Heart Secret (5 page)

Artemisia stared at him. Now that she looked more closely, an element of his natural intensity was anger. Another reason to be wary. “I get the impression that you don't want me to be with you in this project.”

“I want you,” said the Turquoise House.

“Thanks,” she replied but didn't take her gaze off Primross.

He shook his head; his wide mouth thinned. “I don't, but I don't dare refuse you.”

“Why not?”

“Vinni T'Vine, the prophet, visited me this morning and insisted I follow
all
the wishes of the FirstLevel Healers.”

Her chest went tight. No one liked hearing a prophecy featuring himself or herself. She focused on what Primross previously said. “I don't agree that the Nobles are too powerful. I think they're doing their best.”

His eyes widened. He shook his head. “You are naive.”

“You're cynical. All the FirstFamily Nobles I've met have been decent people.” It hadn't been the FirstFamilies who'd demanded the Mugworts' title be stripped from them, but other Nobles of their own rank, at the instigation of the newssheets.

He jutted his chin at the window facing the courtyard where the HealingHall glider was pulling away. “You think FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather is decent?”

Artemisia flushed. She'd had unkind thoughts about the lady but wouldn't admit them. “She's doing the best she can. If we're in this together, I don't want to talk politics.”

He nodded slowly. “Done.”

“I suggest you take a tour of my premises,” the Turquoise House said. “SecondLevel Healer Panax can determine how things should be arranged best for this experiment.”

“Fine,” Artemisia said.

Primross's mouth twisted, but he said, “Sure.”

“This is the mainspace,” the House repeated. “I have a MasterSuite and MistrysSuite and several bedrooms and waterfall rooms, a kitchen as well as many no-time food and drink storage units. I have a playspace and a den and a library.”

“Give us the tour.” Garrett's half bow to Artemisia held a mocking quality. “After you.”

She sniffed and went into the hall, followed the House's instructions, and studied the rooms. Lovely proportions but all were set up to contain and destroy the sickness with sticky white walls and no furniture. Bare, bare, bare.

The more time she spent with Primross, the more it seemed as if she became sensitized to him. Her skin felt hot, and it wasn't the sickness. She was all too aware of his size, the way he moved, and his deeper and rougher tones that contrasted so well with the House's actor voice.

Time and again she had to yank her focus from the virile man to the stark House.

Garrett was too aware of the woman he didn't want to replace his lost love and tried to concentrate on his conversation with the slyly knowing Turquoise House. That entity hinted at more than one secret regarding itself, the woman, and Garrett.

The Turquoise House had figured out that riddles itched Garrett like a bad rash. The House dropped innuendos, ensuring Garrett was intrigued. Why, Garrett didn't know, but the House had an agenda.

So the obligatory tour wasn't over when a data stream came from Primary HealingHall, officially approving the project. Garrett's last trickle of hope that he'd be spared the whole terrible thing was squashed.

He and the SecondLevel Healer stood in a small bedroom that connected through a dressing and waterfall room to the bedroom of the MasterSuite. The view out the undraped windows was the only thing that made the place tolerable. The Healer had decided the chambers were right for the experiment. This would be her room.

Garrett glanced at his wrist timer. “I need to make arrangements for my business.”

“You are a
private investigator
.” The Turquoise House rolled the sentence. “A fascinating business.”

Garrett grunted. “I like it well enough.”

The Healer's delicately curving brows arched. “You wouldn't pursue a vocation if you didn't enjoy it.”

She already sensed too much about him. Every instant he was with her, the innate bond between them grew from the wispy tendril they'd always had to a thin thread. It would only get worse.

“You will tell us of some of your cases?” the House asked. “Though that business with the Hawthorn jewels earlier this year was well publicized—a triumph for you!”

The woman blinked as if she didn't recall his greatest case, the juicy events of kidnapping, attempted murder, accidental death, jewel theft, and a goddess's curse. Garrett shouldn't have been irritated in the slightest, but he was. People were contrary.

