Heart Quest (2 page)

D
RUIDA
C
ITY
, C
ELTA
,
405 years after Colonization, late autumn

B
lack Ilex Winterberry watched his HeartMate from the
shadows. He shouldn't approach her, but knew that he would.

Trif Clover was irresistible to him. Even from here he could see her deep green eyes fixed in concentration. She yanked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and drew in an audible breath. He would have treated her hair with respect, smoothed it between his fingers….

She wore a tunic trous suit of deep green that matched her eyes. Since the tunic was just above her knees and the trous legs weren't outrageously bloused, the clothing marked her as a middle-class woman who worked for her living.

His mouth tightened when Trif performed her little ritual as she hunted for her mate. She held the charmkey she'd fashioned against the door of GrandLord Ginger's mansion and intoned, “HeartMate.” It was common knowledge that a Heart-Mate could fashion a key and open his or her love's door, and Trif was obviously on a quest to find him.

He wished he could end her search.

They'd connected emotionally three years before, during her last Passage—the fever fugues that freed her Flair psi power. Her Flair was unstable, and they'd linked a few times since in dreams. Each instance left Ilex aroused and wanting, and yearning for more than her body. But he hadn't known whether she'd believed the connection was anything other than an erotic dream with an unknown lover.

He had made it a point to find her—and now she was trying to do the same. But he was an experienced hunter.

He'd kept his distance from her. He was far too old, more than double her age. Worse, he had a touch of prophetic talent and had experienced a brief vision a long time ago that his life would be relatively short, nothing near the two centuries of the most aged Celtans.

Furthermore, he sensed he had only a couple more years left, and he refused to have this lovely, vibrant
young
woman die within a year of his own death, as always occurred with HeartMates who'd wed. He couldn't bear to cut her life short.

Her face fell when the door refused to open; then she sighed, looked at the key in her hand, shrugged, and straightened her shoulders. “No HeartMate here. Too bad. Perhaps the next house. Stay optimistic,” she murmured.

“What are you doing, Trif Clover?” he asked.

She jumped and flushed. Her gaze went first to his guardsman's insignia instead of his face, causing him a twinge of emotional pain that she didn't think of him as a man first.

“Oh, I, uh…” She whipped her hand holding the key behind her back and increased the charm of her smile.

Ilex shook his head.

Her shoulders slumped a little. “You know.”

“Is it worth your and my time for me to tell you it can be dangerous wandering the streets of Druida alone?”

She looked startled. “Druida's safe, especially Noble Country.”

Noble Country was the portion of Druida where the highest nobles, including the FirstFamilies—the descendants of the colonists who'd funded the trip from Earth to a new home—lived. Here the estates were huge, hidden behind greeniron gates. The streets were wide and tree-lined.

It didn't help his ego that she hoped her HeartMate was noble. But that wasn't the real problem. The true difficulty was that there had been two murders—of young, extremely Flaired people whose psi powers were unstable. Murders that Ilex's superiors wanted kept quiet for the moment.

“No one's safe all the time. Come with me, Trif.” He took her arm and let the touch of her shoot through him, heat his blood. The scent of her came too, the light fragrance of spring flowers.

When she smiled up at him and followed willingly, he suppressed the urge to kiss her.

“Please don't continue testing your charmkey,” he said neutrally, leading her down the drive to the walled entrance into the mansion grounds and the wide-open gates.

Ilex frowned. Most of the Nobles he knew were paranoid about security and their gates would be locked and spellshielded. His recent “cases” had included the crème de la crème of Celtan society, the FirstFamilies. Those people were obsessive about most things.

Trif stopped and looked over her shoulder wistfully. “GrandLord Ginger is a widower and he has
three
sons, not to mention all the other unattached male Gingers working in the household.”

“Ah. A good source of men.”

She shrugged. “I suppose you think my quest is stupid, like everyone else. But it's
my
business.”

“Not when you trespass on Noble land.”

“Has anyone reported me?”

“Well, the Gingers and their neighbors won't this afternoon,” he said dryly. “Most nobles are attending a ritual at GreatCircle Temple.”

“Will you report me?”

“No. Not yet.” He glanced at his wrist timer. “I'm off duty now. Let me take you home.”

“Must you?”

“I think so. It's a
neighborly
thing to do.”

He'd moved into her apartment building, MidClass Lodge, a couple of months ago,
after
he'd heard she'd gone door to door there, beginning her search for her HeartMate. And after the first murder.

They had reached the entrance pillars when the windchanged—and brought the smell of death. His Flair surged. He sensed
wrongness
indicating a crime. His psi sharpened all his other senses until he knew the death was human, and murdered, and the body lay a few meters away.

Ilex tightened his grip on Trif and urged her out of the estate and onto the sidewalk. He shot a glance up and down the street. Nothing.

T'Blackthorn,
Ilex shouted mentally to the tracker. They were distant relatives. Ilex had hoped there wouldn't be another death, but had decided to contact Blackthorn if the unspeakable occurred. The guards would need powerfully Flaired people to help.

Trif looked up at Ilex, frowning. “You shouted to T'Blackthorn?”

He dropped her arm. They were connected and he didn't want her to sense all that was happening.

Guardsman Winterberry?
a strained whisper said into Ilex's mind.

Who speaks?

The T'Blackthorn Residence. T'Blackthorn is out of Druida on a rescue mission.

