Heart Quest Page 8

  But he merely said, “As my mother said, I am but a low-class man. I have no credibility in social circles.”

  D’Thyme’s chin came up. “I suppose so. All you are good for is giving us gilt that is our due.”

  He replied in his softest tones. “I commissioned a spell from my mother. I warn you again, if you want to keep any more scandal from attaching to your name, you’d best ensure the spell works.”

  He opened the door and left. The stink of stale liquor clung to his uniform.

  At the front door, he bumped into a tall, thin, stoop-shouldered woman of about twenty-seven. Her hair was un fashionably long, but clean. She wore a shabby commoncloth trous suit that proclaimed she was middle-class, not of the Nobility. Still, he thought she must be Dringal’s daughter. Who else would live with the two women if they could help it? He steadied her and found sheer, huge Flair tingling his palms. There was also a Family connection. “You must be Dufleur Thyme.”

  She flushed and raised her gaze, meeting his eyes with those that were luminous and smoky blue. He was nearly stunned speechless by the beauty of those eyes, widely spaced and heavily fringed with dark brown lashes.

  He bowed at the same time she curtsied. “I am, cuz Black Ilex.” Her voice was soft and husky; a man might think of it as seductive.

  “Just Ilex.”

  She smiled and revealed another feminine weapon—dimples at the corners of her mouth and white, even teeth. Her smile made her completely beautiful. How could the two old women think finding a man to wed her would be difficult?

  Wrinkling her nose, she said, “If I were called Black, I’d drop it too.”

  Ilex chuckled.

  She glanced at her wrist timer and flung open the front door. “I must hurry to catch the CityCenter carrier.”

  He let the door fall and slam behind them and lengthened his stride to match hers. Narrowing his eyes, thinking of murder, he asked “Have you endured your Third Passage yet?”

  A slightly shocked glance came from those staggering eyes and she flushed unattractively again at the personal question. But they were kin, and she must have sensed it as he had, so she answered. “Just last month.” A frown knit between her brows. “I had to take off work for two weeks.” She picked up pace. “It put me behind.”

  “Any aftershocks—flashbacks to Passage since?”

  “No.” They’d reached the corner and she stopped at a public carrier plinth and looked up at him.

  “Good. There’s a murderer out there targeting those with irregular Flair.” He scanned the street, still shrouded with night shadows, and something tickled his senses. Trif? Was Trif around?

  Dufleur shivered and he brought his attention back to her. “No,” she said and smiled again. “My Flair isn’t unstable.”

  “You don’t have a Fam?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I wish, but of course not, cuz Ilex.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Be careful.”

  The public carrier glider drew up. She glanced back at him as she mounted the steps. “I will.”

  “And Dufleur”—he couldn’t stop the words; they came from him with the force of one of his prophetic visions—“Test your Flair, establish a GrandHouse of your own.”

  Her face tightened. “No. I loved my father. I don’t care that scandal has blackened his name and reputation. I’ll be Thyme.”

  “Test and take the title from your mother.” He’d raised his voice as the public carrier closed its doors. Through the glass, he saw her shaking her head.

  Trif had tried her charmkey on the gates of the six estates directly south of Landing Park with no result. The morning was quiet and a few lights were just coming on in the windows. She’d moved one street down from the park and these houses were noticeably less grand. Instead of a long front drive and grassyard that generally hid the entrance of the house, these had waist-high greeniron fences and short sidewalks up to a small set of steps and a covered porch.

  She was at the second house when her spine tingled and she turned her head to see a man about her own age staring at her with not-quite-nice amusement on his face.

  He strolled toward her, his gaze sliding down her body and back up. She tucked her charmkey in her pocket and thought of her mainspace and how she’d teleport there. If she could recall where the wretched low table was. Was it angled, or had that been last week?

  The man stopped just inside the sphere of her personal space and made a short bow. “Trif Clover, I believe? Your fame precedes you.”

  She cringed inwardly, looked around for Greyku. “Is this your home?” If it was, she was glad it hadn’t opened to her key.

