,” TQ said. “But I have had cat Fams within and can read their body language.”

Artemisia glanced around until she spotted a series of scrystones that TQ must be using to view them, and a speaker.

A spotted kitten gamboled up. “Pppht, phht, fhhoot!”

“Food?” She frowned, glanced at TQ. “Isn't he too little for dry food?”

“He will eat a bit, but will also be fed by his mother.”

“Oh.” She stared at the line of bowls on the deck under the House's overhang but saw no food. Turning, she caught the glimmer of more eyes in the bushes.

“The cats who live here are hungry and want to eat before the dogs and others come.”

“All right, all right. Where's the food?”

“In the small south-side porch,” TQ said.

And Artemisia realized she was irritated. Instead of being annoyed, she should bless the distraction for getting her outside, letting her feel colorful comfort.

She moved to the window to check on Garrett. He was “driving.” Sweat slid down his face.

“I must get back,” she said.

“His vital signs have not changed,” TQ reassured her.

A door clicked unlocked. As she walked to the south, spellshields vanished and a pale turquoise forceglass door opened.

Artemisia sighed and went into the porch made of the same tinted glass. She smiled. The House-becoming-a-Residence was optimistic in all its ways, including cheerful tinting.

There was a bin with a slanted top. Inside was a huge bag of dry “Multi-Fam Tasty Fooood!” She didn't think so. “Is this—” she began but stopped when she saw cats lining up near the door. “I guess it is.” Using Flair, she lifted the bag and filled ten bowls to the rim.

Gobbling noises filled the air.

“GentleSir Primross does this every day?” she asked, looking at the motley sizes and shapes of the FamCats, the scruffiness of the dogs who'd appeared.

“Twice a day,” TQ affirmed.

“He's more generous than I thought.”

A thin black cat lifted his muzzle, stared at her, made sounds she couldn't decipher.

TQ chuckled. “The cats say this is payment for information.”

“Hmm.” Artemisia put the bag back and looked longingly at the late-afternoon summer sunlight. “How's he doing?”

“I would inform you if he had problems,” TQ said.

As she nodded and left the porch, a plump calico trotted up and swished across her legs.

“The cats also get petting,” TQ said.

“Oh.” Artemisia crossed to a bench that was half in and half out of shade. The sun felt good, but she'd get hot soon if she stayed in it, and she didn't want to spare any Flair to shield herself from rays.

She was enjoying petting the cat when the black-and-white tom strolled up, growled at the calico, swatted her rear, and took her place. Other cats sauntered up in a raggedly spaced line, waiting their turn, and grooming.

Stroking the cats, rubbing the dogs—who were at the last of the line—helped Artemisia relax even more. And as she saw the cats arrange themselves in the sun or shade as they pleased, she thought of the small cat in TQ's HouseHeart.

“Feral Fams?” She projected her voice.

They all looked at her.

“GentleSir Primross must like you very much.” A couple sniffed, most revved their purrs. The dog she was petting swiped her hand with his tongue. “If you like him, you might want to send him any energy you can spare during his sickness.”

At that two of the cats jumped upon the wide sill outside the MasterSuite bedroom window and stared in. Artemisia could
feel
their support—mental, emotional, physical, even Flair—being transmuted to Garrett.

Which reminded her it was time to step back into his nightmares.

She stood slowly, absorbing all she could of the peace in the grassyard. Then with a sigh, she teleported into her dressing room.

And saw the spotted kitten on the bed with Garrett.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

I am his Fam,
the kitten insisted.

“TQ?” she asked.

“He teleported through the window. I think a Fam will be good for Garrett.”

The kitten looked at the four cats on the windowsill and lifted his small brown nose.
I will give him MORE love, MORE energy, than They. Because I want to be FAM with him.
A loud sniff.
They come and They go and They eat and get little pettings from him, but I will give more and get more!

She certainly heard him clearly and didn't know if that meant he was more Flaired than the others or he was more interested in telepathically speaking with her.

“What about your mother?”

She does not want to be a Fam. I do.

“Aren't you too young—”

No. This is MY FamMan.
With a rough purr, he curled up in the curve between Garrett's shoulder and head and flicked a tongue out at Garrett's jaw, then sent her an accusing gaze.

He needs washing.

She supposed he did—and his fluids belt changed and his blood taken again. But the man appeared to have subsided into sleep, though his fingers fisted and released and he mumbled.

Narrowing her eyes, she thought she saw the aura of the small cat impinging on Garrett's, helping him.

All to the good.

“Animals don't get the Iasc sickness?” She knew that, but her voice raised in a question to TQ anyway.

“No, Artemisia,” the House said.

After one last sigh, she got to work.

The next couple of septhours, she spent hands-on time with Garrett, wiping him down, rubbing ointments into his body, replenishing his fluids. The kitten watched her, and the Fams outside the window rotated.

Ura Heather and Lark Holly arrived after Artemisia had drunk her liquid meal and energizer, and they all discussed Garrett. Heather referred to him as
the case
or
the experiment
.

Opul Cranberry was continuing to do well.

Before the FirstLevel Healers left, Lark Holly said, “Get a few septhours' rest, Artemisia. The Turquoise House will monitor GentleSir Primross.”

“Very well,” Artemisia said.

“We will return at TransitionBell,” Lark said.

