Heart 16 - Script of the Heart Read online

  Lazily he soaked up the warmth of the summer's day, listened to birdsong and insect chirps, spooned against his new lover. A perfect moment in his life. One he'd remember always.

  Though he'd rather, of course, engage in more incredible sex moments … as soon as he revived. But for this perfect moment, he experienced simple satisfaction.

  Until he sensed depression smirching her dozing mind. Not acceptable. So, he pulled her against him, enjoying the softness of her body, her too slender body, under his palms, and nudged her mind awake.

  "I need to return to T'Spindle's," she murmured sleepily, released a deep sigh. "Or try to pick up a half-shift at a HealingHall."

  He tensed, made himself relax immediately. "Well, I got some food in you. I guess your gilt situation hasn't been resolved?"

  "No." She sounded fully awake now.

  "I'd help you—"

  "No!" She did more than flinch against him, she thrashed away and out of his arms.

  "—if I could," he ended, though he would raid his savings for her. Foolish notion. Stup. Giving gilt to a new lover. But she impressed him as honest. More than honesty, her pride wouldn't allow her to take from him. He understood that.

  And she'd stopped her rolling motion away from him, or onto her side to face him, he didn't know. Instead, she scooted back to their previous position, but the perfect moment had cracked and fallen away. Now he held a fully awake woman in his arms.

  "Your show is ending," she said.

  "Like I told you before," he continued lightly, "I have savings." He suffused his voice with enthusiasm, "And I have prospects."

  "Prospects? Truly?"

  "Yes. I take it your conversation with D'Willow did not go well?"

  "Not as planned, no, though I have options." Her voice cooled, shutting that topic down.

  He didn't press, just stroked her side, the curve of her hip, the top of her thigh with his hand. Not sexually, but soothing.

  "New prospects?" she asked.

  "Let me tell you." And he did, in an upbeat tone, from the meeting with the agent at T'Spindle's party and the mystery of the theft and loss of the script and the missing agent.

  But most of all the pride expanding his bruised ego that the major playwright of generations had written a script for him. And when his shaft began to stir once more, he withdrew from his superb lover because he knew that her sense of duty wouldn't allow another bout.

  He rolled out of bed, rubbed at his chest, glanced down at the delightfully tousled—wild—looking Giniana Filix. Until now, he hadn't truly noted that she'd been extremely tidy. But most Healers exemplified that trait.

  Sending a longing glance at the luxurious waterfall room, since she wouldn't join him or stay while he actually washed, he gritted his teeth and said a gentlemanly cleansing spell that really scoured parts of him he preferred to have a gentle touch. But it used the least amount of Flair and didn't flagrantly wave those parts around in an embarrassing fashion.

  Then he picked up his clothes and began to dress without spells to stretch out the time with her.

  CHAPTER 18

  GINIANA STARED AT HIM, her face a full frown, looking prepared to reject him again, so Johns spoke, "You still need to eat," he said lightly.

  She gave him a straight look. "I don't think either of us can afford breakfast at the Thespian Club every day."

  He paused in his dressing. Since her gaze lingered on his body, he'd gone slowly. "No," he replied, carefully keeping the immediate reaction of insult from showing in manner, expression, voice. Reminded himself that he'd already planned to drop the breakfasts as too expensive. "We can meet for caff, or I can bring snacks to share for your morning break. Or lunch to you on my days off.”

  "You'd come to me?"

  He wanted to say, "always," but that sounded too intense and a touch desperate—more desperate than he wanted to acknowledge to himself. He shouldn't want to be with her this much. He peeked at their bond. That shouldn't have been as strong and thick and reciprocal in this amount of time. Nothing like the puny links he'd developed with previous lovers. Should scare him silly, but it didn't. He'd fallen too far, too fast, he supposed, and now only needed to hit the unforgiving ground with a thud. Later, much later.

  And he stood staring at her too long. "Yes, of course," he said, adding. "Currently my schedule is more flexible than yours."

  A slow nod from her. She sat up and his gaze went to the soft sway of her breasts. Very nice.

