Even Vampires Get the Blues (19 page)

“Might I offer you an aperitif first? Sherry?”

“That would be lovely,” I said, matching his polite tone despite the fact that I'd more or less been hustled there by a murderous hired thug.

He handed me a tiny glass containing a few sips of dark sherry. “You're a plain-speaking woman, Miss
Cosse. I like that. A toast to plain speaking and congenial understanding.”

I clinked my glass against his, taking a sip of the sherry. I'm not a big sherry drinker, but this stuff was downright nasty. I wondered for a moment if it could have been drugged, then put that wild thought down to having watched too many old black and white movies.

“You're also a minimalist when it comes to conversation,” Caspar said, taking a few sips of his sherry.

“Not really. My mother taught me it was rude to chatter on about nothing when someone has something important to say.”

“Forthright, and understandably so, given your heritage.”

I raised an eyebrow. It was true my eyes had an elf tilt to them, but I hadn't thought my genetic background was so evident. I passed as purebred mortal just about everywhere.

Caspar continued without pause. “I admire a woman who knows the value of a conversation that does not include unimportant chatter. There are many arts that have been lost over the years; decent conversation is, to my mind, the most lamentable of them.”

“Indeed,” I said, smiling politely and wondering when he would get to the point. I decided to help things along a smidgen. “What is it you'd like to talk about?”

“I wish to talk to you about a statue,” he said smoothly, sipping at his sherry.

He got full marks for taking me by surprise, but lost a few in technique. “A statue? A statue of a falcon, perhaps?”

“No. The statue I refer to is of a monkey. A black monkey.”

“You wouldn't by any chance be referring to the Jilin God?” I asked, deliberately keeping my eyes on his. Caspar wasn't a fool. He would notice if my gaze suddenly shifted at the mention of the statue.

“You see?” He smiled as he sat back, his face full of satisfaction. “You are a woman after my own heart. You know of what I speak, and rather than wasting both our time with unnecessary denials, you come right out and put the subject on the table. Yes, my dear, I do in fact refer to the Jilin God. Am I correct in assuming that you represent the interest of an individual in the statue?”

“I have many clients,” I said, well aware that I was exaggerating slightly. “Their interests are varied, but you can, for the sake of this conversation, assume that I am also interested in the statue.”

“That is a curious choice of words,” Caspar said, crossing his legs. “You say ‘interested in,' but not seeking. May I deduce that you have possession of the statue?”

“You can deduce anything you like, but that won't necessarily make it true.”

Caspar sipped at his sherry. “You dislike lying outright, I see. Another admirable quality. I dislike being lied to. I assume from your non-denial that you do, in fact, have possession of the statue, or at least you know where it is.”

“I don't have it on me, no. But I might know where it is.” That wasn't exactly a lie, I told my conscience—I did know it was in a tomb of some sort. I just didn't know where that tomb was.

He laughed. “You have the statue—pardon me, know where it is—but you have not yet handed it over to your client, Mr. Paen Scott? Excellent. We progress. I take it you have no other interested persons in the statue?”

“That's not necessarily true,” I answered, wondering how he knew about Paen. I didn't look at Pilar, but I felt the heat from my body being sucked out as the cold that surrounded him leached the surroundings of all warmth.

“Is it not?” Caspar set down his glass to consider me. “Who else might you represent?”

“Well, for one, there's me,” I said, smiling.

“Well done, my dear. The mercenary streak does you proud.” I almost rolled my eyes at that, but managed to keep my face a polite mask of interest. “I do like a woman who isn't afraid to take care of herself before others.”

I let my smile widen. It couldn't hurt for him to think I'd be willing to sell out Paen. He might be more forthcoming with his role in the whole mess if he thought I could be swayed to find the statue for him.

“Why don't you tell me a little about the statue,” I suggested, settling back in the chair.

He pursed his lips and I thought for a moment he was going to refuse, but he made a conceding gesture and said, “I suspect you know as much about it as I do, but if it pleases you to pretend ignorance, I shall indulge you. The Jilin God statue is approximately so big”—he held out his hands about six inches apart—“made of ebony, commissioned from Gu Kaizhi, one of the leading artists of the fourth century. It was later
given to Marco Polo upon his arrival in Peking by the emperor himself, but mysteriously was not included in the inventory Polo had conducted when he left China.”

“Was it stolen?” I asked, pondering the coincidence of both the
Coda
and the statue having their origins with Marco Polo.

“Perhaps. The statue reappeared briefly in Venice in the early eighteenth century, and then passed through private families for several generations. It was known to be in Paris and the American colonies, but then it disappeared from sight altogether.”

“Hmm. Why is it called the Jilin God?”

