Heart Choice (8 page)

She stared at him, knowing her eyes rounded. Of course she'd heard about the great spells practiced by the nobles, but somehow this sounded—not nice. Frowning, she scrutinized him. “You look in fine shape, too.” The words came from her mouth without thought.

His grin was swift and dangerous. “My thanks.” He shrugged, then swept his glance around the chamber. “The Residence informed me of all the basic problems. The worst is that parasite growing on the outside.”

“If that's the case, our job will be easier. We're in time to prevent any permanent damage.”

One hand petting Drina, Straif tilted his head at Mitchella. “You can tell that?”

“Of course. I should have options for its removal for you by tomorrow—”

“We'll do a FirstFamilies Ritual at next full twinmoons,” Straif said.

Mitchella goggled. She hadn't even thought of that. He appeared casual, even rough, but she'd better not forget that despite appearances, this man was very powerful. She swallowed. “Yes, that should take care of any minor problems in the Residence.”
Or any major ones
.

Mitchella said, “Everything I could do by muscle and labor, you could do by paying great Nobles or trading them favors. Why don't you?”

Straif raised an eyebrow and said drily, “Because in my case, I think they'd overcharge—or insist on equally great alliances or favors. It's not wise to be too deeply indebted to FirstFamilies Lords and Ladies.”

Nodding, Mitchella said, “I see.” T'Ash had said the same.

“That leaves us with your specialty, interior design,” Straif said.

“I have drawings and holos of the Residence in the past . . .”

His face tightened. “I'm sure I do, too. ResidenceLibrary,” he addressed the archives of the Residence, “where are the plans, drawings, holos of the previous styles of the Residence?”

“Older records are in the ResidenceDen, the last GrandLady D'Blackthorn, your mother, redecorated just before you were born—”

“Stop,” Straif commanded.

Now he appeared pale. The man was going to have to face some deep problems that he'd avoided for years. She wet her lips, crossed over to him, and put a hand on his arm. He looked down from the few centimeters that separated their heights, eyes stark.

“Perhaps you might consider a whole new style,” Mitchella said.

He jerked a nod.

Feeling more in control of the project, Mitchella continued. “Let's take a look around, and you can tell me of your color preferences and what you like and dislike about each room.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her, as if examining her for evidence of pity. She kept her bland professional expression.

He shrugged, and Drina protested with a mew.

“Right,” Straif said, and wheeled to the left. “We can view the west end first.”

Drina meowed loudly, and he set her down.

As they traversed the hallways once beautiful with paint and other wallcoverings, Straif's manner subtly altered. His gliding walk showed breaks in the smooth rhythm, his voice was strained, his expression impassive.

Mitchella recorded his comments and her own on the flexistrip, noting his tastes as well as his decisions on what furnishings to keep. Drina made cat noises that Mitchella ignored.

The Residence itself was beautiful, with paneling that had resisted deterioration; fine moldings and discreet carvings emphasized the architecture. How Antenn would love to study this building.

She soon realized Straif wouldn't enter many of the rooms, an added difficulty. He'd waved her into the ResidenceDen with a curt order of “change it all,” and she merely scanned it. It incorporated so many of his preferences that she was surprised that he hated it. But with a fast look around, she realized it showed the stamp of his father, perhaps his FatherSire, too, who had formed Straif's own tastes.

This room would hold too many memories for him. She didn't linger, but thought it would be a challenge to make Straif comfortable in the room. The natural focus of the chamber was the windows. The best way to give Straif a room that he'd enjoy was to relandscape the grounds outside the windows. She recorded everything with an image sphere.

Returning to the hall, she saw Straif studiously avoiding a large closed door opposite them. She nodded at the door. He pretended to look, but his glance slid by. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk to where the main building curved into the attached wing and the stairs leading upward.

Mitchella frowned as she thought of the floor plan she studied. “The room we didn't enter was the ballroom?”

