Script of the Heart Page 27

  "The script is a suspense with romantic elements," he paused, then added. "With the villains caught and happy endings all around."

  Del repeated what Johns had told her that morning, "Two romantic couples. And the leading lady someone like Lily Fescue,"

  "Yeah, but as I said, Amberose is demanding artistic control at the moment and no standard producer will do the show with such strings attached."

  Spacing her words, Del asked, "Do you know where I might find Amberose's agent?"

  A spark of hope firerocketed through Johns. "Formal or informal setting?"

  Her head tilted. "I think, informal?" Another question as if she asked his advice on a meeting.

  "Sounds good." Johns culled through all the gossip he'd heard lately, considered all the networking opportunities an agent might take. "Pretty sure Amberose's new agent will be at a garden party this afternoon, starts in about a septhour." He pulled up his calendarsphere, he'd been invited, and reeled off the information to Del.

  "Many thanks, later," she signed off.

  Johns sank back into his seat, not even pretending to drive. He'd heard the gossip about the mapmaker: friends of one of the FirstFamilies, connected to them by Family somehow. And extraordinarily wealthy in her own right. And she was Raz's HeartMate … and Johns had ensured that morning that Raz was fascinated with Amberose's play. with the idea of starring in it.

  Del D'Elecampane could produce such a play. Unlike other backers, she might also allow the playwright creative license, since Del had no background in the theater.

  Hell, she could probably buy a theater, and he sensed through the scry, the tiny flickers in her expression, that she'd been more than contemplating the project, more like planning to buy the script and follow through to give her HeartMate what he wanted.

  Johns didn't know much about HeartMates. He didn't have one, though he couldn't imagine loving any woman more than he did Giniana, of bonding with anyone closer.

  The future of his personal career had brightened in the last few minutes, something he'd have shouted with joy about a week and four days ago. Now the glow of being a theatrical star had dimmed because he and his beloved stood at odds.

  Del D'Elecampane was the only reasonable woman he'd dealt with today. He thought about impossible women. Giniana, whom he loved. Lily Fescue that he'd had to deal with—and her snotty threats—that morning. Her words that stuck like thorns in his brain … and knowledge burst into his mind.

  A woman had purchased the script. As Lily had pointed out, probably not a producer. There were few female producers, and a legitimate person would simply contact Amberose herself. Not work with thieves.

  A writer interested in cribbing the work—as if anyone could match dialog and technique—probably wouldn't have whatever gilt the thieves demanded.

  But Johns considered the malice of dishonorable women, how far such a person might go for a little revenge after having an affair cut off before she was ready to dump her lover, then publicly humiliating herself with that lover at a party the whole theatrical world had attended.

  An angry woman who'd keep the script from Raz and Johns, Lily, everyone, out of spite.

  And Johns just knew who that might be.

  Raz Cherry and Morifa Daisy.

  Raz, who'd gone on to be snagged by his HeartMate Del D'Elecampane, and Morifa Daisy who'd moved on, once again casting lures Johns's way.

  So he followed his hunch and scried the woman.

  "Greetyou, Johns," she purred. Her black hair tumbled around her face in deliberate tousled sexiness. She wore facial enhancements or illusion, smudged eyelids, deep red plump lips.

  "You have Amberose's script," he said. "I want it."

  "Oh, my dear, I can give it to you." She wet her lips. "For a price."

  Careful, careful. Be brusque, up front, at least he had a rep for that and the manner should work for him. He shook his head. "Not going to have sex with you, Morifa. I'm in a committed relationship." All right, that sounded wimpy. "I don't cheat on my women, Morifa."

  "Not when they are your women," she countered.

  "That's right."

  She winked. "But I've been around the theater a lot longer than your little Healer. And I will be here after you're done with her."

  He made a non-committal sound, and, yeah, Morifa's malicious smile appeared. "Or until she's done with you."

  He shrugged.

  Leaden silence stretched until he knew he couldn't break it first because he'd be a loser in the game they played.