  His glance went past her, dismissed the house. “Of course not. I’m Cyperus Sedge. My Residence is east of the park.” The most prized location. He turned his hand in a casual gesture that caught the gold embroidery on his cuffs. Heir to the Sedges. She bobbed a small curtsey. “Greetyou.”

  “Merry meet,” he said, slightly inclining his torso.

  “Merry meet!” she rushed out on a breath.

  Yowl. Greyku raced from investigating the gate of the next house back toward Trif, stopping and sitting on her feet, glaring up at Cyperus with hot blue eyes. Snot, she said mentally to Trif, and since Cyperus only looked down at her, blinking, Trif thought he hadn’t heard the kitten.

  “You have a Fam? Danith D’Ash is particular to whom she graces the company of Fams.”

  Trif picked up Greyku and cuddled her. “Yes, my Fam.”

  A glider door whirred open and shut down the street. Bootsteps sounded. Cyperus’s sneer was back. “If I were you, I’d teleport home.” He glanced ostentatiously at his gold wrist timer. “It’s only half a septhour before WorkBell.” His voice made it clear that he didn’t work. He might accept commissions from others of his class for goods or services from his Flair, and Trif sensed it was great, but he didn’t work at a regular job.

  “Really, Cyperus, must you be so snobbish?” A young woman stylishly dressed in evening wear joined him, tucking her arm inside his. Unused to gliders parked on the street, Trif hadn’t considered that behind the tinted windows one of them had apparently been occupied. “I’m Piana Juniper,” the woman said. “What an adorable Fam!” She lifted her hand.

  Greyku preened a little and let the lady stroke her head. When the woman was done, Trif took the opportunity to circle around them. “Merrily met,” she called as she summoned a bit of dignity and hurried along to the carrier plinth on the far corner. She’d hoped to finish the entire block. She glanced back to see the couple staring after her. Piana waved, then smiled.

  And Trif ran into Ilex.

  Seven

  He steadied her with strong, warm hands on her shoulders. Trif wished she could melt into the pavement. Better, teleport away. That she had been able to teleport away. Her face went hot.

  Merry meet! Greyku chirruped a greeting.

  “Merry meet, Greyku.” Ilex dropped his hands. His eyes had gone a flat gray. “As for you, Trif Clover, I don’t consider this a good meeting. In fact, I believe it was very unwise on your part.” His gaze looked beyond her to where the man and woman had been. The soft click of glider stands retracting came, and the whir as it sped away.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted.

  “I don’t think that’s important to this conversation,” he said. For an instant, Trif wondered if he’d stayed overnight somewhere other than his home, just as the couple she’d met had, and her spirits drooped. “I had an early appointment,” he said. “What were you doing here?”

  She set her shoulders. “You know I was searching for my HeartMate.”

  “I had hoped you would do that in a safer fashion. In a more populated area.”

  “It’s not Noble Country,” she protested.

  “It’s not safe.”

  Samba watched! Greyku sent indignantly.

  “Samba?” Ilex said at the same time Trif did.

  Greyku flicked a paw to the sky. They looked up. There
, hovering high, was the flying saucer of Samba, the Ship cat.

  “Samba watched,” Trif said.

  He dropped his hands from her arms and she missed his touch. Ilex lifted a brow. “Did you know that?”

  She sighed. “No.”

  He stared at her, and she felt like a young child about to be punished.

  He winced.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’ve arranged for a retrieval spell to be put on an amulet. Contact T’Ash about making one. He’ll let you know what he needs for it. Now I must go to Mid-Class HealingHall.” He nodded to the public carrier pulling up. “That’s your glider to work, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Better go,” he told her and before she could reply, he teleported away, leaving her feeling small and wishing he’d offered to ’port her to work.

  She spent the whole morning unhappy that she’d disappointed him and trying to convince herself that his feelings didn’t matter. But they did. Somehow, in the space of a couple of days, he’d become a friend. That happened to her often, so it wasn’t too unique—except he was a handsome, sophisticated, much older man.

  Trif put away the two-dimensional worksheets she used, and set out several spheres that everyone else in the office employed to image the furniture and place it in various surroundings. “About time,” said one of her cuzes.

