Heart Quest (30 page)

She 'ported from the Compound to MidClass Lodge lobby and stepped out into a puzzling red haze, flicking the safety light on. Then felt a sting like a bitemite.

Greyku gave a startled mew.
Sleepy!

Blackness swallowed Trif.

 

T
hat morning, Ilex had spent little time in his apartment,
just enough to wash and dress, then went to the turquoise house. It greeted him with a wash of sunlight and warmth, with real pleasure in seeing him again, and Ilex sensed bubbling anticipation—as if it had a deep sliver he would remove.

It took him a morning of straining, delicate Flair work and more patience than he thought he had to unravel the spells that the last GrandLady had layered over the hidey-hole.

Chief Sawyr and a couple of other guards were there when Ilex attacked the final barrier. “You're sure this will lead us to the cult?”

“I'm sure,” Ilex said for the twentieth time. He chanted a pair of Couplets and the shieldspell vanished. Scents and emotions like those he'd felt at the murder scene radiated from the small square hole. “Feel that.” He moved away.

Sawyr bent down. A shudder rippled through his frame. “It's the same.”

“Yes.”

“But this safe hasn't been opened for more than a year.”

“Right. I think that Lobelia was the originator of the cult.”

“She's dead now.”

“Yes.” Ilex gestured for the Chief to investigate the hole.

“Lightstream,” ordered Sawyr, and played a beam of white light over the cavity. “A bag.” He picked it up, sniffed. “Pylor. And well, well, well, what do we have here?” He reached in and pulled out a small sheet of folded papyrus, banished the light, and snapped the page open with a flick of the wrist. “Names,” he breathed. “Two columns. One with the names of young Nobles who had unsteady Flair and whose Passages might echo and repeat. As they did.”

“The other column?” Ilex moved in to look.

“‘Prospective members,'” Sawyr read.

Ilex glanced at it. “I know some of these—and two don't surprise me, but—”

“But?”

“I don't think the leader is listed.”

“No?”

“No. I believe she came along later and refined their ceremonies, made them stronger, called forth Evil.”

“A few months ago.”

“Yes, that would explain why some of the ritual places didn't look or smell or feel the same as the one murder place we found.”

Sawyr stared him in the eye. “You have an idea who she is.”

“I do, but no proof.”

Showing his teeth, Sawyr said, “We'd only have to leak the name to one FirstFamilies lord….”

“You think so? What of the law? You recall what happened when the law was circumvented in the case of Ruis Elder?”

Sighing, Sawyr nodded. “You do have a point. That was a case the FirstFamilies mishandled from the very start.” He pummeled Ilex on the shoulder. “Used you too, didn't they.”

“Yes. On several occasions. I didn't like it. In the matter of the law, I'll side with SupremeJudge Ailim Elder every time.”

“That's a lady we can respect,” Sawyr agreed. “Think we could go to her?”

“I think we should follow procedure. Bring in these”—he tapped the column of suspects—“and question them with all the tools we have at hand.”

“Truth spells, comparisons of their persons with the poppets you've made from all the data. Scents they wear or their natural fragrance, skin tone, voice timbre. You're close on those, Ilex.”

“I think so. That's how I suspect the one I do.”

“Right. Let's go! You can 'port me back to the guardhouse.”

Guard,
whispered the house, anxiety in its tone.

“I need to purify this safe-hole,” Ilex said. He took the Temple-blessed smudge-flare that another guardsman had brought for him and put it in the square hole.

They all stepped back.

“Shield your eyes.” He waited until he heard everyone say the Words, then did so himself. With a wide gesture, he said, “By the Lady and Lord, may the darkness of this secret place be vanquished by the Lord's bright sunlight and the Lady's twinmoonslight. May this alcove be cleansed and purified!” He snapped his fingers, and an explosion of light took place along with a sizzling and a burst of herbal fragrance that stung his nostrils.

They waited until the spell ended. Examining the sconce, Ilex knew it was now simply an unimpressive feature in the wall. Since it had been shielded from the rest of the room it had little scent or sense of evil. No shadows lingered like dusty black spiderwebs in the corners.

Thank,
said the house. Again, the emotion in its voice seemed like a sob—but unlike the night before, this one was of joy.

Sawyr clapped Ilex on the shoulder. “Let's go do our work. If we manage this right, we'll have everything wrapped up today and we won't need to risk a hair of that boy GreatLord's head. That will be more than fine with me.”

“
T
his time, let's kill the Fam too. Drain it. It can't con
tain much Flair and we will need it all.”

The low, malicious voice penetrated the drugged fog in Trif 's mind, followed by a spurt of fear. Her senses sharpened. She lay naked on a soft cloth over hard stone. The dangling fingertips of her right hand twitched enough to contact the dias beneath her and trace the symbols. Bad symbols. Black magic.

Ritual Murder.

Inside her head, a little voice began to scream—and stayed inside her mind. The cry didn't connect to the silky-furred form curled above the curve of her right hip—Greyku! She actually felt her heart thump hard in her chest. Greyku hadn't heard her. She tested her bond with Ilex. A tiny thread. Inert. No Flair or emotion flowing through it. He wouldn't come.