  She sighed, her expression now one of ennui. "I'll come up with a price … tonight."

  "We'll see if it's reasonable," Johns replied. "Bring the script to the green room after the show. I'll pay for it then."

  Her thin brows raised. "In public?"

  He puffed out a breath. "All right, forget the whole thing. I'm not one for games." Glancing at his wrist timer, he said, "Gotta go. Lat—"

  "Wait!"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'll see you this evening and we'll … negotiate."

  Another patented shrug. "Not one for endless negotiations, either. Show up at the green room or not, set a price for the script or not. You decide, then I decide."

  "I offer, you counter—"

  "Nope. You decide. I decide. Later." He cut the scry, and felt the matter could go either way. Morifa might or might not show, might or might not play games, might or might not name a price he would pay for the script. Another unreasonable woman.

  But he cheered when he recalled Del D'Elecampane and her motives for obtaining the script, for producing a play. And a woman who didn't want anything from him of a personal nature, touched no vulnerable part of him.

  Giniana seethed, flung out of the cottage still steaming with angry energy and tromped down a path toward the far wall of T'Spindle estate. From the corner of her eye, she saw the gray of Melis flitting beside her, zooming through and over exposed bush roots.

  Thrisca stalked behind her. Just as well, looking at the FamCat's skinny body tended to spur Giniana into impulsive action. And right now, she was all too aware that anger powered whatever energy she had.

  She'd trusted Klay—Johns, as most called him—before, up to that afternoon. He'd seemed like an atypical actor. But maybe her parents had been too typical actors. She simply didn't know.

  But he'd gone too far and she didn't trust him now.

  Sneaking around behind her back to contact her father! In Chinju, even! She coughed, as if trying to force out the terrible notion or spew awful emotions out of her innermost self.

  Klay had circumvented her, obviously didn't respect her. Hadn't trusted her to be capable of running her own life. He'd been disrespectful of her, of her wishes.

  He must have known she wouldn't want anything from a man who abandoned her.

  We should take the gilt from the man, Thrisca said. He is right. YOU do not look as well as a human should be to care for Fams.

  Giniana snorted as amusement mixed with indignation and hurt.

  Thrisca sniffed, much better than her cough. And You should sleep now. We do not need You puny tomorrow for My great adventure into time. Anticipation radiated from Thrisca.

  Giniana only felt dread. She stumbled.

  Go back to bed, Thrisca commanded. You have not slept.

  Following her Fam's advice, and the cat's waving tail, Giniana returned to the cottage.

  You will feel better after sleeping. Be happier with the man.

  Giniana doubted that. She disrobed and drew on a sleepshirt and lay on cool linens.

  And We should take gilt from the man. Take it from anyone, Thrisca said. Take it from the stup of the parent, especially since it is our due.

  No, Giniana snapped mentally.

  Chapter 29

  No Morifa Daisy showed up with an incredible script in the green room after Firewalker. Almost as disappointing to Johns as seeing no scry from Giniana for the whole of the day. He'd checked before he'd gone on, during the two tiny br
eaks he had during the show, and after the final curtain call.

  A few lines of dialog had run through his mind on how to reopen their discussion in a reasonable manner, reset their relationship. He thought he could hook his Giniana in a few words if she gave him the chance.

  But just as he left the theater, the assistant stage manager handed him a note. "Morifa Daisy left this for you."

  Johns grunted thanks and read it: I have Amberose's script. Perfect role for you, my dear. I'll give it to you for a minimal price. Meet me as soon as possible at the summer house at my home, T'Daisy's.

  Checking his wrist timer, Johns noted that Giniana would already be on shift at the Daisys. He wondered if he dared to drop in on her after his business with Morifa, how unprofessional Giniana might think that.

  Still considering his words to woo her from her anger, he drove to T'Daisy's. Unlike other Residences, the grounds didn't sport a perimeter fence or wall or greeniron gate, but sat behind a front grassyard a third the size of Johns's own.