  “I thought this might help me learn to ’port. I haven’t been thinking in three dimensions.”

  The woman held the ball, made a small change, and the desk looked better situated in the model den. She handed the globe back to Trif. “Couldn’t hurt.” She tapped the sphere. “The orb has inbuilt Flair, and I only use what’s there. You have considerable Flair of your own. Maybe it clashes. And if it does, you’d better learn to use it.”

  “Yes,” Trif said, and called up a bedroom, envisioning the new Clover Fine Furnishings suite inside it. The activity made her head hurt. A small mew preceded a tiny nip at her finger. “Greyku?”

  Are you getting a tinter for me? I am all white. She stared at the model bedroom in the globe, bold with primary colors. White is SO bo-ring.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to be white?”

  I’m sure. I think I might want to be magenta. Or sapphire. Or emerald. Or golden. Or magenta and sapphire and emerald and golden, with silver whiskers. “Yesssss!”

  Something else Trif couldn’t imagine. “Very well.”

  During lunch, Trif nerved herself to scry the only artist she knew—Citrula, who lived in an artist colony on Mona Island. They had been adversaries, but the last time they’d met, they’d parted on relatively civil terms.

  To Trif ’s surprise, Citrula looked relaxed and fulfilled. “What can I do for you?”

  Trif held Greyku above the large office scrybowl. “This is my Fam, Greyku. She wants to be tinted.”

  At Citrula’s surprise, Trif gave a little cough. “The Ship states that ancient Earth cats were tinted for centuries.”

  Citrula appeared intrigued. “I think one of our community is experimenting with nano-art and in contact with the Ship. I’ll ask it for vizes.”

  Greyku scowled down at the close water and issued a series of meows. Trif translated. “She likes the idea of jewel tones, being a—ahem—multicolored kitty.”

  Citrula raised her brows. “A challenge.” She eyed the kitten, who was stiff and with claws extended over the large watery scrybowl. “Will she sit still for the work?”

  “Yessssss,” hissed Greyku. Put Me aside now. The artist has seen enough.

  Trif did as she was told.

  “I think we’ll do her in layers,” Citrula said.

  “Layers?”

  “A cat has many-layered fur. We might be able to accommodate her taste and my vision.”

  They’d better. Trif coughed, struggling with amusement again. “My primary concern is that Greyku is happy.”

  “If you want this done for a reasonable rate, you’ll let me have my way.” That was a issue too. Especially since Trif was paying T’Ash for an amulet. Even at cost, the jewelry was going to stretch her budget.

  Laughing, Citrula said, “Let the kitten pay me.”

  How? Trif stared at Greyku. “Can you pay the artist?”

  Greyku lifted her nose. She should be honored to tint Me.

  Uh—huh. If you can’t pay her, you will have to abide by Citrula’s decision as to how you will be tinted.

  The kitten lashed her tail and subvocalized a growl that sounded like cat swears. Trif held firm. She’d heard that cats demanded payment for their services.

  Very well. Greyku hunkered down, ears flattened.

  Citrula said, “Where can we do this? I don’t think it should take more than an afternoon.”

  D’Ash will let us do it in her office suite, Greyku said. She is curious. As are Samba and Drina and Zanth. I will charge them to watch and pay the artist! she rumbled in triumph.

  “A good idea,” Trif said to Greyku, then spoke to Citrula in the scrybowl. “Some Fams and people will be paying Greyku to observe the process. So I think you should consider a few options. Including jewel tones. Why don’t we say Midday Bell at T’Ash Residence.”

  “Very well, but not today, perhaps in a couple of days. I’ll scry.” Citrula shook her head. “Tinting a kitten jewel tones.” She laughed.

  Greyku smacked the water with her paw, rudely ending the call.

  Mitchella wisely sent one of her elegant gliders to ferry Trif from Clover Fine Furnishings to T’Willow’s Residence. An ugly stone fountain sat carefully protected at one end of the back glider bench. Greyku inspected it, then crawled into the basin and curled up for a nap.

