"… so I thought it would be better to have it checked out before I opened it, in case there was some sort of Pandora's box thing going on," I finished five minutes later, carefully watching the man who stood next to me with the box in his hands. "What do you think? Is it something bad?"
Brother Jacob, head of the Scottish branch of Diviners, and erstwhile schoolmate from a childhood spent in Calgary, gave me a look that almost made me squirm. Almost. "Sam, you didn't leave here utterly ignorant. You possess the skills to determine if this object is tainted by dark powers."
"Uh… Jake, I hate to disillusion you about any of my so-called skills, but I flunked divination, remember? I was kicked out of the Order."
"You left voluntarily," he said, still giving me the look that said I shouldn't be bothering him with petty things.
"Right. Only I was volunteered to leave by the head of the Order."
"Master Tsang was acting in your best interests—" Jake started to say, his brow furrowed.
I laughed and held up a hand. "Don't worry, Jake, I'm not here to start up that whole how-I-left-and-why-I-left thing. Honestly, I'm over it. And perfectly willing to accept that Master Tsang was right and I was wrong about divination being my calling. I'm a mutt, half human and half elf, neither one thing or another, and as we both know, divination is a gift, not a skill. Hence my inability to tell if that box is nasty or not. What do you think?"
Jake sighed and gave up trying to glare me into being something I just wasn't. He looked off into the distance as his hands spread across the box, an abstracted look on his face indicating he was deep in a world that only Diviners could access. "The box itself has been in the possession of a demon."
"So that was a demon? Interesting."
"However, the object inside it does not seem to be imbued with any dark powers."
"That's good to know. So what is it?" I asked, curious.
Jake blinked and shot me a jaded look. "I'm not an X-ray machine, Sam. If you want to know what's in it, you'll have to find out for yourself."
"But I told you, I can't divine anything—"
He rolled his eyes, shoving the box back at me. "I meant you'll have to open the box, you idiot."
"Oh." I smiled and punched him lightly in the shoulder, just to let him know I appreciated the insult. I bummed a pair of scissors from him to cut the leather thongs that bound the box, then popped off the lid, wondering what on earth a demon could be delivering, and whom it was supposed to be delivered to. "Huh. It's a statue."
"Of what?" Jake asked, peering over my shoulder. "A bird?"
"Yeah." I lifted the small statue from a nest of velvet material, surprised by its weight. It was gold-colored, about nine inches tall, apparently of a bird of prey. "Looks like a hawk or falcon or some raptor like that."
"Ooooh. Is it gold?" he asked, his voice hushed as if he was in the presence of something awe-inspiring.
I turned the statue around, flipping it over to look at the bottom. "I don't think so. I think it's brass."
"How can you tell?" he asked. "It looks like gold to me."
"One word." I pointed at the letters on the bottom of the statue. "Last I heard, Taiwan wasn't knocking off gold bird statues."
"Why would someone go to the trouble of having a demon deliver a non-gold Taiwanese statue?" Jake asked, looking as confused as I felt.
"That is the question, isn't it?" I gave the bird statue another quick once-over, then put it back in the box and strapped the lid on with some packing tape. "Maybe if I knew that, I'd know who it was meant for. Thanks for your help, Jake. And for the referral. I appreciate you spreading the word about our agency."
"What are you going to do with the statue?" he asked, waving away my thanks as he walked me to the door.
"You said it's not evil or anything, so…" I shrugged, pulling my jacket close against the chilly, damp May air. "I'll put it in a safe place until after this job is over, and then try to track down the person it was intended for. Thanks again. And stop frowning—my mother always says a frown is what brings the rain."
"That's because your mother's frowns literally do," he answered, yelling after me as I hurried off toward the bus stop a few streets away. "Be careful, Sam. The statue may not be made of gold, but it clearly has some value if a demon was engaged to deliver it. Whoever it was intended for may not take kindly to you possessing it."
I waved to let him know I heard, then made my way back to the office, stopping off at the store occupying the floor below to leave off the shoebox with Mila, sex shop diva, landlady extraordinaire, and more importantly, possessor of a huge black safe that squatted in the corner of her small office.