“The origins of the name are shrouded, but the statue itself depicts the monkey god Sun Wukong. Are you familiar with the legend?”

I shook my head. “I'm afraid my knowledge of Chinese history is pretty pathetic.”

“Ah. That, too, is lamentable. Sun Wukong was the god of monkeys who escaped capture by Yan Luowang, the god of death. Sun Wukong not only escaped death, he also destroyed the books of the dead. He was called to heaven for judgment, and wreaked havoc there as well; his reign of terror finally ended when Buddha imprisoned him.”

“Wow. So he represents, what, the ability to overcome death?”

Caspar nodded, looking pleased. “You picked that up quickly. Yes, the monkey god is a representation of the origins of many of the immortal races—he overcame death and imprisonment to end up a warrior against demons and evil spirits. Yan Luowang is said to have created the statue to hold Sun Wukong
prisoner, but was unsuccessful. It is rumored that instead, he placed within its safe confines the secrets of the immortal races.”

“Secrets like what?”

His shoulders rose in a slight shrug. “Just what secrets it contains is unknown.”

“Hmm. But because of this, the statue is highly desirable?”

His eyelids veiled, the long fingers of his hand toying with the sherry glass that sat on a small table next to him. “It is treasured first for its artwork, second for the historical importance, and third and most importantly for the secrets said to be contained within it, yes.”

“How much is it worth?” I asked, wondering why a demon lord would want the statue. Perhaps because it was valuable?

“Let us say that I am willing to offer you twenty-five thousand pounds for it, a fraction of its true worth.”

I tried not to look stunned. Twenty-five thousand pounds! “What sort of fraction?”

“Its true value has never been calculated,” Caspar said with a slight shrug. “But I can assure you that there are many who would pay almost anything to get it.”

“And you?” I asked, relishing my role as double agent. “How much would you pay to get it?”

“I said I would pay you twenty-five thousand pounds.”

I smiled and waited. He didn't disappoint me. “Naturally that could be considered a retainer. I would be willing to pay another twenty-five thousand upon delivery.”

“I see. Well, thank you for the information,” I said, gathering my things as I stood. “I will be in touch, I'm sure.”

Caspar frowned. It wasn't a nice expression. “You have not said whether you were taking the job or not.”

“Haven't I?” I tried my best to look innocent. “I'm sorry for the confusion—I've already been hired to find the statue for someone else.”

“But I will pay you much more than he will—”

“That doesn't matter,” I said, starting for the door. “I don't betray my clients' confidences like that, not for any amount of money. Thanks for the sherry and the conversation. You're right—it is a lost art.”

“Pilar—” Caspar nodded toward me. His henchman leaped to his feet and started toward me.

“I wouldn't be so trusting of your little bullyboy,” I tossed over my shoulder as I reached for the door. “Earlier, he—”

I didn't see it coming, didn't even have an inkling. My elf senses, usually so sharp (if not accurate) didn't warn me at all. Pilar grabbed me just as I was opening the door. One moment I was there about to tattle on Pilar to his boss, the next a massive wave of energy slammed into me, so powerful it knocked me clear out of reality.

Um . . . Paen? . . . Paen? . . . Helloooo?

Sam?

Oh, good, I was hoping you didn't have your mental voice mail turned on.

My what?

Nothing. Little joke.

Very little.

Yeah, well, you try making a joke when you're caught between realities, and see how well you do.

A pause filled my head.
You're caught between realities?

Yes. I seem to be stuck here. I was wondering if there was something you could do to help me out?

His silence was telling.
Where are you?

I don't think I'm anywhere, to be honest. I seem to be nowhere, caught in some sort of a web between reality and the beyond.

Then how do you expect me to help you?

We have to pass through this to get to the beyond. I was hoping you'd merge with me, and that would pull me out. Kind of a reverse of what I did with you earlier.

Or it might just pull me in.

True.
I hesitated, hating to ask him for anything, but not seeing any other choice. I'd been stuck here for the last couple of hours as I tried everything I knew to get out, to no avail.
Can you help me, please?

He didn't answer, but I knew the moment he merged with me, the two of us like separate pools of mercury forming into one glorious entity. Joined as we were, I could feel everything he felt, and what it was he was thinking.

And he could do likewise.

He had to know I was trying to avoid confronting the emotions that swirled around in me, a vortex of love and anger and pain. But he said nothing as the merging pulled me back into reality, separating us into two people again.

I found myself standing in my office at the window, blinking at the bright afternoon sun that poured in and spilled into a warm pool on the floor.
Thanks, Paen. I appreciate that.

I wish to talk to you about what's happened.