Ilex was surprised that he'd been able to mentally reach Blackthorn's sentient home. Something to think on later.
Thank you.

Should I inform Lady D'Blackthorn of your call?

No. This is guard business.
He hesitated.
Could you send a glider to pick up Lady Blackthorn's cuz at GrandLord Ginger's?

If this is urgent, Lady D'Ash visits. She can teleport there.

Fine.
Actually, it was a barely acceptable solution, since three women's curiosity would be stirred, but Ilex wanted Trif out of here
now
so he could investigate.

Lady Danith D'Ash has been informed of your request. Blessings, Guardsman.

And to you,
he replied.

Trif studied him narrowly, arms crossed over her breasts. “What's going on?”

“Danith D'Ash is coming to teleport you to another location.”

Incredulity flashed in Trif 's eyes. “Why?”

“It's best you leave immediately.”

“Something is going on—isn't it?” She tipped her head. “There's been a—a peculiar atmosphere in the city.” Her brow furrowed as she considered. Then she shook her head. “I don't have such Flair that I can determine the cause. But you do, don't you.” She reached out and touched his arm. “You're a hunter.”

“And I must hunt. Now.” He had to get her away from the scene. She had nothing to do with the death, and he had to start procedure on another murder.

“Will you tell me—”

“I'll tell you to be careful. Very careful. Abandon your quest for the moment, Trif.”

Her lips thinned. “I think we should discuss this.”

At that moment, a faint pop announced that Lady D'Ash had arrived. “Trif!”

Trif grasped Ilex's hand, squeezed. “Meet me in the caffhouse in the basement shops of MidClass Lodge at Mid-Evening Bell.” Then she turned to D'Ash.

“Greetyou, Danith.”

The petite GreatLady's gaze went first to Ilex, caution in her eyes, though she smiled. She dipped a head to him. “Greetyou, Winterberry.”

“Merry meet,” he said—not words of greeting, but cutting off all comment by impatiently starting the ritual farewell ceremony.

“Come along, Trif, I have a present for you,” Danith D'Ash said, taking Trif 's hand. “It's waiting at T'Ash Residence.”

“Really? Zow,” Trif said.

“And merry part,” Trif and Danith said in unison to Ilex.

“And merry meet again,” Ilex murmured.

“Tonight!” Trif shouted, then winked out of sight as Danith D'Ash teleported her away.

Thank the Lady and Lord they were gone and safe! Ilex stepped back into GrandLord Ginger's estate. He touched the gate. “By order of Guardsman Black Ilex Winterberry, I seal you to all.”

The greeniron gates clanged shut.

He lifted his hands and sent his Flair searching for the body. His psi flowed around plant life and found a large corpse, probably male. Evanescent traces told him that three live people had been there briefly, less than three minutes—probably to drop the body. This had occurred not more than a septhour and a half ago.

The body was several meters to his left—and someone else was there.

Halt!
His spell would immobilize the person. He ran toward the essence of death, his Flair deluging him with information that he'd later recall and sort out.

He burst into a tiny clearing. As he'd feared, the body of a young man lay sprawled faceup. Hunched over the body, his face set with fury, was Tinne Holly.

“A fighting Holly standing over a dead body,” Ilex murmured. With a snap of his fingers, Ilex mitigated a portion of the spell and said, “You may speak.”

Tinne dragged in a breath. “What are you doing here?” he spit out.

Raising his brows, Ilex said, “Investigating. And you?”

“I was looking for him!”

“Time passes and trace evidence can vanish quickly. Let me do my job.” First, observation. Ilex looked down at the naked body of the young ginger-haired male victim. Not a mark on him. His skin was pale, his light blue eyes glassy. The scent of death was recent. And it hadn't occurred here; none of the plant life sent out psi terror-trembles of recent violence.

“Step back, Tinne. Leave the area as undisturbed as possible. Don't touch him.” Waving a hand, Ilex freed him from the rest of the spell.

“Don't touch him! Gib Ginger is—was—one of my best friends.”

“I'm sorry. Please retrace your steps so I can use my Flair to record everything possible. Every instant, information is lost.”

Muttering, Tinne glided back a few steps. “This is where I 'ported.”

“Thank you.” Ignoring his distant relative, Ilex took a personal sensorball, a clear crystal orb he could curl his fingers around, from his guard belt-bag.

He settled into a light trance, extending all his senses, pushing his Flair for the best record he could make. He didn't think, didn't evaluate, merely used all his senses to compile everything around him. This included the fading recent muscle-memories of the body, the infinitesimal pressure of others' fingers upon the skin—how the body hair lay, whether any follicle had been disturbed and how.

Ilex distanced himself from the last echo of emotions of the body, the last sensory impressions. The last thoughts of the brain were already gone.

His sensorball noted the strange scent surrounding the corpse—a mixture Ilex could not identify, but which was recorded now for further analysis.

He scanned the scene, the area, drew in as much data as possible about the three people who'd dumped the body. He wished he could see tracks, like T'Blackthorn, but the killers had spent little time here, at least one of them had enough Flair to teleport. So tracking Flair wouldn't have been much use in this instance. Too bad.

When he reached the limit of his Flair—and when he knew the trace clues had disappeared, Ilex stopped and rose from the light trance. His sensorball was black with the load of information.