  During the trip, Trif fretted whether Ilex had told her powerful cuz about finding her questing that morning. She sensed he was worried for her safety, but if he’d reported her to Mitchella, he was no friend. She’d rather he officially charge her with trespassing than inform her Family and her friends of her faults.

  No, Ilex wouldn’t tell on her. Not without alerting her first. She knew it. And that kindled warmth inside her.

  They drew up to T’Willow’s and a man in bright red livery lifted open the door and helped her out. Since the only two Nobles Trif knew had more casual servants, this made Trif extremely self-conscious.

  She pulled the small stone table fountain along behind her. The thing had a floating spell, but was still ungainly. It was also hideous. Trif couldn’t imagine why Mitchella, the queen of good taste, was giving it to someone she wanted to impress.

  Furthermore, Greyku sat like a queen in the bottom. Trif thought cat hair couldn’t be good for the pump, but maybe the waterspell took care of that too.

  The T’Willow GreatHouse looked a little like Clover Compound. As the most prolific family on Celta, the Clovers had purchased a whole block and begun ringing it with homes, with the courtyard in the middle. The T’Willow Residence wasn’t much like the fancy Earth castles or the towering fortresses most of the FirstFamilies had built.

  There was a nice-sized grassyard around the front of the building, but the walls were a pale cream-colored featureless armourcrete showing square windows and an inset door. Trif was sure all the loveliness of a Residence would be inside. She didn’t think the courtyard would have anything like a dusty playground, though.

  The server opened the door with a flourish and an older woman also in red, awaited them. She glanced at the fountain and beamed. “Oh, Saille will be so pleased! Come this way, GentleLady Clover.” She bustled into the house and Trif followed with the fountain.

  Greyku preened. Everyone is pleased when I visit.

  Trif hit back a grin and touched her small Fam on the head. “I think the lady meant T’Willow will be pleased to see the fountain.”

  Sniffing, Greyku glanced around at the basin. It is not very pretty.

  “No.”

  The woman led Trif to a corner room and knocked on the door. “GentleLady Trif Clover is here, and s
he has a surprise from GrandLady D’Blackthorn!”

  Trif eyed the door. She’d been testing a lot of doors, lately. She wondered….

  The door opened and a man in his late twenties, clad in shirtsleeves and trous, stood before her. He was taller than she, had patrician features, dark chestnut hair, and bright blue eyes. He smiled down at her. “No, you don’t need to try your charmkey on this door. I am not your HeartMate.”

  A wash of heat warmed her face. This was a man great in matchmaking Flair. “Sorry.”

  “No, I am the one who is sorry,” he said, smoothly bowing her into the sitting room.

  “Saille, look what T’Blackthorn and D’Blackthorn have given us! How kind of them.”

  T’Willow looked past Trif at the floating fountain and his expression lightened. “What an excellent gift. I’ll pen a note to them personally.” He nodded to Greyku. “Greetyou, Fam.”

  I am Greyku.

  “Greetyou, Greyku, may I place you on this pillow?” He indicated a twoseat stacked with boldly colored pillows.

  I would like the sapphire one, please.

  He arranged the pillow, carefully lifted the kitten from the fountain basin, and laid her on the pillow. She purred and rubbed her head against his hand. He looked at Trif. “You’re lucky to have a Fam. My name is on D’Ash’s list, but…”

  I have a brother. Zanth brought him to D’Ash this dawn, Greyku projected.

  T’Willow nodded.

  “Zanth is T’Ash’s Fam,” Trif said.

  “Everyone knows Zanth.” T’Willow looked amused.

  Trif cleared her throat. “Neither Greyku nor her brother have known bloodlines.”

  Shrugging, T’Willow gestured for her to sit down on the twoseat, and took charge of the fountain. “I don’t care about bloodlines.”

  Trif didn’t believe that. Every member of a FirstFamily thought of nothing but bloodlines.

  He said a Word and the floatspell vanished. Setting the fountain on a pedestal that looked made for it, he glanced back at her. “I’m in the matchmaking business. I care more about the heart of a person than the blood. Wouldn’t you say that is true?”