Heart Choice (30 page)

What are you looking at?
She came to peer out the window.
Someone tore up the lawn. Looks nasty.
She shivered.
It is too cold in here.
She cocked her head.
Mitchella is going shopping! Or at least to The Four Leaf Clover, I must . . .

“Of course you must.”

She lit on the rug with barely a sound and rushed from the room.

Straif manipulated his Flair, enhancing all his senses . . . there was something . . . Narrowing his eyes, he knew the trail he saw lining the words was a color he'd recognize, but . . . smudged. Then he refocused on the large panorama. The words were carved just beyond the drive in the front, obvious from most of the Residence.

He stalked from the guest suite down the hall into the MasterSuite, cleansed himself under the waterfall, and dressed in a set of his tracking leathers. Then he strode through the Grand Entry Hall, down the stairs, and into the front.

The knowledge hit him then. This was the portion of the estate where most of the fighting had occurred, and though the whole estate had been blessed the night before, this portion would have been most resistant to the overall spell. The area would definitely have to be cleansed by a dedicated priestess or priest. Grumbling, he walked to the dug-in words and squatted. The lines were a faded, ugly green to his Flair vision. Touching a tip of his finger to the first rut, he
knew.

“Zanth!”

It had been T'Ash's FamCat who'd done this.

Twenty

With an oath at the horrible rutted words dug by
T'Ash's FamCat, Straif was back inside and in his ResidenceDen. Mitchella had already placed a large copper scrybowl on his desk, full of water. As soon as he had initiated the preparation spell, before he could scry himself, the water whirled and the copper pinged.

“Here,” he said.

“T'Ash,” said the other. His angry visage formed in the misty droplets above the bowl. He held a limp Zanth in his arms.

“I want to speak to you,” Straif said.

“Mutual. Zanth told me what happened. He was hunting on your land near dawn. He says
someone Nasty
overcame his will and forced him to dig
bad holes.
”

“He spelled ‘MitchBitch Must Die,'” Sraif said, adding a visual of the letters for T'Ash.

The GreatLord's lip curled at one end. “Like all Fams, Zanth has no spelling skills.” He glanced down at the scruffy animal in his arms and a hint of vulnerability showed in his eyes. “His energy and Flair have been drained. His paws were raw. Danith fixed them up some, but the fliggering bastard that forced his will on Zanth nearly killed him. He. Will. Pay.”

“One of the worst crimes of Celta is to use Flair to compel another,” Straif said. Cold trickled up his spine, pooling and resting at the back of his neck. He rubbed it. “A person who would do that would stop at nothing.”

“Like using a firebombspell or a reflective Flair trap.” T'Ash's smile was dagger-sharp. “The trap problem came to light this morning. The FirstFamily Heads of Households were all called and told that you were having security problems at your estate.” He shrugged. “Someone is really pushing to show you in a bad light, diminish your status so he can take over.”

“Perhaps the same one who sets the spells. T'Blackthorn estate would be easier to penetrate for one with Family blood.”

“I think T'Holly pointed that out,” T'Ash said. “You have me as a lifetime ally, T'Blackthorn.”

“The reflective Flair trap was attached to a rock. I've dismantled the spell, but you're the stone specialist. Winterberry took the rock last night. He will be consulting you.”

T'Ash nodded. “One more thing, Zanth doesn't remember much of his ordeal . . .” He cuddled the cat close, and Straif figured that if Zanth hadn't been a tough Downwind tom, he might not have survived—his paws and nose were pallid, his fur rough. The hair on the back of Straif's neck prickled. He'd have to safeguard Drina, too.

“. . . but Zanth said the one who did this to him is
Not Right.
”

“Not right?”

Zanth shifted and moaned in T'Ash's arms. “Mad,” T'Ash rumbled.

Straif went cold. “I'd appreciate it if you hurried on that Fam collar, set it with a diamond, and sent it over. Please imbue it with strong protection spells. I'll report this to Winterberry.”

T'Ash nodded. “I'll do that, but know this. Zanth wears a fortune around his neck and likes to hunt at night. His collar holds the strongest spell I have. Blessed be.” He blew on the water in his scrybowl and ended the call.

Straif stood frozen for a moment, then headed out the front door. Time to track his enemy in earnest.

 
 
But the day proved one of the most frustrating Straif ever
experienced. He hadn't been able to get a good read on the trail of the other Blackthorn, couldn't track him one more step than before.

All around the estate walls were footprint smears so overlaid that Straif couldn't separate them—all pulsing with excitement. Ex-gang members, thrill seekers, others interested in Straif or the restoration of the Residence. To Straif's surprise, the strongest track of all wasn't human, but fox. He had a small den of the creatures nestled in a corner of the estate—far from where Zanth liked to hunt and the Residence. Foxes were even scarcer than cats, though not as rare as dogs.

The greeniron gate area and the drive all held powerful lines of the greatly Flaired FirstFamilies Lords and Ladies who'd attended the Ritual the night before. Their Flair overwhelmed the trails of everything else.

Straif went to T'Ash's to consult with him and Winterberry about the rock that had held the capture spell. Winterberry questioned T'Ash and Straif, keeping a good stride from the snoring Zanth. Winterberry watched Straif with narrowed eyes. Neither T'Ash nor Winterberry discovered anything new about the rock.

Finally, irritated at the lack of any real progress, Straif returned to his estate only to realize that Mitchella was avoiding him. That was the worst frustration of all.

