Heart Journey (7 page)

The young child looked at it and gurgled. She smiled widely, showing a few tiny teeth and drooling. She shook the globe, watched the bits inside settle, then shook it again, holding it in both hands. She wobbled then plopped down on her rump to roll it, tilt it side to side, raise it to her eyes . . .

“She likes it.” Mitchella’s lips curved, her hands clenched.

Del raised her eyebrows. “I made it especially for her. My creative Flair.” She wasn’t about to tell the woman that the globe would help Del make up her mind. If the child considered T’Blackthorn Residence “home,” it would show.

Straif frowned. “She’s already played with it longer than most toys.” At that moment their oldest child, a teenaged boy, hustled in. He stopped and gave Del a hard stare, then changed his stride to a casual stroll. “Greetyou, parents, greetyou, D’Elecampane.”

“Our son, Antenn,” Straif said.

“Greetyou,” Del responded.

The boy folded himself onto the sturdy carpeting next to Helendula, watched as her little fingers shook the globe once more. “Whatcha got there, Doolee?” He reached for it.

She shouted, pulled the globe close to her chest. “Mmmaam!”

“Yours.” He nodded. “Sorry. Would you show it to me?”

Sniffing, her face scrunched up and she offered him the glass globe, now grubby with finger smudges.

“Thank you.” He peered inside the curved interior, shook it, looked at it from all sides, shook it some more. Shrugged and gave it back to her. She grinned, rubbed it on her soft top, and looked inside again.

The teen glanced up at Del, hunched a shoulder. “Don’t know what she sees in it.”

“A gift from her true Family.” Mitchella’s voice shook.

He scowled, sat straight, puffing out his chest, met Del’s eyes. “We’re her true Family.
We
love her.”

Del nodded, gestured to the globe that continued to occupy Helendula’s attention. “I may be a cartographer, but our Family Flair is for scrying. Her father was brilliant; she could be, too. Try her with water in a reflective bowl.”

Antenn went to the end of the room where there was a sink. He opened a cupboard over it and took down a smooth, thick granite bowl with rounded edges. The inside was coated with glisten, a shiny silver-with-rainbows metal. A real scrybowl for communication.

“We had to move all the scrybowls that were anywhere within climbing range of Doolee . . . Helendula,” Mitchella said, shifting from foot to foot. “Now I know why; she was trying to scry.”

“I should have recalled, but I didn’t.” Straif was stiff.

“Not like you had anything else on your mind,” Del said.

Antenn came back with the bowl half full of water and set it in front of the child. She stared at it, looked at Mitchella and Straif.

“Go on,” Mitchella said.

Dropping the landscape globe to the rug, Helendula looked into the bowl and cooed, made faces. With another scrunched face, she ran her baby hand around the bowl’s rim, hummed.

“She’s initiating the spell to make the bowl scry again!” Mitchella said, staring. “We didn’t know she had such Flair. Who’s she calling?”

Helendula looked into the bowl, grumbled. She let out a baby sigh, then ran her hand around the rim again. An image formed in Del’s head. A baby’s view of her old nursery, her mother. Nothing happened, no answer.

“She’s thinking of her old home,” Antenn said. His mouth set and he looked aside, but his hand went to the girl’s head and sifted through her blond curls. Del shared a glance with the older Blackthorns. She realized they were all connected enough with Helendula to have seen the image.

The toddler smacked the water with her hand. She whined, then circled her hands around the rim once more, visualizing a different place—a bowl in Del’s den. This time Del’s scrybowl cache answered. “I’m not here, leave a message.” The child looked from the bowl to Del, face crumpling. She stood on wavering legs, marched over to Mitchella, and held out her arms. Mitchella lifted her, cuddled the girl. Straif came to hold them both. Del’s heart twinged. The child
was
loved here.

A noise caught Del’s attention and she turned to see Antenn carefully carrying the bowl to an area with a semitransparent privacy shield of a rosy color. “This is Doolee’s personal section of the playroom,” he said. He put the bowl on a miniature red table.

Helendula took her thumb from her mouth and smiled at him, babbling baby words.

Straif and Mitchella stood together. “There are other Families here in Druida who have scry Flair. We can apprentice Helendula to the best, give her the best. Let us keep her.” Straif’s voice was thick.

Del rose and strode forward, picked up the landscape globe and gave it to Helendula.

“Mm-ah-na-mmm-ma!” The girl clutched the dome and smiled at Del, though Del knew the child felt safe in the woman’s arms, embraced by the man.

Del met Straif’s eyes. “I know you can give Helendula every advantage, the same as the rest of your children.” She glanced at a glowering Antenn, who wore expensive clothes, had a costly hair-cut. Everyone knew he’d been a lost and wayward orphan.

She lifted her chin, set her stance, looked at Mitchella, then Straif again. “But I can remember the Family spells and traditions that she had already begun to learn.” Del was recalling more all the time and knew, at least, she’d have to record them for the child, no matter what.

Inclining her head, Del crossed to the door. In Mitchella’s arms, Helendula was playing with the landscape globe. “I am her closest relative, she is my Heir. Nobles won’t overturn that, I’d win a legal fight, but I don’t want that. We’ll all think hard about this.”

“We love her,” Straif, Mitchella, and Antenn said at the same time. Antenn continued, “Do you?”

“Antenn!” Mitchella scolded, blinking tears. She was holding tight to Straif and Helendula. “I apologize. He’s nervous; we all are.”

Del stared at Antenn, her jaw flexed. “I can love her.” She left, walking through the halls of the lovely, Family-filled T’Blackthorn Residence. She thought of Helendula with the scrybowl and the globe. Del wondered if her plan would work. What would Helendula’s landscape globe show? What if it showed a home that was lost to her forever?