  He pulled up to a fancy pavilion just short of the house itself, a two-story place with white siding and dark shutters around the windows, Earthlike-looking. And that house was already a Residence, but the Daisys were a numerous, chatty, and outgoing bunch. No doubt those HeartStones got a lot of input from the Family, unlike the St. Johnswort ones.

  The glow of a dim yellow lightspell showed bobbing in the pavilion as he stepped out of the glider, lowered the vehicle's door and softly closed it.

  Insects chirped in the night. Keeping his alpha persona on, not too hard since Morifa annoyed him, and thank the Lord and Lady that he'd never bedded her, Johns strode to the summerhouse.

  She awaited him in a gown suited to a bedroom, scandalous to be wearing the slip of a thing out in public.

  His gaze went past her to a stack of bound papyrus sitting on a glass table top.

  He let himself grunt, she'd expect rough manners from him, so he could get away with them. "Good, you brought the script."

  She winked. "Yes." Stepping up to him, her musky perfume wafted over him.

  "What's the price?" he asked.

  "No sex?"

  "No."

  She stroked his face and he stood immobile under her caress. "But I would like a little sample, a taste. A kiss for the script."

  "Huh."

  Then she flung herself into his arms, nearly unbalancing them both since she cultivated a voluptuous figure, and he hadn't been ready for her. Her mouth hit his cheek, slid across to his lips, fastened on and sucked like a leech.

  He kept his mouth firmly shut, muscled the "kiss" under control and dipped her in his showiest theatrical kiss. Then he felt her relax in his arms, laugh against his lips and she emanated complete smug satisfaction.

  Appalled shock zinged through him, grief. Not his.

  "Klay!" Giniana choked.

  He broke the kiss, escaped Morifa's grip, spun, saw a horrified Giniana.

  "Giniana!"

  "I never want to see you again," she stated.

  "This is a set-up—" he yelled. "And it was a theatrical kiss!"

  But Giniana ran toward the house.

  Morifa stopped laughing.

  Stup! Johns castigated himself. He'd been hanging lately with too honest people, been too honest himself. Too focused on himself and Giniana and their fight and the situation tomorrow to think of Morifa duping him.

  Simmering with hurt and anger, wanting to get out of there and unwilling to leave without the script that had cost him so much, he moved around Morifa and scooped up the papyrus.

  Projecting his voice loudly so anyone could hear—including those in the room of the lighted open windows of his house—and spurting the thought down the tiny hairlike link between him and Giniana, he said, "Interesting doing business with you, GraceMistrys Daisy. Extortion is always fun."

  Grasping the stack of pages between his hands—he'd trust Morifa to hold out on him, yes, he would—Johns closed his eyes and summoned all the like-papyrus from everywhere.

  Morifa yelped as a good section she must have held back appeared in his hands. Even some crumpled blank pieces of papyrus snapped to him, speckled with dirt and smelling of woods. Probably had been lost on T'Spindle estate.

  Fingers curved claw-like, Morifa snatched at the packet. With an easy movement, Johns held it out of reach. "Playing games, GraceMistrys Daisy?" he asked softly, then smiled showing the dangerous edge of his teeth. "Unlike Raz Cherry, I won't humor you or let you down easy with a smooth and graceful and charming manner. You pulled the wrong man to play your stupid games with."

  "I will ruin you!" she shrieked.

  He raised his brows. "We made a bargain, you reneged."

  She wiped a hand across her mouth. "That was no sort of a kiss."

  "It was a kiss that was equal to your portion of keeping our bargain, wasn't it?" he mocked.

  "I'll ruin your reputation as a lover, too," she spat out.

  She'd already ruined his love, but he wouldn't, couldn't think of that right now, let his heartbreak show to this user of a woman. Instead he laughed, flicked a hand. "You can try, but I'll continue to have lovers who will enjoy me."