Sorry, can't right now. Things to do, places to go, people to curse.

What?

Nothing. Another little joke.

Sam—

Signing off for now. I'll see you for dinner later. Bye.

I'm just outside your office—

La la la, my fingers are in my ears and I can't hear you!

You're not listening to me with your ears, woman. I'll be at your office in twenty seconds or less, and then we will discuss the situation.

It wasn't easy to tune him out of my mind, but I
did it. I hurried out the front way so I wouldn't run into him coming in the back, my soul bleeding tears of anguish. I just about cried salty ones when I got to Diviners' House and discovered that the shoebox in my bag was empty.

“Sam? Are you all right?” Jake asked as I stared numbly at the inside of the empty shoebox.

“No, I'm not all right. I'm just about as far from all right as you can possibly get and still be alive. God damn it, Jake! Someone stole my statue!”

He gave me a thin-lipped look. “After what you told me about being shot by that man Pilar, I'd think it would be a relief to have it off your hands.”

I narrowed my eyes as I thought back to the visit to Caspar's house. “I bet it was Pilar who zapped me. I bet he stole the statue while I was immobile between realities. How on earth am I going to get it back?”

“Why do you want it back? It sounds to me like it hasn't brought you anything but bad luck.”

“It's mine,” I said, putting the empty box back into my bag. “The demon gave it to me. Yes, by mistake, but both Clare and I were shot for it—that means I have the right to get to the bottom of what it is, and why Pilar wants it so bad. Thanks, Jake. Sorry to disrupt your day for nothing.”

He saw me to the door, stopping me briefly as I stood on the doorstep, soaking in the warmth of the sunshine. “So, this thing with you and Paen—I can't tell you how happy I am that you've found someone at last. I wasn't sure about him, since Dark Ones tend to be a bit intense, but he seems like a nice bloke. I wish you both an eternity of happiness. One
question—should I be buying a wedding present anytime soon?”

The sun went behind a cloud. Pain gripped my chest and didn't allow me to breathe. “No,” I said, and left.

I was pretty much on autopilot all the way back to the office, finding my way to the correct bus, getting off at the correct stop, and walking the two blocks to the office without seeing, feeling, or registering anything around me. I was too caught up in my own misery to even notice the sudden bank of black clouds that started rolling in from the north.

“Life sucks,” I said as I opened the door to my office. Finn and Clare, back from wherever it is they'd gone off to, looked up from her computer, questions evident in their expressions. At my desk, Paen sat, making notes on a notepad. I noticed he was left-handed, as I was. It warmed my heart for a moment before I remembered that as far as he was concerned, my heart could take a flying leap.

“You look horrible,” Clare said, getting up to take my coat and hang it properly on the coat-tree. “Did Brother Jacob not have anything helpful to say about the statue?”

“What statue?” I asked, pulling the shoebox out of my purse and handing it to her.

She opened it. “I don't understand. Where is the statue?”

Grief built up inside me until I thought I'd break down into a good, old-fashioned elf-dirge. I'd lost Paen, lost the statue, and I wasn't the tiniest bit closer to finding either the Jilin God or the
Coda.
A big old pity party welled up inside me and whined to be set
free. “The statue was stolen from me sometime while I was held prisoner.”

It took only a few minutes to tell my startled audience the events of the last two hours, ending up with a brief rant against everything that had gone wrong of late. “I can't believe this,” I said, storming around the office, waving my hands in the best drama queen fashion. “I'm known for my ability to find things. It's what I do best! Nothing has ever stayed lost once I've tried to find it, and yet here I am, employed to find two simple items, and I'm no closer now to finding their whereabouts than I was when I was hired, not to mention losing a third item I wanted to keep!”

Clare popped a lilac blossom in her mouth, her eyes huge as she watched me emote.

“I think you're allowing things to get to you,” Paen offered, getting to his feet. He tucked his notebook away into his jacket pocket.

I pointed a finger at him. “You're a big part of the problem, buster.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how our personal situation—”

“I'm not talking about your commitment issues—I'm referring to the fact that you didn't tell me everything you knew about the Jilin statue. You willfully withheld information about it, information that might have helped me if I had known it two days ago.” That wasn't strictly fair, but I was grasping at straws.

“What information?” Finn asked, frowning at his brother.

Paen frowned back at him for a moment before turning to me. “I told you everything I knew about the statue.”

I marched over to stand in front of him, my hand on my hip. “Oh you did, huh? You didn't mention that the statue represents the origins of immortal races, and that it supposedly contains some big secret of how they were created. You didn't tell me that it was priceless, worth so much that someone would offer me fifty thousand pounds just to find it for him.”