  "How are you for time today, for other meals?" she asked

  His heart gave a hard thump. "Morning is free. Matinee and evening performance so my mealtimes will be odd. No rehearsals." He grimaced. "Owner has cut rehearsal time, too. If we want to rehearse, it's on our own time and without pay and not in the theater. Stup."

  "I think," she said deliberately. "I've found your missing agent."

  That rocked his balance a bit and he had to steady himself. "What?"

  "He's a sick man in my infirmary behind my cottage."

  "I need to—"

  She lifted her hand. "He's sick. Perhaps tomorrow he'll be able to talk."

  He sucked in and let out a breath, now his mind surged with thought, he could figure out how the whole situation had occurred. "You'll check on him? Perhaps he'll be able to say something about the script later this morning? I could come over."

  "Naturally, I'll check on him as soon as I reach home, but if he'd fallen into a deeper fever, Thrisca would have notified me sometime during the night, and she didn't. You may come tomorrow," she said firmly, slid from bed.

  His mouth might have fallen open at the sight of her beauty, but he didn't think he drooled. To get more blood in his brain, he picked up her garments. As he straightened, he flicked each out, murmuring a cleanse and smooth spell. She said a couplet to wash herself with actual water—a trick he didn't know and would have taken too much of his Flair.

  He lay her clothes on the bed, was torn between having her check on the health of Blakely Wattle and being with her longer. He crossed to the no-time, scanned the selections, wondering what he could offer that might keep her from leaving. "There's pie."

  She paused before pressing the last tab closed on her tunic, hand at her left shoulder. "Pie?"

  He waggled his brows, swept a hand toward the no-time appliance, gestured to the small table set for an intimate meal for two next to the window looking down on a pretty side flower garden. "Several flavors."

  After finishing dressing, she joined him at the no-time, read the flavors and chose a mixed fruit pie that struck him as being far too healthy. He took out a warm sweet nut pie, himself. Plenty of work to keep him active today.

  She sat, relaxed yet vibrant, and he congratulated himself on pleasing her out of bed as much as between the linens.

  Pouring fragrant amber tea into delicate cups, she smiled at him and said, "Thank you, Johns."

  And it struck him that he wanted his given name on her lips, from her more than anyone else in the world. "Call me Klay."

  "Klay?"

  "Please." He added quietly, "I may be 'Johns' to everyone else, but I'd like you to call me 'Klay.'"

  "Should I be honored?"

  He shrugged. "If you want." He matched her gaze and revealed a further truth. "It can be lonely when no one you know, not even your best friends, call you by your given name."

  She inhaled harshly, coughed, sipped tea. The motion almost hid the flattening of her lips. He angled his head. "Don't you have good friends?"

  "I have Thrisca and the kitten, of course."

  "Of course," he echoed.

  "I'm not lonely!" she protested.

  He kept his mouth shut.

  "Fam bonds are important," she said.

  It stabbed him that she'd bonded more with an animal companion than himself. He felt the hurt, let it go. He dredged up a smile. "Most of my friends are actors, and some are also friendly competitors, like Raz Cherry."

  She nodded and they ate their pie in comfortab
le silence. He refrained from pressing her about human friends because he'd been totally honest with her. He liked being honest with everyone, but some people would only use that to manipulate him, so he put on a mask. Being with Giniana where he was completely himself was special. Restful, even.

  When only a few crumbs littered their plates, they rose. He took her hand and they both glanced at the bed, the table, the rest of the suite. Yes, absolutely used, but not awful, and not their job to clean up, especially for the cost.

  They were in accord in their feelings. Good.

  Once on the street, he squeezed her hand as her public carrier glided up to the stop. She met his eyes as he'd wanted. "I will continue to speak with you every day." He tried out a lopsided smile and liked how her lips curved in response. "And we'll see if I can manage a meal with you, at least, every day."

  To his surprise, she lifted on her toes and kissed him. "Maybe." Then she left.

  He was on the carrier and close to home when she pinged him on his perscry pebble and told him Blakely Wattle wanted to speak with him.

  Unfortunately, he was met by the Fams.

  Johns's gut tightened as he walked up to T'Spindle guardhouse, sensed the animals coming along Giniana's path to meet him.

  Two Fams. Two FamCats. Great. But he had face to save before the guards, so he'd use his acting skills.