"I'm back," I called to Clare as I trotted upstairs to our office. "Did you get a list of antique dealers? Did you find out anything about that book? Why are the shades drawn? You would not believe the guy I saw in one of those long dusters that are so sexy on men. He was browsing through the condoms at the back of Mila's shop, and wow, talk about slobber city! Tall, dark, and handso—oh. Hello."
"Good afternoon." A man wearing a long leather coat and holding a black fedora loomed into view. For a fraction of a second my mouth hung open. Even though the room was dark, the lights on the desk illuminated him enough to see one hell of a specimen of man—short curly black hair, liquid silver eyes that glowed brightly in the dark room, and shoulders that seemed to go on forever. On the other side of the office, Clare quickly stuffed a tulip petal in her mouth, her eyes huge as she looked back and forth between the man and me. "You are the Diviner Samantha Cosse?"
"I'm Sam, yes," I said, skating around the non-applicable Diviner label. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so. My brother—he's the tall, dark and handsome one downstairs condom shopping—referred you to me as someone who might locate a missing object for me."
I sent Clare a woohoo, two-cases-in-one-day look, but she was too busy gawking at the man to catch it. Clearly, though, something was up to have her so flustered. "I see. Well, Mr… er…"
"My name is Paen Scott."
"Pain? As in… pain?"
"Paen. It's a medieval name, one that runs in my family. My mother liked it."
"It's… unique. Won't you have a seat at my desk, Mr. Scott?" I sidled over, grabbed Clare's arm, and hustled her toward the door. "I just need a quick word with my partner. I'll be right back to take down all the details of your missing item."
"You're leaving him alone in there?" Clare whispered as I opened the door to the hallway.
I glanced back inside. The man stood next to the client chair in front of my desk, his hat in his hands, a dark, vibrant figure that seemed to catch my gaze and hold it.
"He is something, isn't he?" I whispered back, pushing Clare through the doorway to the hall beyond. "I know he's a potential client and all, but hoo! The guy downstairs was nice-looking, but this man is drop-dead gorgeous."
Clare stared at me as if a second head had magically sprouted on my shoulders. She popped another bit of tulip in her mouth and chewed quickly. "You think he's… handsome?"
She said the word like it was made up of maggots. Rotten maggots. "Well, of course I do. I'd have to be dead not to notice. What's wrong with you? Why are you so wonked out?"
She stared at me again. "Don't you know what he is?"
"A client?" I asked, suddenly concerned. Clare liked men. Men worshipped Clare. For her to be in the presence of a devastatingly handsome man and not be responding with her typical flirtatious manner was very unusual.
"No. Yes, I mean, he is a client, but he's also…" Her voice trailed away as she waved the remains of the tulip around.
"What? Gay? Married? A homicidal maniac?"
"Vampire," she whispered, her eyes getting even bigger as she looked over my shoulder. A little shiver washed down my spine.
"We prefer the term Dark One, actually," a voice behind me said. I spun around to face the man. He had been right behind me, which meant I was now all but pressed up against him. Up close
, he was even more handsome than standing across the room, the blunt line of his jaw and those bright silver eyes making my breath catch in my throat. "Moravian Dark One is the technical name, to be exact. If you are finished with your conference, perhaps we could get to my missing statue?"
"Statue?" I asked stupidly, wondering if it was wrong to be so instantly and wholly attracted to a man, especially when that man was a… vampire? Good lord, it was almost dinnertime. What if he was peckish?
A Diviner with a sense of humor. How amusing.
I blinked a couple of times (like that was going to do me any good). "I'm sorry, I'm clearly a bit out of it… Did she say vampire? You're a real vampire? A Dracula-type vampire?"
"I am a Dark One, yes. Is that going to be a problem to a working relationship?" Paen asked, his voice deep, with a lovely Scottish accent that seemed to roll right through me. I shivered and rubbed my arms, wondering about my reaction to him.