“Maybe I'll tell some general stories. Nothing confidential.” He wanted the woman to ask. But she stared around the place, frowning. She wasn't comfortable in the House and he wondered why.

No. He would
not
wonder about her. She presented no intriguing puzzle. “I'll go to Primary HealingHall and let them take my blood for the boy. Then pack my stuff,” he said.

She sighed. “I must, too.”

“Do you teleport?” he asked. She should be able to at her level of Flair.

“Yes,” she said, not sounding offended as he would've been if she'd asked him. She didn't appear to be easily offended. Easygoing. Soft.

Not like Dinni, who'd been adamant in her refusal of him.

The Healer wet her lips and his reluctant gaze went to her wide, tender mouth. She said, “I must plan procedures with the FirstLevel Healers. We probably won't start the project until tomorrow morning. You'll be scried with the information.”

“Fine.” He gave her his briefest nod. Again no reaction from her at the slight. Garrett teleported away from the disturbing female and to Intake at Primary HealingHall.

Four

T
he irritating Garrett Primross was gone. Artemisia relaxed her
shoulders.

“My HouseHeart is quiet and serene if you wish to rest,” the Turquoise House said.

The offer to visit its most secret room surprised Artemisia so much that she stretched out a hand to steady herself. Her skin cringed at the tacky feel of the wall.

“All organisms deposited by human contact have been destroyed,” said a flat voice.

The House rushed into speech. “My apologies, Healer. The decontamination and sterilization system came with med announcements that I have not yet programmed into my own voice.”

Artemisia never recalled an apology from her own sentient home. “It's very brave of you to host us, Turquoise House.”

“Please call me TQ. T'Hawthorn Residence said it took no harm. I want to be able to offer my humans the very best.” Strong, solid, and determined tones.

“I can't understand why you'd let me in your HouseHeart.” If the inner sanctum of the HouseHeart was destroyed, the Residence died.

“I trust you,” said TQ. “BalmHeal Residence and I talk a lot.” There came a cacklelike sound Artemisia couldn't place, but she knew it as punctuation. “He is very old and I am very young, but I was there when he stirred from sleep. My inhabitants at the time were with us both. BalmHeal Residence speaks of you a lot.” A short silence hung. “My HouseHeart needs maintenance,” TQ said, embarrassed.

“You don't have permanent caregivers?”

“No. FirstFamily GrandLady Mitchella D'Blackthorn decorated me, and will help me later. Others who have helped have agreed to have their memories bespelled so they forget details.”

Artemisia rocked toward the wall again, moved to the middle of the room. “No one knows how to reach your HouseHeart?”

“Not at this time,” TQ whispered.

She wouldn't say that was foolish. “I'm extremely honored.”

“I believe I need a failsafe human.”

She let out a held breath. “So another Residence has information on how to reach your HouseHeart and about your HouseStones?”

“Yes.”

“I'll be glad to help you, and agree to memory blurring.”

“Would keeping your memory be acceptable until my true person comes?”

“Your true person?”

“I have had tenants, but am waiting for my Family.”

She didn't suppress her curiosity. “Are you waiting for a destined person?”

“Like humans wait for HeartMates?” His voice lilted. “No, I know the Family I want.”

“Oh.”

A long creak came from a distant room. “My HouseHeart is very restful and you have had a difficult morning. I am sorry I mentioned your surname.”

“I don't think that will be a problem.” Though Garrett Primross seemed an observant man. But she hadn't hidden information about herself. If he checked, he'd know who she was and of the Family's scandal.

“And I am sorry about Opul Cranberry's illness,” TQ said.

“How do you know of Opul?”

“T'Heather Residence heard Ura Heather speaking to her father about the child. The GrandLord cautiously approved the experiment. T'Heather Residence told me.”

“Ah.”

“Incoming scry from Lark Holly at Primary HealingHall. Visual on your bedroom wall.”

A second later the whole wall rippled, then showed a huge image of Lark Holly.