  He'd learned from others that people who dealt often with Fams tolerated the intelligent animals more than Johns did. Others actually liked them. Including the T'Spindle guards.

  He suspected Giniana wanted him to like them, too, and sent these two to try and charm him, maybe. His previously rare contact with Familiar animal companions seemed to be over. Maybe he could endure such intelligent Fams. In any event, if he continued his relationship with Giniana, he would have to learn to get along with Thrisca and the kitten.

  He stopped near the front gate to identify himself and explain his visit. Before the Spindle guards opened the wall door for him, the kitten capered under the greeniron gate and cavorted around his feet. He'd trip if he moved, so he stood still.

  I remember you! she squealed loudly enough mind-to-mind that the guards smiled. You helped Me in the alley and brought Me to My new home and Fam who teaches Me much! You acceptable man.

  He'd freed the trapped kitten, damn well saved that kitten's sight, perhaps her life. Did she mention that? No.

  "Greetyou," he acknowledged.

  I am now called MELIS. I am part of an Important Family, she said. Thrisca told Me. We are all very important. We live in the cottage and We help the Healer Giniana and We try out new toys. Thrisca says We are the BEST FamCats in Druida City. But I KNEW that!

  A Spindle guardswoman coughed, obviously covering a laugh, waved him into the estate.

  Johns nodded to her and said, "Thank you." Then, two paces in, Thrisca sat regally in the middle of the path.

  The kitten hopped onto his shoes—as he walked—leaving scratches through the polish and damaging the leather. She swarmed up his trous before he got her, hooked her claws into his shirt, no doubt leaving tiny holes.

  Thrisca rumbled a loud purr. Melis welcomes you, as I do! She strode over to strop his legs, depositing a goodly amount of beige hair on his black trous. Squinting, he saw a thick mat or two, and sniffed a hint of cat piss from them.

  Definitely should have studied up on Fam spells. He would when he got home. Maybe change all his Giniana-visiting clothes to beige.

  Right now, he inclined his head to Thrisca. "Please remove your stinky mats from my trous." She appeared clean and he wondered if she'd saved the mats just for him, to irritate him. He wouldn't put it past her.

  She glared.

  "All right, I'll let your FamWoman take care of my trous, use her Flair and spells and time and energy …"

  Thrisca arched, and extended her claws on one lifted paw. The mats fell away. Left an odor, though. You are not worthy of MY FamWoman, she sent mentally.

  "Probably not," Johns agreed. "But while you're causing trouble for her, I'm trying to support her. She's doing all this extra work for you. What are you doing for her?"

  Melis moved across his shoulder to head-butt his cheek. When he turned to look into big eyes, she said, We must do something for Our FamWoman?

  "Be nice to her. Obey her quickly when she asks you to do something—"

  Thrisca snorted.

  "Respect her."

  The kitten's eyes got rounder. I LOVE her!

  "Then you want to make things easier for her, right?" He hesitated, probably not a good idea to point out that Thrisca might move on to the Wheel of Stars and Giniana might need help with her grief. He got the notion the kitten had already bonded well with Thrisca. For sure the little one’s language had already improved.

  He didn't know how FamCats thought about death, and, frankly, didn't want to learn.

  Thrisca turned and began walking the path to the Healer's cottage. Johns followed.

  Managing to balance and sit on his shoulder, Lord and Lady the kitten was small, Melis said, I am new to Human Rules but I learn FAST! We are supposed to be nice to FamWoman?

  If she had to ask, he had to emphasize. "You are supposed to treat her like the most important person in the world. She feeds you. She houses you. She gives you love and pets." He glanced ahead at Thrisca, who waved her tail in what he believed to be a too casual manner. That cat acted, too. "I know gratitude isn't something a common cat feels, but you're supposed to be an evolved animal."

  Thrisca turned her head back, upper lip lifted in a sneer. Like humans evolved?

  "So they say," Johns replied. "I don't know any apes, do you?"

  Only you.

  He snorted with laughter, waved fingers. "See, I can laugh at myself."

  Foolishness. Thrisca sniffed.