She didn't feel the warm stone of her amulet on her skin. Had they taken it? Why hadn't she ever asked if it was bespelled to stay with her? If it was near, could she get it? Order it to 'port them out of here?

Greyku breathed evenly; the faint trace of her mind that Trif could sense echoed a sleep pattern. Drugged, as she was.

Movement came around her; she struggled to open her eyes and her lashes lifted a crack. Her head was turned to the left and she faced a wall. A straight wall. She was in no round Temple of her faith. The place was nowhere she knew, smelled of incense, echoed like a warehouse. Fear bubbled through her brain, wiping thought away, fighting the drug. When she yanked the terror under control, forced its paralysis away, she was slightly able to think. In this instance, fear was a good thing.

“Shouldn't the rest of us be here?” asked a man.

Another evil chuckle, followed by a melodious voice that Trif strained to hear. “Not yet. I told them to arrive just after sunset, about twenty minutes from now.” There was a delicate snort. “I didn't call the whole kurchucx. This sacrifice is not much, a Commoner and a kitten. Look at them—the girl's features can't be called Noble by any standards, and certainly not mine. And a pastel, parti-colored Fam. How preposterous! No, this is just a little tidbit for the most devoted of us. The four.”

Now fury sizzled through Trif, and she managed to move her head a few centimeters until she could see the line where a grimy black plaster wall met an even darker black ceiling. Greyku stirred. Trif wanted to spare the kitten, but sensed she'd need all her resources, including her Fam, to escape this horror.

She sent a spurt of energy to Greyku, and the little cat soaked it up like a sponge. The effort exhausted Trif. How could she possibly gather enough Flair to free herself? Drugs weren't the only thing that held her. A spellbond ran below her, immobilizing her wherever her body touched the cloth—back of the head, shoulders, back, butt, legs. Her left arm was imprisoned. But her right was free from the elbow down. And she'd moved her head—that must be the weakest point.

A little hope.

Quiet footsteps came closer and much as she wanted to keep her mind focused and fighting the drugs, she had to shut her eyes. All too easily her lashes drifted down.

A finger traced her torso from the hollow of her throat to her navel. She could imagine a knife following the same path, and her body jerked.

“See that?” The second voice, a man's, pitched high with excitement. “The drug is wearing off. Can we do this sacrifice with the victim conscious? It would be so much more rewarding, I tell you, to feed off the terror. I've studied the texts and I'm sure her Flair would rise stronger, be more powerful if the sacrifice is awake.”

“You doubt
my
scholarship?” The first person was close enough for Trif to discover the voice belonged to a woman.

“Let's just try a little experiment. What could it hurt? She's nothing, nobody, a Commoner,” the man wheedled.

“All the more reason to follow standard procedure, so we can discover what difference Commoner blood makes in our occult investigations.”

The man continued. “Yes, but if the Flair we raise from her, drain from her and the Fam through the Fam's link with her, is greater than usual, we might actually harvest enough for one of us to Acsend.” There was a short pause. “Especially if we sacrifice the Fam this time too.”

The doze Trif had been sinking into evaporated as the words rang and echoed in her mind.
Especially if we sacrifice the Fam….
Her brain cleared, though her muscles still felt heavy, unresponsive.

Not only she would die. Greyku would die because she was Fam to a woman with unstable Flair. Trif didn't know why the fact that her Flair wasn't under control mattered…easier to harvest? Yes! That
felt
right.

Greyku would die because of her. She couldn't bear the thought. Pretty, lively,
kitten
Greyku.

Finally, Trif felt exactly like Ilex had.

Trif felt the shift in air as if the man bowed. “We all agreed that you, as our leader, should Ascend first. Think of it. And perhaps we might not just drain them of Flair, of energy, but of…blood. Blood rites have
so
much power.” The man made the same line on Trif as he had before, this time firm enough that his fingernail scratched her. “Instead of separating the heart into molecules and drawing it through the body, slash her and we can eat it with
blood
gushing as well as warm and pumping. The kitten is small; there's hardly a good area to slice for us to pull the Flair from the woman through the cat and to ourselves—yourself. Gut the kitten.”

The musical voice laughed quietly, raising gooseflesh. “I hadn't thought to play with blood rites so soon. But she
is
a Commoner, and the kitten trash. I'll consider it as we await the other two. We can compare bloodrites on a Commoner with our bloodless procedure on a Noble.

“And you may be right. With the Flair I receive tonight, I could deceive the great T'Ash and his Testing Stones. I'll be a GrandLady, found my own house.”

Shock stabbed Trif. This is what all these murders were about? Despite the unnatural “experiments” and “investigations” the deadly two spoke of, rationalizing their actions, all they wanted was worldly power. Nothing more than wealth and status.

They'd trade her blood and body, and Greyku's, for riches and a higher level of Nobility. Her gorge rose. They were stupid. Gilt mattered little, position even less.