“Greetyou, Artemisia. Opul Cranberry is being prepared for the blood transfusion from GentleSir Primross. We anticipate all will be well, but Opul is upset I'll be his primary Healer.” Lark smiled. She probably wasn't often considered secondary to anyone else. Artemisia was glad Lark was amused. “Can you come say good-bye to Opul? It's essential he remains calm.”

“Of course.”

“You can give me your recommendations for contamination spellshields and such to keep you safe, as well as the rooms you chose for the project in the Turquoise House. We anticipate starting at WorkBell tomorrow morning.”

Artemisia swallowed and kept her gaze steady. “I'll be ready.”

“I know you will.” A warmer smile from Lark. “Primary HealingHall is lucky to have you.”

They signed off and the scry faded and the wall went back to blank white. Artemisia breathed deeply. “TQ, can you scry BalmHeal Residence, please? I must talk to my parents.” She was sure her younger sister, a priestess of the Lady and Lord, could set up a blessing ritual that evening.

“Of course,” the House said.

“I promise I'll come this afternoon and help you with your HouseHeart.”

“It can wait.” His voice was soft. “We are patient beings.”

“Thank you for your support in this endeavor, TQ. It will be a difficult process.”

“The experiment will be fun and interesting!”

Artemisia was sure it would be fascinating . . . and terrible.

*  *  *

A
t the HealingHall, Garrett was met by a worn Lark Holly.
“Thank you for returning. Little Opul needs your help. He's responding very slowly to the new medicine.” Lark's expression hardened into sheer resolve. “We
will
save him. We
will not
have another epidemic.”

Garrett made a noncommittal noise.

Her lavender gaze lasered in on his. “I give you my personal word on that.”

He held up a palm. “This situation is not under your control.”

Her breath huffed. “You're right, but we know this sickness now. We will not let it win. Please follow me to the transfusion room.”

He hardly needed to, he'd been here to donate his blood so often, but he was glad to stop talking and take action.

He was placed on a bedsponge near the sick child, a young boy who stared at him with bright blue eyes in a pale face. Even his red orange hair seemed subdued.

“You're not pretty Artemisia,” the boy whispered, voice rougher than a child's should be.

“No, but he will help you.” Lark Holly pulled up a stool between the two beds.

“He's big.”

Garrett managed a smile. “Yeah, I am.”

The boy turned his head and closed his eyes and Garrett saw pain roll through him. He engulfed Opul's hand in his own. It was small and hot and reminded him of Dinni and her baby. He didn't know how to avoid the past. How many times would he be expected to relive it?

Then the child looked at him again and tugged words from him. “I'm here to help. It will be all right.”

Opul's chin trembled, his lips compressed, then words tumbled from him. “I was bad and opened the box that came from G'Uncle Hulten before he died.”

“Sshh.” Lark Holly held out a softleaf to the kid.

He grabbed it and scrubbed his face. “Now I'm sick and I'll make everyone else sick and more of my friends will die.” The boy bit his lip bloody. Lark exclaimed and touched it, Healing the small wound.

“No,” Garrett said and knew he'd make more promises that could be broken by death. He squeezed Opul's small and sweaty fingers. “I got the sickness and lived and so will you.”

Slow blinks at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” He struggled to think of something to help the boy. Struggle was right. He'd struggled all through the sickness to get the bus to the clinic. “What do you want to do most?”

“GentleSir Primross.” Lark Holly's voice cooled with warning that he was not an expert in this area. Healers generally wanted Iasc patients to stay quiet, relax, and rest.

He met her eyes. “I survived,” he said. That was the bottom line. He'd lived when others died.

“I like to run best.” Another chin wobble. “I'm going to miss the southern district race because I did something stupid!”

An idea came to Garrett, dried his throat. His glance clashed with Holly's intense stare; she watched him closely, listening hard. For something he hadn't put on the record? Who knew what worked? He reached for the tube of water and swallowed fresh liquid. “Listen, Opul.”

The child's pale blue eyes looked into his own. “When the fever and shakes come again, pretend you're running a race. Know that you
have
to reach the finish line,
must
win.” Like he'd had to get through the mountains.