"Well… I don't know," I said, thinking furiously. "I've never worked with a vam—er… Dark One before. I've never even seen one. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure that you guys existed."
"Really?" His silver eyes roamed over my face, finally touching on my ears. Without a thought, my left hand went to my ear for a moment. "And yet I would have guessed from your facial structure and eyes that you have some Fae blood in you."
"Something like that. My mother is an elf."
"Ah," he said, glancing at my nearest ear again.
I rubbed it self-consciously. "I had them bobbed when I was twelve. It was a coming-of-age present. I can't do anything about the tilt of my eyes, though."
"Don't. They are lovely as they are. Do I take it that your immortal heritage means you have no issues with taking my case and performing as many divinations as will be necessary to help me?"
I pulled myself together. Paen was a man, a potential client. His preferred choice of food was no business of mine, so long as I wasn't on the receiving end of those fangs.
A shame. I can think of so many places I would like to nibble.
"I'm only half elf, and not immortal, but yes, absolutely I will take your case. I have no issues whatsoever. Although, regarding the divinations…" I bit my lip, hesitating, ignoring my inner voice to worry over something that could become an issue. He seemed to want a Diviner to do the job for him. Clearly he didn't know that I wasn't fully qualified to conduct divinations.
"Is there a problem?" Paen asked, interrupting my uncomfortable thoughts.
If I told him I wasn't a Diviner, would he take his business elsewhere? How unethical was it for me to take a job under false pretences?
"Miss Cosse?"
I sighed. It was unethical enough to make me admit the truth. "I'm not sure where you heard I was a Diviner"—Paen glanced at Clare, who suddenly busied herself with something in a desk drawer—"but I must tell you that although I've had some training as a Diviner, I am not, in fact, one. So if you'd like to withdraw your request for help, I will understand. However, I do have some skills in finding lost objects, and I will be happy to apply my full effort to your problem if you see fit to entrust it to us."
He rubbed his chin for a moment, his eyes darkening until they were a cloudy grey. "I appreciate your honesty. If you are confident you can help me, I see no reason to go elsewhere."
I smiled, and heaved a mental sigh of relief. "Excellent. Shall we?" I gestured him back into the office. "You mentioned something about a statue. It wouldn't happen to be a brass statue of a bird, a hawk or falcon, would it?"
He didn't even bat an eye. "No. The statue I seek is black, of a monkey. It is called the Jilin God. Have you heard of it?"
My fingers itched to type the phrase into Google, but I didn't want to look so ignorant in front of a potential client. "No, I'm afraid I haven't, but admittedly, I haven't made a study of art. Can you tell me a little about it?"
"No."
"Ah." I waited a moment to see if he wanted to add to that. He just watched me. "Er… nothing about it? Nothing at all?"
He made a brief, annoyed, shrugging gesture. "Virtually nothing. I can't tell you when it was stolen from my home, what its history is, or even exactly what it looks like. All I know is its name, that it's black, and depicts a monkey. It's up to you to find it for me."
Paen leaned back in his chair, a slight arrogant twist to his eyebrows, as if he was challenging me to turn down his outrageous request.
I glanced over to Clare. She had thankfully stopped consuming flowers, but sat at her desk taking notes, a wary look on her face. That didn't bode well. Clare as a full-blooded faery (albeit one who didn't admit the fact) had an uncanny sense about people, a sense I had learned to appreciate. "I see. Well…" I stopped and nibbled my lip again, unsure of what I wanted to do.
"Yes?"
The fact that Clare was hesitant about Paen raised enough warning bells in my head that I considered refusing the job offer. I had one job already, after all. I wasn't desperate for another one. I hesitated for a moment, and then looked back at the man sitting in front of me, intending to tell him that I was unable to help him. But as I opened my mouth to do just that, waves of coldness rolled off him, a coldness of despair and utter emptiness that buffeted me, leaving me shivering with a sadness that seemed to have no end. "I'd like to come home with you," my mouth said without consulting my brain.
I almost died. Mentally, I slapped a hand over my mouth and asked myself what my problem was.