  He saw more lights in the house come on and angled his chin toward the building, "And I'm pleased to tell your brother, who now runs the newssheet, the Druida City Times, of your activities, so he can publicize them, if he wants. Though I'm sure he knows, intimately, how manipulative you are." Johns settled into his balance, aimed a considering expression down at her. "I'll be taking fighting lessons with Cratag T'Marigold. He and his wife are great patrons of the arts. Somehow I don't recall you treating either of those people well, either. I'm sure this particular story of mine, how you wanted to blackmail Raz Cherry into being your lover—a pitiful thing—will get around those artistic social circles you love to inhabit." Johns let his voice purr. "Which story do you think will be believed? Whatever lies you spin about me, or the hints I drop about you?"

  She literally hissed.

  He tilted his head. "I know real FamCats who do that better."

  And Morifa tried to rake his face with her pointed nails. Johns blocked her with a lifted arm.

  "Morifa," chided her brother, the new GraceLord Daisy, behind her.

  She spun, stumbled, hopped to keep her balance.

  Johns bowed to the man. "Your sister and I are done here."

  "Yes?" the GraceLord asked.

  "A simple bargain, well-paid."

  "Really?" Daisy glanced at his sister, back to Johns, to the sheets of papyrus in his hands. "Paid?"

  "In full," Johns said mildly. "I will not disturb your sister, or you, in the future."

  "Fine."

  And using all his seething emotions, his anger and the terrible raw wound of lost love, Johns left his glider and teleported away home. There he began to walk a circuit of his estate, would do so until exhaustion claimed the strength of his legs and he crumpled to sleep where he lay, be it in a flowerbed or the treehouse.

  As he paced through the night, sweating so heavily his bespelled clothes couldn't whisk the moisture away, thoughts trickled into his brain.

  He'd have to act as he'd never done before. Now he only had his career, he couldn't let people see his distress. He needed his job, his career, the art of acting itself to get through this time.

  He'd move through life in a misery for a long time, but he'd endure. Part of that was realizing he had a family name to live up to. He understood now that, deep in his heart, his bones, it composed a portion of his character. Like other families, even great FirstFamilies, who'd come down to a single member of the bloodline, he felt he had a duty to his ancestors. To make something of himself. To keep the name solid and respectable even if he was the very last.

  Of course he'd like to have a wife and children but that didn't look good right now. He felt eviscerated, disemboweled by cat claws. He couldn't think of a wife without wanting Giniana, didn't know when he'd get over her. Maybe never.

  S
o, no children.

  But he could leave HeartStones. He could do his best by them, imprint himself and what he knew of his family and his past on them. And write one of those damn genealogical books that counselors pressed people who were the last of the line to do. He'd ensure they survived and the House passed to another family who'd cherish them.

  All that in the distant future. Now he could only walk around the anguish.

  He didn't know how he'd survive the night, the next few days, tomorrow morning when he honored his word and drove Giniana and her Fams to the Time Healing Procedure.

  Crushing betrayal. Actors couldn't be trusted. To see Johns with another woman in his arms gutted Giniana.

  Actors spend their days lying, and some of them even believe those lies, take them in until they think they are the truth. Heaven knew, her parents had. That they were a loving Family, when they weren't. That they loved Giniana. Lies.

  A person didn't profess they loved you one week and abandon you the next.

  Giniana stood in the Daisy's nursery, suffering, forcing herself not to weep. She yearned to pick up the baby, hold the softness and innocence of a new person, but didn't want to wake her, or send negativity into her dreams.

  "That was interesting," T'Daisy said.

  She looked up to see the man standing in the doorway. "But my sister's manipulations are usually interesting." His voice went flat. "Terrible for those she's targeted, and horrifically fascinating to observers."

  He paused. "I'm sure you realized that she set you—and Saint Johnswort—up. Asked you to meet her at the summerhouse because—"

  "She wanted help in buying a Family heritage gift for you and D'Daisy and little Maja."

  T'Daisy snorted. "And she got your current lover here on a pretext simply to cause trouble. Hmmm. Think I've heard she's been after Johns since Raz Cherry dumped her."

  D'Daisy came up and her husband stepped aside so they could both stare at Giniana.

  "Actorsss," she hissed. "You can't trust them."