  Before they moved from the gravel path to the packed dirt, rounded the end of a hedgerow, Johns said, "Stop. Let's make an agreement." And by saying that he knew he'd given the upper hand—paw—to Thrisca. But face it, the FamCat had decades on him and should have learned something during all those years, especially when dealing with actors.

  Another, slighter, sniff, then she turned and sat squarely in the trail.

  Melis kitten sailed with Flair down from his shoulder to the ground, ran toward Thrisca, licked her and took off to explore. Thrisca herself didn't move except for her ears pricking forward, nose lifting. Yes? she asked telepathically.

  Since she'd planted her butt on the ground, he walked close to her, where he judged he might be in her personal space, within paw reach. Hell, Melis had already damaged his shoes. He thought his trous would protect his skin from a good swipe.

  "If you don't harm me, I won't harm you. Physically, emotionally, whatever." He stared at the wandering kitten. "That goes for you, too."

  The small animal stopped peering under a bush, skittered back to him and looked up at him with big eyes that didn't engender any affection within him. How could I harm such a big, strong man like you?

  He grunted, brushed his fingers over his shirt. "You can ruin my clothes, or just make them stink, like Thrisca and her mats earlier. I had enough of that a long time ago. And, emotionally, you can lie to Giniana about me."

  Thrisca lifted a paw and gave it a cursory lick. And what do We get for this consideration?

  "Just what I said. Mutual … respect. I don't lie to Giniana about you. I don't manipulate her feelings or make her choose between us."

  She would not choose you, Thrisca scoffed.

  "Maybe not. I will be completely supportive of her in the weeks ahead. Maybe it would be good for her to have a human to rely on?"

  Maybe. A long pause while he and Thrisca stared at each other and Melis ate some leaves. When Thrisca rose to her paws and sauntered down the path, Melis accompanied her. I agree to the terms you proposed. Now, FamWoman and the sick man await us.

  Melis shot ahead. I hear FamWoman, too! Yes, I DID! Toy. Toy! TOY!

  "Toy?" Johns murmured, his
nerves tweaking as he considered his FatherDam's cat’s favorite toy, a crumpled piece of paper—perhaps Amberose's script. He prayed not.

  It took Johns a few minutes to settle down outside Giniana's cottage infirmary with her and Wattle. And for Johns to study and gauge the value of the man. Guy impressed him as a sleazy agent, but Johns kept his manner casual. Giniana sent him a glance. Yeah, he was acting.

  They sat in chairs set outside the sickroom, facing the tangle of woods left wild on the estate, lush and green. The FamCats played with a green-brown camouflage mouseykin toy the agent had bespelled, Thrisca helping the kitten hone advanced hunting skills.

  Johns said, "All right, enough chitchat. And, yeah, the cat toy looks and moves great. You got a Flair for that sort of thing. But you must know that Druida City guards are still looking for the thieves. You did speak with the guards, right? Since you were contacted by the thieves and were going to buy back the script?" So Wattle had briefly informed Johns.

  The agent's eyes slid sideways, more toward the pouncing noises of the cats. He cleared his throat with a squeak. "I, uh, was going to talk to them, the guards, right after my appointment with T'Spindle that morning, was, uh, actually on the way to the station."

  Like hell.

  "Did you see the thieves?" Johns persisted, roughly. "Or know any of their names?"

  Wattle translocated bits and pieces of Flair tech machined pieces and fabric, dropped his gaze to his fiddling hands, creating what looked to be a Celtan rabbit, a mocyn, on a small scale.

  Johns grunted to prod the man back into speech. Wattle met Johns's gaze and the agent twitched, making metal parts squeal. He flinched, then finally replied, words tumbling, "No, no, no. Was s'posed to meet the thieves that night, but they didn't wait for me! At the time of our appointment they'd already started breaking into and rifling the gliders, Lord and Lady dammit. Didn't see any script. And I didn't want anything to do with theft! And I wasn't feeling so good."

  Giniana sighed. "You'd already contracted the sickness but didn't take care of yourself."

  "Guess not. And I didn't get the script back, that's for sure. Only found a couple of pages, later." He held up his hand, flat, and with a long huff of breath, he translocated three sheets of papyrus.