So he immersed himself in hard labor. With his own hands and shovel, backed with Flair, he turned over the disturbed dirt of the rutted words and dug a rectangular flower bed. He hunted through his verdant, overgrown grounds for bushes. Around the edges he planted elder and the native Celtan plants of glanhawr and purdeb, which would purify the ground until he had a priest and priestess bless it during the next full twinmoons. Then he brought in healthy sage bushes and took seeds of the best Blackthorn-Sloe bushes from the botanical no-time and planted them.

Since the day became fine and clear with Bel white in the deep blue sky, Straif's gardening relaxed and refreshed him. Antenn and the cook were avoiding him, too, but Straif didn't care about them. Drina kept him company. She watched him lay out the flower bed, made comments, chased and ate moths, and napped in the sunshine. She was happy until her collar arrived with “one
puny
diamond and heavy spells,” then went to her room to sulk.

When he finished, he grunted. He didn't have Mitchella's artistic eye, but the garden looked good to him. He could live with it, and that was the important thing. He examined his estate. He could live with everything. His land, his glowing Residence, his place. He could rebuild his life and his line and be happy here. If he could conclude his elusive quest.

It was a matter of moments to find a pretty pot and transplant a hawthorn bush that he'd had blessed by GreatLord Hawthorn himself. Straif smiled. His gift was good.

After standing under the waterfall and dressing in casual clothes, he went to the ResidenceDen. The other windows now held illusions of the Great Labyrinth instead of unkempt grounds. It would take many people to clear the grounds, though with Mitchella's help he'd arranged a trade in services for the best landscape design available.

“The glider you requested from T'Holly has arrived,” the Residence said. “It is yours for as long as you wish and bespelled to accept your Flair. Mitchella and Antenn wait in the front. The FamCat refuses to visit Commoners in an ugly collar.”

Straif picked up his hawthorn bush in the Grand Hall and did a little, excited 'port to the front gliderway. Antenn wore a moss green tunic-trous suit, and Mitchella a gown of nearly the same color that accented her eyes. Something in the cut, workmanship, or material of their clothes proclaimed them unashamedly middle class. Straif himself wore a tunic-trous suit he'd kept at T'Holly's that was several years out of style. He grimaced. He appeared a shabby, down-on-his-luck Lord. Just what he was. “Where's Pinky?” asked Straif.

“Trif wanted to play with him today, he's already there.” Antenn frowned at the glider. “It's very old and big.”

“Antenn,” Mitchella chided.

“Sorry,” Antenn said, not looking at Straif. The boy shifted a large, gaily wrapped present.

“True, it's old, but it's big and comfortable. Open windows and doors,” Straif ordered. The windows faded to nothing, then the doors rose open. “There's plenty of room for us and our gifts. What do you have there, Antenn?”

The boy climbed into the glider and slid over on the bench, keeping his package close. After Mitchella and Straif had entered and the doors were sealed, Antenn looked at Straif and said hesitantly, “T'Vine asked if we could pick him up, and I said yes, but I didn't know he lived outside Druida.”

“That's fine.” Straif ordered the glider to T'Vine Residence. The glider was fast, and they were soon outside the southgate of Druida and climbing the hill where GreatHouse T'Vine's Residence stood.

Antenn shifted in his seat. “Trif studies old Earth stuff to help understand her Flair.”

Straif glanced at Mitchella. “What's her Flair?”

“She
sees
past events, even as far back as ancient Earth,” Mitchella said.

“Unusual,” Straif said.

“Yeah,” Antenn said. “Well she likes old stuff, but she thinks about the future, too, and what sort of front she wants on her house.”

“Front?” Straif said.

Mitchella said, “A few generations ago our family heads of households got together and purchased the whole square. We've been building around the block. We call it the Clover Compound, and the playspace is the center courtyard. Antenn and I didn't want a house of our own—there are several new and empty ones at the moment, and some being built—so we lived in the rented cottage. Trif is living in MidClass Lodge now, but has chosen one of the new places that isn't quite finished.”

“I've made a solid three-dimensional model of her house for her. The front and windows: trim, architectural details. I'm pretty sure she'll like it. It can be a working model for when the rest of the family finishes her house,” Antenn said.

“It's wonderful.” Mitchella beamed. “Trif will love it. Like a dollhouse, but her own.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” Straif said. He'd spent more time thinking about homes and houses—architectural, interior, and landscape design—in the last few days than he'd ever done in all his thirty-two years. And as the glider slid through the lower shieldspelled gates of the T'Vine estate and up to the first walled gate of the T'Vine Residence, Mitchella's eyes widened and Antenn's mouth dropped open. The huge redstone fortress towered in walled levels above them, and Straif realized another discussion about Residences was upon them.

“I didn't know it was so huge,” Mitchella breathed.

“Has to be modeled after one of those old Earth castles,” Antenn said. They both looked at Straif.

“It's outside Druida because of the sensitive nature of the Vines' Flair.” Straif cudgeled his memory.

“Like SilverFir is on a little island.” Antenn nodded. “'Cause they are sometimes empaths.”

“Right,” Straif said. “I don't know of anyone who has been inside the Vine inner keep—the last D'Vine was so old, and the present T'Vine is so young . . . if anyone was there, it might have been the Hollys. They never mentioned it to me, though.”

Mitchella nibbled at her lip. “I'm thinking. I know the name of the Earth castle. Funny name, long—Hohozinger, no, um, Hohenzollern. That's it.” She smiled. “I read up on the FirstFamily Residences when you hired me.” She glanced up the layered hillside. “I didn't pay much attention to this one. It's so unlike T'Blackthorn Residence.” The way she said it, Straif knew that she preferred his home. He smiled at her.

“Greetyou,” said Vinni T'Vine, near the window beside Straif. The young Lord was surrounded by huge men who eyed Straif suspiciously.

Straif opened the door and stepped out, blocking access to Mitchella and Antenn.