Heart Choice by Robin D. Owens Read Free Book Online

lifted her little pink nose, and mewed.
    â€œHow about minced clucker, do we have any of that?”
    â€œIndeed,” said the Residence.
    Pulling on his shirt, Straif crossed to the door, opened it, and entered the wide corridor, which was much lighter than the room. He glanced over his shoulder. The dark purple room might have been beautiful at one time, but he didn’t want to keep the color. He’d change the entire room. Meanwhile, since it resonated with no memories, it would be a good office.
    He set his shoulders. The kitchen was to the left. He recollected that there were rooms for the cook off the chamber. That might be a good place to stay. Rubbing his jaw and feeling the prickle of rough beard, he cheered at the thought of a bathroom. He lengthened his stride until Drina mewed a protest.
    â€œHuh,” he said, looking down at her. “Keep up.”
    She sniffed.
    He’d been around enough cats to know that it was an exclamation of disdain.
    They reached the door at the end of the hallway that led to the kitchen. It swung easily on the hinges, squeaking a little.
    He entered the kitchen and eyed it, scowling. He wasn’t sure what a prime kitchen should look like, what tools it should have, but the appliances seemed big and clunky. Just as with everything else, time had passed in the kitchen with no modernization. Flair technology continued to be refined, so less and less psi power was needed to work common spells. Flair itself was growing stronger and more common in the populace. Straif had experienced that in his travels.
    One wall showed doors to the no-time compartments—storage areas for uncooked foods and full meals. He stared at them, hands on hips. “Residence, which one holds the minced clucker?”
    An indicator lit up on a small cabinet. “The Fam meals,” the Residence said.
    â€œI thought we didn’t have Fams for a long time?” Straif opened the storage area to see a lustrous purple pottery bowl filled with steaming clucker. He sniffed. It smelled good. Too bad he was set on eggs.
    He took out the bowl, warm from the meat inside, and placed the meal on the floor. Drina glided up, sniffed, made a sound of approval, and started to demolish the meal in quick, dainty bites.
    Straif looked around. There was no place for an open fire—the only way he knew how to cook. He frowned, searching his memory. “Don’t we have a fire pit, somewhere?” He could cook over a campfire.
    â€œThere was a fire pit at the west end of the wall below the terrace. It was destroyed in one of the gang fights,” the Residence said.
    Anger surged through Straif that his estate had been so abused. His own fault, but another task—to shieldspell the grounds. That would take a lot of Flair, and it was something that he wouldn’t want anyone else to initiate.
    â€œAhem,” the Residence said.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œT’Ash furnished a GardenShed. It might have breakfast meals in a small no-time.”
    Straif blinked. “Really?” The morning was looking up.
    Drina burped.
    Straif picked up her empty bowl and put it in the wash cabinet.
    I know which GardenShed that is. I can take you.
    â€œRight, we’ll go out to the GardenShed.”
    â€œThere is much we must discuss, GrandLord Straif T’Blackthorn,” the Residence rumbled. Straif figured it used his name to emphasize the point.
    â€œAnd we will discuss that as soon as I return. In the meantime, please divert some housekeeping energy to clean the kitchen apartment. My Fam and I will live there for a time.”
    â€œYou are the GrandLord. You should occupy the MasterSuite.”
    His gut tensed. “Not yet.” His stomach rumbled. “Breakfast, first. You are still draining much of my energy, and to keep up my strength I will need to eat.”
    The atmosphere of the Residence shivered as if with thunder. All of the fine hair on his body rose.
    â€œI