Heart Journey by Robin Owens

to move his blood from his groin to throughout his body. A good spell for adolescent boys—and one he had rarely used since then.
    He could only hope he satisfied her, because he didn’t know, and that was a new experience.
    Breathing deeply, he calmed his mind again, relaxing and enjoying the sounds of the summer night in the city. There was the steady whoosh of the PublicCarrier—little more than a large glider at this time of night—and night birds warbling.
    Had she deliberately drawn him into a dream or had it been unknowing on both their parts? He considered that, then decided it must have been instinctive. She’d felt, smelled, familiar in the sense that he’d known her loving from the dreams before, but also unfamiliar . . . the soft cloudy hair that he’d speared his fingers through close to her skull.
    Closing his eyes, he sank into serenity, weaving in birdsong and the steps of a passerby. He felt loose but a little achy.
    The memory of the fight painted the inside of his eyelids red and bold and jolted him. He’d forgotten that.
    Amazing. He tested his limbs. The Spindles’ Healer was good; he’d barely had a bruise after she’d worked on him and any lingering aches had been wiped away by the fabulous sex.
    But he suspected that now all his troubles would hit the newssheets. His host, T’Spindle, had been stiff with pride, insisting on taking care of the damage to Raz’s glider.
    He’d spent two septhours with the guards going over every detail of the burglary here, at the theater, his sense of being watched, and the glider incident. No one had any explanations.
    Restlessly, he got up and walked to the windows covered in gauzy cream curtains. He glanced out, frowned. One of the shadows was different. He’d had enough sleepless nights, come home at all hours of the night, to know the shadows. Anyone who teleported observed the fall and shift of light.
    As he watched, a man-shaped dark patch vanished. Raz blinked, trying to grasp the form. It might have been the big man from tonight. It hadn’t moved like it had been hurt in a fight. But neither did he.
    With a sigh Raz went to the no-time food and beverage storage and took out a potion that sent thin tendrils of gray steam into the dark. He swallowed the mild sleep-aid in a gulp that made him recall Del Elecampane—who’d also faded to the back of his mind with all the events.
    An intriguing lady. She held a GrandLady’s title, though he hadn’t remembered that until someone had referred to her after she’d left. She’d left him wanting.
    Uneasily he went back to bed. Could she be his HeartMate? He worked on the calculations, when he’d first felt the touch of his HeartMate . . . Second Passage at seventeen, as was becoming usual. If his mate had been four years older than he and had her Third Passage at twenty-one, the connection would be strong. Stronger than what he’d felt?
    He grunted. Del was eight years older than he, and his dream woman had had long hair and had been romantic and . . . gentle?
     
     
    T he next morning he called the guards again to report the shadow of the big man who could have been the one who’d assaulted him at the party. He was told that his neighborhood would be patrolled at night. The residents and shops would be cautioned to watch for any unusual incidents. Raz figured he’d have to turn up his charm to remain popular.
    A guardsman also firmly but gently told Raz that he was an actor in a mystery, not a sleuth himself, and to leave any investigation to professionals. Raz had cheerfully replied that with ten performances an eightday, he didn’t have the time for sleuthing.
    No other disturbing events occurred over the next two busy days and the feeling of being watched faded, as did the details of the erotic interlude. He didn’t know whether to yearn for more dream sex or be glad he wasn’t being pulled into an irresistible web of temptation that would complicate his career.
    The dream woman was replaced