Paen's eyes widened. Clare's just about bugged right out of her head. "Pardon?" he finally asked.
"I'm sorry. That sounded like a base proposition, which I assure you it wasn't."
That's a shame, a voice in my head said.
I ignored it. "What I'd like to do is go over your home, examining it for clues as to the nature and whereabouts of the statue. Assuming it was there in the past, I might be able to pick up some whatchamacallit… vibes and things."
"Vibes and things?" he asked, disbelief evident for a moment in those gorgeous quicksilver eyes.
"Yes. Emanations and such—very powerful things. They can tell a lot about an object." Oh, great, Sam—babble like an idiot in front of a client. A very handsome client, not that his appearance had anything to do with it.
But man alive, he sure rang my chimes, what with those shoulders, and that jaw, and those flashing silver eyes… A quick glance at his expression had me pulling back from that particular mental excursion. I dug through my memory of Diviner precepts and trotted out something I thought had a bit more of a professional ring to it. "Sometimes objects leave behind a non-tangible record of their existence. Diviners can use that trail to learn more about the object itself, and tune into its wavelength, if you will, thus allowing them to locate the item."
"Hmm." He didn't look convinced, but at least he lost that what-the-hell-are-you-saying-you-idiot-woman-you look. In fact, for a moment there, it looked like he was trying not to smile. "I suppose that's possible, although the statue must have been removed from my home many years ago. Its intangible record may be so weak you can't read it."
"I won't know until I can examine the house," I said brightly. For some reason—oh, who am I trying to fool? It was because he was so damned gorgeous, and it had been so very long since I had been with a man—I was quite determined to do anything to prolong our contact, and that included checking out his home. Honesty forced me to admit that common curiosity about what sort of a place a vampire inhabited was not going to do for an explanation of my interest in him. It was the man himself that caught my attention, and held it. "You never know what sorts of things you can learn until you open yourself up to new experiences."
An interesting array of emotions flitted across his face. At first he looked obstinate, then somewhat surprised, followed by smug, ending with a smile so fleeting I almost missed it, which quickly dissolved into a bland, expressionless look that left me even colder than before. "Very well. As you feel it's necessary, I will allow you to conduct whatever divinatio
n rituals you need in my home. What will you require as a retainer fee?"
"Nothing," I said, quickly flipping over the little sign that stood on the edge of my desk proclaiming that a 10 percent retainer was due at the time of engagement. "We can talk fees and such after I've had a chance to get a better feel for the case, if that's agreeable with you."
His eyebrows rose for a moment, but settled down almost immediately. "As you like. When would you like to examine my home?"
"Anything wrong with right now?" I asked, standing when he did.
The surprised look was back for a moment or two in his eyes.
A straightforward woman. What a refreshing change.
I jerked as if I'd been shocked. That wasn't my inner voice speaking to me as I had assumed it was—this was someone else. Someone male, someone with a Scottish accent that made me think of Braveheart, and men wearing kilts, and wild, sexy masculinity. In other words, it made me think of…
"As you put it like that, no," Paen said, his eyes shuttered. "There is nothing wrong with right now."
Why on earth was he talking in my head? Why and how? And why didn't I particularly mind such an intimate feeling? I ignored the questions squirreling around in my brain, confident that I would work out the answers in the near future. It was just one more curious element in what I was coming to believe was a fascinating man.
"Excellent. We have another case we're presently engaged with," I said, shooting Clare a meaningful look that, judging by the confused expression on her face, went totally over her head. I gathered up my coat and tapestry bag, closing my laptop and slipping it into the bag. "But I think we can handle both cases without any difficulty. Clare, another minute of your time, please?"
Paen walked to the door as I conducted a quick whispered conference with Clare. "You don't mind if I go check out this statue thing, do you? I was going to swing by Mr. Race's house to pick up the information about the manuscript he asked his housekeeper to get for me, but I can't do both tonight. Can you work on the manuscript case by yourself for a bit?"
Even Vampires Get The Blues do-4 Page 4