What mattered was
love
and
life.
She was cold. The air was warm enough around her—but the fear in her blood chilled her from the inside out. She and Greyku were bonded closely. Even if she managed to save Greyku and not herself—find the amulet and twine it around her Fam maybe—how would her death scar Greyku? None of the other Fams who'd suffered the loss of their companions had been so young. She was so young, so precious. So beloved.

Like Trif herself was to Ilex.

She had no choice. She had to save them both.

She couldn't teleport—the spell connecting her to the cloth, then through the cloth to the massive altar, would prevent it. But she could send Greyku away perhaps. If Trif could touch her. Her right hand was free. Greyku was on her right side.

More hope.

More.

Her throat tightened. That was what Greyku was always saying. More.

Today Trif would try
everything.
She'd rarely raised her Flair—the only time she used it was in her music and 'porting. She never sought her visions.

Her mouth was dry, tongue coated with a nasty tang. She doubted she could whistle, let alone croak a song, not that her voice was special. She wanted her flute. Again, a slight sting came behind her eyes; again, tears failed to liquefy.

The two people strode away and Trif noted a darkening in the light beyond her eyelids. Carefully she opened her lashes. Saw nothing but the dark ceiling. She'd moved her head! Straightened it so she could see directly above her. Excitement fizzed inside her, made her breath ragged.

That was the key.

Breathing.

If she could find the right pattern of breathing, she could summon her Flair. Let it rage out of control—yes! A glimmer of an idea flickered in her mind.

FamWoman!
Greyku's shrill cry battered Trif. Her pulse increased fractionally.

Calm, beloved kitten,
Trif said.

Fur and muscle quivered beside her.
I can't move.

We were drugged. Breathe with me. I will gather Flair and send it to you. It will be dark soon, and I want you out of here.

You must come too!

You will save me, be a hero.

Sire Zanth is a hero. He has told us kits often. Fairyfoot saved her FamWoman. I can be a hero too.

Yes. Breathe with me a moment.

Instead of forcing her mind and her breath down certain paths, Trif endeavored to relax, to put herself in a mild trance state. Let her Flair collect and pool inside her. Breathe. Keep alert. Breathe. Strengthen the bond with Greyku. Breathe.

The drug's hold seemed to lessen. Though her limbs were weighty, her mind floated, and formed an image.

She was walking the Great Labyrinth.

Ilex.

For a moment, the emotional pain was so sharp, it overpowered all thought, all other feelings, even her love for Greyku. Once again, she
willed
her love for him, disregarded but never vanquished, through their bond. Nothing happened. Weariness dimmed her vision.

Greyku whimpered. A tiny sound.

It strained Trif 's nerves, hardened her resolve.
I love you, FamCat.

The kitten exhaled in a sigh.
I love You, FamWoman.

I am gathering Flair for you. I think I will have enough for a minor spell and one big burst.

What minor spell?
Greyku sounded more curious than afraid. Good.

The evil ones are waiting for night. I will take the fur-dim spell from you.

A kitten chuckle rolled through Trif, comforting her.
My fur eyes!

Yes.

That will scare them.

Yes. Let me conserve my energy now.

I will collect My Flair too. We will show them!

In her mind, Trif walked the Great Labyrinth remembering the steps and turns, the offerings of the Nobles beside the path. She'd been there for her friend's wedding, and with Ilex. A little spurt of extra Flair came with his name, so she tried it again.
Ilex
. A bit more Flair flowed in her, as if her Flair itself recognized the name of her HeartMate. So she walked and she thought of him, and she trod the path of the Great Labyrinth up the crater walls and let her psi energy rise.

Absently, she heard the door open again, more voices added to the original man's and woman's.

As they talked, an unholy excitement ran around the room, coated her skin, raising gooseflesh.

Focus on the Great Labyrinth.

I will. I see it in your mind, and I looked down from the rim when you were there with FamMan,
Greyku replied. Trif had been speaking to herself, but a smidgeon more inner tension relaxed.

People moved around her and she turned her head a few more centimeters, and she saw four naked people holding knives. She recognized Piana Juniper and Cyperus Sedge. The other woman seemed familiar, but the knives gleamed huge and sharp. Her pulse picked up its beat and all calming images vanished. Her small trance burst like a bubble.

 

T
he slow pace of the afternoon gnawed at Ilex, though it
was all necessary procedure. Two septhours were spent dealing with a FirstFamilies Council, which finally authorized a public manhunt—and issued statements regarding the killings to the newssheets.

Then all the Druida guards met in the main station and Ilex briefed the men and women. The Head of the Guardsmen sent those with enough tracking, hunting, or investigative Flair out to find the people on Lobelia's list. He and Chief Sawyr had already ascertained that two had left Druida, two had died, and several were mysteriously missing.

Finally, Ilex returned to the guardhouse and prepared to hunt the leader down. That one had more Flair than he, and much more viciousness. He donned magical battle gear and protection amulets.

And in the heightened tension of the hunt, thoughts of Trif pummeled him.

She'd been right all along, and he'd been wrong. He had thought that the worst fate that could befall them was death. So wrong. What was the worst was not
living
life to the fullest. Not embracing each moment joyfully, not sharing it with your beloved.