“What!” Ura Heather exclaimed.

“Many of those with the Iasc sickness died during TransitionBell.”

“As many folk do,” Artemisia murmured.

“Exactly, that's why it's called TransitionBell,” Lark said. “I will be here, at least.”

“I will, too,” Ura Heather gritted out, but Artemisia could tell that the woman's niece had forced her hand.

Without another word, they both teleported away.

“TQ, please wake me every two septhours to take GentleSir Primross's blood.”

“You should call him Garrett,” TQ said.

“Not when he's my patient, and he didn't give me leave to do so,” she said primly.

“He thinks you are beautiful,” the House said.

Artemisia snorted. “I doubt that.” Once again she dabbed his face clean of sweat, then arranged his pillows.

The kitten hummed approval, then curled by Garrett's shoulder. After a deep sniff, the little cat raised his muzzle and smiled.
Smells nice. I like being in a warm, clean room, next to a nice-smelling man. My room, My FamMan.

“I'm sure he'll appreciate you,” she said. Whether the man knew it or not, he was making a family. If he appreciated the ferals for what they were—unique and uncivilized—it was another reason why he didn't care too much for overcivilized Noble humans and their rules.

Or was she making sense at all?

The long day of summer wasn't done, but she was exhausted. Two septhours of sleep sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.

She trudged toward her own bedroom, using real effort to push through the decontamination shield. After showering, she slipped into bed. Long, soft summer shadows patterned the back grassyard with varying shades of green. At any other time, she'd have gone to the window or even to the garden. Not now. She could only hope for instant and deep sleep and no nightmares. Watching Garrett fight his own demons, relive the first time of his sickness, was nightmare itself.

And more would come.

Her eyes remained open; she continued to strain for sounds of Garrett. The sickness was progressing as if he'd received germs through second- or third-hand contagion, not a pure, virulent injection.

TQ said, “You need sleep. I will observe.”

She was used to a sentient Residence, but one who knew how to use its atmosphere to Heal and when to alert humans. So she hesitated.

“Do you not trust me, Artemisia?” TQ asked softly.

“I'm just not accustomed to you.” She bit her lip. She
did
need her sleep. “Contact me if his temperature rises, if he has convulsions or fever dreams.”

“Yes, Artemisia.”

“Fine.” She shut her eyes. The insides of them hurt with dry strain. Rolling over, she buried her face in the familiar comfort of her pillow and let sleep take her away.

*  *  *

H
e was the main driver now—good thing he was a quick learner and
had mastered the controls. Old Grisc had hack-coughed his way to the first row of the main compartment. Garrett hadn't bothered to shut the door of the cab. No reason. He'd started sweating and shivering like all the rest of them.

Night had fallen and sleet started. This was going to be bad.

For a while, he'd felt as if he'd already survived this; reality had been misty around the edges. He'd even caught a whiff of clean scent that lured him into thinking of hidden sacred spaces. And he'd thought he'd seen a well-kept road before him, leading to a special, wondrous grove.

But now rain and ice spattered and his breath shuddered from him, fogging the windshield. He'd have to go out and check the road and the vehicle.

Now there was only the trip and he was grimly determined to get this bus to help. Dinni was still alive, and so was the babe. They
would
live. So would he. If he fought hard.

So he did.

*  *  *

A
rtemisia woke before TransitionBell, made Garrett comfortable, did
all her tasks, and tidied before the FirstLevel Healers arrived.

Then she gave her report and handed over all the fluid belts and blood vials. The work was tedious, but she kept her goal in the forefront of her mind. She was participating in a project that might find a cure for the Iasc sickness. And she was ensuring her place on the staff of Primary HealingHall.

As minutes ticked to TransitionBell, they watched Garrett, and though his condition deteriorated, when the dawn came, he still lived.

The crises happened in the middle of the next day.

*  *  *

T
he trip would never end. He knew that now. He would be trapped,
forever driving the sick and dying.

His eyes hurt. Hell, all of him hurt. He gripped the steering stick hard, peering through the thick fog before him.

Had there been fog before?

There was now, and ever would be. He was stuck.

And Dinni stood before him, sad faced as she so rarely was, tears dribbling down her cheeks and dripping into the mist with the scent of sickness, death, despair. She cradled and rocked her child—her dead baby son. She was too pale. One last inclination of her head and she turned from him.

He knew she'd walk away, as she'd always walked away from him, and disappear into the mist. He didn't think he could bear it.

“Dinni! Stay with me!” he yelled with all his might. He reached for her.

But she didn't listen and vanished.

He gave up and let the sickness take him.

*  *  *

A
rtemisia had been napping—septhours had begun to seem like weeks
and she'd lost track of time—and awoke to thready mews and cold.

Too cold, especially for Garrett, who had been nearly steaming with fever.

She hopped from bed and flinched through the two decontamination shields to find a bare Garrett huddled in fetal position, face gray and sheened, shivering. His Fam was perched on his hip, also curled tightly.

“TQ, raise the heat, fifteen degrees
now
!” She yanked linens over him, found a blanket and a comforter, and piled them on him, but didn't think it would be enough. “What were you thinking to cool the room?”

“I was so ordered,” grumbled TQ.

“And
your
orders are not necessary,” said Ura Heather from the sitting room door. “The room was too warm for the patient.”