The chamber took up a great deal of that half of the floor. Why would he dislike the ballroom?

“Yes. I won't be going in there. Ever.”

That was clear enough.

“I'd like to demolish it.” He marched up the stairs at a quick pace and couldn't have heard Mitchella's smothered protest. She remembered the magnificent room now. As she watched him move swiftly up the stairs, she noted his smooth stride. With a Holly mother, no wonder the man was so graceful. From her studies she knew the Blackthorns had always been good dancers, had enjoyed giving balls. Why would he break with generations of tradition?

A hideous yowl came from Drina. Back arched and hair on end, she backed away from the ballroom door. The small cat whirled and sped past Mitchella up the stairs, ears flattened.

Nibbling her lower lip, Mitchella realized she needed more information about her client—from whom, she didn't know. Maybe when she had dinner with Danith D'Ash tonight, they could decide whom to approach and how.

Straif waited for her at the top of the steps, face closed, and she knew that the family rooms would be worse for them all. The first few bedrooms on the second level were easily entered and discussed, they'd been guest rooms and a guest suite.

Then, in at the third room on the left, Straif stopped to stare at a door. “The Heir'sSuite,” he said tonelessly.

“You are no longer the Heir,” Mitchella soothed. She was
not
going to ask if there was anything in the rooms that he wanted. Growing up with brothers and as a mother to Antenn, she could spot important treasures. Perhaps later, as he grew accustomed to the project and she knew him better, she could give him old items he might still like. “We can decorate the room in a manner that would welcome either a boy or a girl.”

He blinked and an odd expression crossed his face, as if it was the first time he'd thought of his progeny as real children. Mitchella ignored a twinge of pain at the thought of her own sterility.

“That's a good idea.”

Drina sniffed at the bottom of the door and wrinkled her nose, then made a little sound in her throat.

Straif actually smiled. “Drina says it smells like boy—sounds like she doesn't much like boys.”

Mitchella chuckled. “She's a prissy cat, I don't imagine she does.” Since it didn't seem like they were going to open the door, she urged Straif on with a little tap against his back.

But his steps lagged. Tension rose from him as they drew even with the next door on the left, the one in the middle of the corridor. Straif flicked his fingers at the intricately carved lintel, the heavy door. “The MasterSuite,” he said.

Drina hummed in approval, walked around the door, stretched up on the door flexing her claws to give it her scent. The door swung wide on a dark-paneled room, and Straif turned abruptly away. A muscle twitched in his jaw as if even the small glimpse was too much for him to bear.

He whispered. She looked at him. “What did you say?”

“I didn't say anything.” When he met her eyes, his gaze fixed on her face, ignoring the open door behind her.

Mitchella rubbed her temples. “I could have sworn you said something.” She frowned in concentration. “Something about finishing the MasterSuite first so you can take your proper place in the Residence.”

Straif looked startled, then arched a sandy eyebrow. “The Residence was talking to me on a private channel that takes less energy than general audio. Interesting that you can hear it. Probably because you have an affinity with homes due to your profession.”

Her pulse picked up pace. Another strange and unusual thing, mental connection with a sentient house. How did she handle this? With a professional smile she said, “My Flair isn't great, and T'Ash Residence hasn't deigned to speak with me, but if T'Blackthorn Residence wishes to I'll make every effort to be receptive on all levels.” This job was becoming a lot of work.

She glanced inside the MasterSuite, and her chest tightened. The furnishings were in good condition; obviously the Residence had tried to keep this suite in the best condition possible with its limited technology-spells.

Everything was in place as if Straif's father had just left and might return. Mitchella swallowed hard and shut the door.

Drina was having a conversation with Straif that included whining and tail-lashing from her and firm statements from him. He stood with hands on hips, and Mitchella had no doubt they communicated mentally, too.

“Yes, I said I'd convert the Heir'sSuite playroom for you, and it would be the first one redone, but I've reconsidered.”