“Fifty thousand—” Paen grabbed the finger I was using to punctuate my sentences by poking it into his chest. I squelched the little tremor of pleasure that zipped through me at his touch. “Who offered you money to find my statue?”

“The mage expert I consulted earlier. It turns out he is also looking for the Jilin God, only he was a bit more forthcoming with information about it.” I let Paen see the full extent of my discontent.

He glared right back at me. “I had no idea it represented the origin of immortal races any more than I knew it was priceless. I've done extensive research into the origin of the Moravians and never heard of it, so perhaps the information from your source is questionable. Who is this mage expert?”

“Possibly it's questionable, but it sounded like the truth. It would explain why a demon lord would want it—if it held secrets of the immortals, surely that would give a demon lord power over the various races?”

“It is within the realm of possibility, but just barely,” Paen said, releasing my hand. “The expert's name?”

“Hmm? Oh. Caspar Green.”

I thought Paen's eyeballs were going to pop out of his head.

“Who?” he roared.

“Caspar Green. Why are you so upset?”

“That's not a man, that's a demon,” Paen snarled, slamming his fist into the wall. I flinched at both the hole he left and the red welts that appeared on his hand. “He's the one who is demanding I repay my father's debt.”

It was my turn to do the eyeball pop. “You're kidding. Caspar is the one doing this? We're going to have to have another talk with him.”

“Right now,” Paen said, snatching up his coat and heading for the door.

All four of us trooped out and descended upon Caspar. Or tried to, at least. He didn't answer his door buzzer or the phone, and when Paen, driven by fury, scaled the outside of the building and deliberately broke into the apartment, he came up empty-handed.

“He's gone to earth,” Paen growled a few minutes later, as I dabbed at the cuts on his hand made by the broken glass. “Search the flat. We may find something that says where he is, or what he's up to playing us against each other like this.”

We found nothing. The flat was almost sterile in its pristine state, as if it were there for show and not really lived in.

“So what do we do now?” Clare asked when we returned disheartened to the office. She munched lilac blossoms like they were popcorn. “Just wait around for Caspar and Mr. Race to return? Do we have time for that? What if Mr. Race doesn't know anything about the statue? What if the demon who talked to Paen was wrong? What if Caspar won't cooperate?”

“Race is the only lead we have,” Finn said.

“Yes, and we can't talk to him if we can't find him. Evidently he's en route, and no, he doesn't have a cell phone. I asked his housekeeper. So we're playing the waiting game for both him and Caspar.”

“But we should be doing something!” Clare wailed, waving her hands around.

Paen jumped up from a chair and marched over to the window, staring out it with an expression of extreme frustration, anger, and a tinge of hopelessness that just about broke my heart.

I slumped into the chair that he vacated, the faint warmth left behind by his body sinking into mine until it made my soul want to weep. Life suddenly seemed so overwhelming, so bloody impossible. I had tried everything I knew how to do, and yet repeatedly failed. “This is beyond frustrating. Why can't I find that damned statue and manuscript? I've never
not
found anything I've looked for before, so why am I now having absolutely no luck? What is Caspar up to? Why is Race suddenly incommunicado when we need to talk to him? I tell you, it's enough to make an elf-girl cry.”

“Poor sweet Sam,” Clare said, gliding over to me. “Maybe you've lost your power?”

“Huh?”

Clare nudged the phone over so she could perch elegantly on the edge of my desk. “Because you . . . you know.” She nodded to where Paen was standing at the window, careful to avoid direct light. “Maybe that caused you to lose your powers.”

I pulled out a small mirror from my desk and checked. “Nope. Still half elf. And we were in the
beyond today. I wouldn't have been able to do that if I'd lost my elfly powers.”

“You went to the beyond?” she asked, slanting another glance at Paen. “Together?”

“Yes, not that it has any relevance to my sudden inability to find things,” I said glumly, resting my forehead on the desk.

“But you lost that bird statue, too. That's incredibly careless and irresponsible.”

I raised my head to glare at her.

“Which is not like you at all,” she added quickly. “Perhaps someone has cast a spell or cursed you?”

“We'd see a curse, and surely Sam would be able to tell if someone cast a spell on her? Elves are notoriously hard to enchant,” Finn said, taking his place next to Clare, and giving her shoulder a supportive squeeze.

As if
her
shoulder needed the reassurance that it was cherished . . . I dropped my forehead to the desk again. “I'm not cursed, and not enchanted. I'm just suddenly . . . ineffective. But that's going to change.”

“You have another plan,” Clare said, clapping her hands with delight. “I knew you'd come up with something, Sam. It's best not to put too much reliance on what a demon says. What are you going to do?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I told the desk.