With a little quiver, Opul's fingers clamping on his hand, the boy said, “Hard, to be sick and in a race and try to win, not stumble or fall, make mistakes.”

Hard to be driving a strange vehicle and know he
had
to get to the clinic. But he'd had a goal; everyone else had been giving in to their misery, even Old Grisc.

Garrett's teeth clenched on the tube of water, pierced through it, and liquid spurted everywhere. Cold and shocking.

With a ladylike snort, Lark Holly rhymed a spell couplet and the water evaporated, even from his clothes. An odd feeling he'd brought on himself. She took the split tube away to the disintegrator and gave him another.

“You think that would really work? Thinking I'm running a race?” Opul asked.

“Having a tough goal worked for me.”

Eyes wide and with trust, the boy nodded. “I'll think of that.”

“A good idea,” Lark Holly said softly. “Now let's get some of GentleSir Primross's strong blood and Flair into you.”

Another nod from the child.

“I'll come to your next race,” Garrett said.

“I live in Toono Town,” Opul said. “Sometimes adult work makes it difficult to attend races.”

Garrett didn't like the excuse. “You're a priority for me.” He didn't have any hot cases, could use more work. If something heated up, he'd still make the time. It was rare he had emergencies, life-and-death situations.

“You're a priority for all of us,” Lark Holly said.

“Even pretty Artemisia?” Opul asked. “She's not here.”

“Not her choice,” Garrett said. “She was assigned away.”

“She'll come say good-bye,” Lark Holly said.

The boy pouted, then his fingers were twisting, growing hotter. “I don't feel good. How long will I be sick?”

He didn't seem to be thinking he'd die, at least. Not that that had helped many. No one Garrett had known with the sickness had thought they would die.

“Perhaps a week,” Lark Holly said.

“Let's get this done,” Garrett said.

Lark Holly said, “I doubt he'll have more lucid moments. I helped clear his mind for the transfusion and now will put him into a trance. Can you self-trance and stay grounded?”

“Of course.”

Holly counted down and Garrett sank into a meditative state. He was aware of hands on him. A Flaired suction tube was placed against an artery in his arm. Hurt flashed; his blood flowed. This wasn't the first time he'd had his blood and Flair sent into someone with the sickness.

He hoped it would be the last.

Opul's pain and heat and shudders reached him and he could only endure. And know they were a precursor of worse, but he didn't want to think of that.

*  *  *

W
hen he came to, he wasn't in the same room but lying on a hard
table in a sterile place, naked. “What the hell?”

“Preparation for your ordeal to come,” a ThirdLevel Healer said, cheerful enough to irritate. “Decontamination and all physical, emotional, and Flair measured.”

“I don't recall agreeing to this.”

“Part of the procedure.”

“Hell. How's Opul?”

The Healer's round face folded into serious lines. “The sickness has him. He's thrashing around a lot more than he was. That's your fault, I heard.”

He sat up. “You're done.”

Her lips pursed. “Just.”

Ura Heather and Lark Holly walked in.

“Where're my clothes?” he asked. They were his favorite set of leathers.

“They'll be fine,” Lark assured him.

“Being decontaminated, too?” Couldn't be good for them, especially the padded tunic or boots. Dammit.

“That's right,” Heather said. “You're in excellent shape.”

“Good to know. Gimme my clothes.”

“Incoming scry from the Turquoise House on the wall screen.”

The Healers turned to it. “My clothes?” Garrett prompted. With a dark look, the ThirdLevel Healer went to a wall handle and pulled. Garrett's breechcloth, leathers, liners, and boots were there along with his pocketed belt. They didn't look any worse, but how would they feel?

“I need today and tomorrow to set up,” the Turquoise House announced arrogantly. “I received the specifications for the beds and bedsponges and linens and cabinets and medical equipment. I am upgrading them to luxury and ordering them from Clover Fine Furniture. I will send the bill to Primary HealingHall.”

“You won't!” Heather exploded.

“This is your project. Pay for it or cancel,” the House said.

The House was doing well, especially for an entity that had no backup Family.