Drina huddled into herself, looking small and pitiful, then raised huge blue eyes to Straif.

His face hardened. “I won't be staying in the MasterSuite. You'll be up here all alone.”

Mitchella saw the flash of calculation in the cat's eyes and wondered if Straif had, too. Drina rose and flowed to Straif and rubbed against his boots, purring loudly. Or Mitchella guessed it was loud for Drina. Pinky purred much better.

Along with Drina's blandishments, Mitchella felt an odd tickling in her ears and mind that corresponded with a faint thickening in the atmosphere around her. She strained all her senses and caught the whisper of the Residence.

“—you are T'Blackthorn, it is best that you live in the MasterSuite.”

“I'll consider it.” Straif strode down the hall. With a little smile, Drina hurried to catch up with him. Mitchella was determined to draw up a redecorating scheme immediately for the MasterSuite. The cat and house would convince Straif to live in the rooms.

Several meters along the corridor, he indicated another door. “The MistrysSuite.” His tone was expressionless, but dread radiated from him. She took his arm companionably, ready to move him away from pain. “We agreed the MistrysSuite should be decorated by your HeartMate.”

He didn't budge, but stared at the heavy door, intricately carved with symbols of the Blackthorns: The Blackthorn tree was in the center and in each corner was a carved image of a wolf.

Inhaling deeply, he met Mitchella's eyes, his own darkening with emotion. “My mother's rooms. The suite will need to be cleaned. The . . . the furnishings inventoried. Stored.” His body vibrated under her hand. “I haven't been in there since my mother died. Since everyone else died.”

That shocked her. Definitely time to calm the client, get him moving away.

His eyes went a little wild as he looked down the hallway. “My sister's suite is next.”

Time to get him downstairs where the rooms weren't quite as personal. Maybe. Everything indicated that he'd walked away from the house—the
Residence
—as a very young man. Everything was just as the last living occupants had left it. It was a privileged person who could just leave things behind for years.

To her right was the staircase down to the grand hall. Mitchella prodded Straif and finally got him turned away from the closed doors and moving down the stairs. Drina helped by keeping pace and purring.

Nevertheless, Mitchella wanted her guess confirmed, wanted to know what to expect when she entered the rooms she hadn't seen. “Did you have anyone—ah—go through the house, ready it for your long absence?”

“Does it look as if I did? No. I let the Residence take care of itself. I don't know if T'Holly or D'Holly, my maternal relatives, came here at all after—afterward.”

“I'll check with them.” Somehow she'd find the nerve to talk to the leaders of the FirstFamilies. Perhaps she could learn of past events from them, too.

If the place wasn't a FirstFamilies estate, she'd have gently advised him to move. No chance of that. So the best thing to do was to completely redecorate. She discarded her first plan of bringing the Residence exactly back to the recorded holos. That wouldn't be a blessing for Straif. It wouldn't make him comfortable.

She couldn't imagine living in a home that wasn't comfortable. The energy vibrations would warp the individual and perhaps the Residence itself. Even Drina was affected by the tour. Her step had been nearly prancing as she started; now she lifted and put her paws down as if they hurt.

Once on the first floor, Straif looked around and grimaced. “I thought to use the cook's apartment as a living space for now. It's at the far end of the west wing.” He shrugged.

Drina sat on the toe of one of his boots, lifted her small head, and mewed.

Straif scowled. His lips thinned. Finally, he sighed. “The Residence can clean the Heir'sSuite playroom for you.”

The faintest voice sounded in Mitchella's head. “There was once a Famdoor from the hall to the playroom. I will dissolve the barrier and open it again,” said the Residence.

Both Drina and Straif nodded. They obviously heard the Residence, too, and much better than Mitchella. Ah, well, they were both more Flaired than she.

Drina rose to her feet, angled her body in a long stretch, and trotted back up the staircase.

Mitchella chuckled. “So, as long as the scent of boy is removed from the playroom she will be happy to live there.”