 

 

R
az was confronted by a fox when he stepped from his apartment
building that morning. Tongue lolling, the animal lay circled in the middle of the sidewalk, making passersby smile as they walked around it. Obviously the fox had supreme confidence that no one would step on it.

From the intelligence in its eyes, Raz concluded that the fox was a Fam animal. Someone had gotten lucky. Fams were still scarce, most of the matches of Fam and human conducted by Danith D’Ash. And most Fams were cats or dogs, though a rage for fox jewels, faux fox fur, and images had occurred a while back.

When the fox saw him, it sat up and yipped.
Greetyou, storyman.

Raz halted. “What did you call me?”

That sounded reasonable. A couple of his plays had been recorded. “Storyman.” Raz allowed himself to be charmed. He inclined his torso in a half bow. “Greetyou, FamFox.”

“Greetyou, Shunuk.” They were taking up the whole sidewalk. Raz gestured in the direction he was going—to the Thespian Club for breakfast.

You rise late,
the fox commented.
I have cleaned out all the mice in the alley this morning while waiting for you. Cached a few for snacks later.

“Ah.” Raz cleared his throat. “I was in a story last night, it runs very late.”

Shunuk bobbed his head.
Do you go for morning food now?

“Yes.”

“I go to congregate with other story people in the morning. We work together and talk.”

“Somewhat.” Raz stopped at the PublicCarrier plinth. The Thespian Club was a long walk and he had errands to run. He had a glider, but he wanted to save the energy needed to power it for that night. This evening’s party would be work and he had to be fresh. He was already running behind, but if the fox proved amusing, he could delay his chores for a while.

The carrier glided up and Raz stepped through the weathershielded door to the interior, took a cushy seat. To Raz’s surprise, the fox hopped onto his lap. He held it as the carrier accelerated, looked down to see big yellow eyes with a black-slit pupil staring up at him. Glinting with laughter? Raz frowned. “Why are you here?”

Raz was sure that wasn’t the only reason. The fox was being cagy. “I suppose I could order you some eggs. Didn’t you say you have a Fam person?”

I am new to Druida City. I wanted to see the storyman. Smell if he is a good human or not. Many things to do and see in the city.
The fox sniffed lustily.

“And . . . ?”

Raz was sure that the fox didn’t mean the slight scent of cleanser that lingered on his skin. He supposed he should have been grateful that the fox didn’t bury his nose in Raz’s groin.

I am not so rude.
Shunuk narrowed his eyes.

A little shaken that the Fam had answered his thoughts, Raz replied telepathically,
You heard me?

We speak well together. It is good.
Shunuk sat up straight in Raz’s lap, pointed his muzzle at the opposite window.
Tell me of the city. Especially if you know where other foxes’ den.

I don’t. But I know of Danith D’Ash, she who matches Fam and human.
Raz could be indirect and cagy, too. Who was Shunuk’s person?

The fox flicked a dismissive ear.
She is only for city Fams, those who cannot find their humans themselves.

I have been many places. Last was Steep Springs and Gael City.
The fox slanted him a sly gaze.
Came to Druida on a shuttle with cherries tinted on the side. Smelled a little like you.

My Family’s business,
Raz said shortly.
Why are you here?

To smell you.
Shunuk’s tongue flicked out and across Raz’s chin.
You taste good, too.

Staring into those eyes, Raz knew he’d get no more from the Fam, and he had the feeling he was missing something important.

T
hat evening Del barely ate due to unusual nerves. Tonight she’d
make contact with her HeartMate. She wanted to be perfect.

After a hefty donation to the Flair for the Arts of Druida City organization, her scry cache had clogged up with invitations, including the one she’d wanted. The Spindles, owners of the Evening Primrose Theater, were giving a party to celebrate the one hundred and twentieth performance of the mystery Raz Cherry starred in. Del got the idea that it was just an excuse for a summer party like all the rest.

The donation had been a good investment, and Lady and Lord knew she had more than enough gilt from all the inheritances she’d received—the Family had been wealthy since they’d sold the scrybowl spells and business a couple of generations back.

Elfwort had also sold his spell for personal scry pebbles the year before. That had made him, and his side of the Family, and now Del, very rich.

When she’d studied the accounts, she’d felt guilty about how much she’d received from Inula and the others, and the insurance, and how little outlay she had for her own tiny household of two.

One of whom she hadn’t seen all day and wasn’t at dinner, and she wanted his company.

Even as she thought of him, Shunuk trotted through the Fam door and into the kitchen where she ate at the cook’s table.

“Done anything interesting?” Del asked Shunuk.

He yipped at the pet no-time and a tray extruded with crispy clucker strips. Laughing up at her, he said,
Yes. Your HeartMate is a nice-smelling man.

Del’s fork fell from her fingers. “You went to see him.” She wanted to know everything. “How is he?” As if Fam judging would be like human. She couldn’t even think well, let alone talk.

Shunuk buried his nose in the food and ripped at it, bushy tail waving. Without looking at her, he said,
Our lives are changing. Your kit lives here in the City. Your HeartMate lives here in the City. Good fox community here in the City. We may stay.

Del’s throat constricted. “I will not live in this city. I don’t like it and things will be expected of me from other folk that I won’t do.”

Now Shunuk slid her a glance.
Like wearing shiny clothes, going to gatherings with many strangers.

“That’s right, and attending rituals to keep the City and the planet and our culture going.” A good idea, but she didn’t want to be part of it. “Lots of rules in the City.” She gave her Fam a thin smile. “People care if cluckers go missing, people want to know who prefers clucker meat. Fams of noble houses have rules and duties and responsibilities, too.”