Free Heart Secret by Robin D. Owens Page B

rug.
    Garrett was struck with the idea that she knew about HouseHearts, this woman who was not one of the twenty-five FirstFamilies who had most of the intelligent Residences. From sheer curiosity, he’d made a list of sentient buildings and there weren’t more than a dozen that didn’t belong to the FirstFamilies, descendants of the colonists who had funded the trip to Celta. What did she know? And how?
    Taking a moment to clear the desire from his senses, shutting down even the thin thread that pulsed with molecules between them, he used his Flair and caught tendrils of mystery wisping around her like fog.
    â€œWhat’s the spell and the password?” she whispered.
    Following logic, he understood that TQ knew more about the woman than he did, and so must the Healers. He was being left out. Nearly intolerable.
    On an inner breeze, TQ recited:
    Â 
    Home is where the Heart is
    My HouseHeart is Home,
    Is Me,
    Home, Home, Home
    For the right Family
    Us
    Â 
    Garrett had expected a cheerful little jingle. “That doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œI wrote it,” TQ said with dignity. “I like it.”
    â€œIt makes sense to him,” the Healer murmured.
    â€œYes, Artemisia,” TQ said.
    Softly, repeating the emphasis exactly as TQ had, she said the spell.
    The carpet and floor lifted straight up, the rectangle attached to the ceiling, then illusion covered it.
    Illusion on the floor, too, as if the carpet remained. The spot rippled, and Garrett figured if TQ didn’t want them to see that warning, he wouldn’t have. “Good safety measures. Even if someone knows the words, they won’t see the opening unless you allow them.”
    â€œThat is correct,” TQ said.
    The Healer stepped forward, frowned as she peered down. Garrett came up until his body almost touched hers, looked to the floor—and beyond to a dark hole. “Light?” he prompted.
    It shot in spears from the opening. The walls of the very steep stairway—large enough for a big man—were painted pale yellow.
    â€œI should go first, in case you fall,” Garrett said.
    â€œI do not let anyone fall on
my
staircase,” TQ said.
    â€œBy accident,” Artemisia said.
    â€œBy accident,” TQ agreed.
    Without a glance at Garrett, the Healer began descending.
    â€œThese are my only stairs. I was very young when the HouseHeart was made,” TQ said.
    â€œAnd that was?” Garrett asked. The stair treads were only a centimeter or so larger than his feet. The steps themselves angled around corners and he couldn’t see Artemisia. That twanged his nerves, because they were HeartMates. But right now he didn’t care that the bond between them was strengthening; he wanted her in sight. He picked up his pace.
    â€œThe HouseHeart was made fifteen years ago,” TQ said. The House had actually given him information.
    â€œNice,” she said, farther down.
    â€œThank you,” TQ said.
    Garrett jumped the last stairs and found himself in an oval natural cave with rocky ground ringed by stalagmites. A couple of huge stalactites descended from the ceiling that TQ could drop on unexpected visitors. Maybe use as missiles. “Excellent defense.”
    â€œThank you. This space is such that people can teleport into it, as long as I don’t change the light or my rocks.”
    â€œI don’t see a door.”
    â€œTouch the point of the lowest stalagmite,” TQ said.
    â€œA challenge and a riddle.” He scanned the room for the lowest upthrust rock. The smallest reached his shin and he touched the top. The point fell off; a grinding echoed. One of the large stalactites moved into the ceiling, the illusion of rock behind it shimmered, then dissipated. A turquoise pointed-arched door with black hardware and surrounded by dressed stone appeared.
    â€œLovely.” The Healer strode to it, touched the latch. A spark arced and she yelped, shaking her