Even Vampires Get The Blues

Chapter 12

Grief swamped me, so strong that I could taste its bitterness on my tongue.

"Sam," Paen said, taking a step closer to me. "I never meant for you to be hurt. I thought you understood the sort of relationship I could offer—"

Voices outside the door interrupted him before he could say something that would have me bursting into tears. Clare and Finn came into the room, laughing, Finn holding the shoebox containing the statue, while Clare, with a guilty look cast my way, hustled a bag from Mila's shop into a drawer in her desk.

"We got the statue. We had a peek at it in Mila's office—it doesn't look important at all to me," Clare said, the cheerful smile on her face fading when she looked first at Paen, then me. "Sam? What's wrong? Are you crying?"

"No, of course not," I said, desperately trying to blink back the tears as I frowned out the window.

"Yes you are, you're crying!" She rounded on Paen, a fierce expression on her face. "What did you do to her?"

"Me?" Paen asked, looking surprised. The boob. "I haven't done anything—"

"Leave him alone, Clare." I managed to swallow the lump of pain in my throat and turned to face the room with what I prayed was a placid smile. "It's nothing important."

"It is so important if he's made you cry," she said, looking militant as only an outraged faery can. She turned back to Paen with narrowed eyes. "What did you do to my cousin?"

"You didn't—Paen, tell me you didn't start spouting that rubbish about not needing any woman," Finn said, looking closely at him. "Oh, Christ, you did. When the hell will you learn—"

"This is none of your business," Paen interrupted, his eyes starting to flash blackened silver.

Finn took a position right in Paen's face, clearly furious at his brother. "It is when you're hurting the very same woman who saved your bloody soul for you!" he shouted.

"Guys, it really isn't—" I started to say.

"I never asked her to save my bloody soul!" Paen roared at his brother. The noise startled us all into silence for a moment. Everyone looked away as I took the shoebox from Finn and pulled out the statue.

"That was fun, but we have more important matters at hand than a broken heart," I said, setting the statue on my desk.

Clare gasped. "He broke your heart after you redeemed—"

"Enough," I said loudly, giving my cousin a warning look. "Can we move on, please? Anyone have any idea why this statue is so important that someone is trying to kill for it?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to the statue.

"It's rather attractive, in a cheap knockoff sort of way," Clare said, her head tipped to the side as she pondered the statue.

Paen picked it up and examined it. It looked just the same as it did the first time I saw it—a gold statue of a bird, some sort of stylized, vaguely falconish bird, with a cruel curved beak, claws wrapped around a stick of wood, the bottom of it flat, adorned with a crude made in Taiwan stamp.

"It's heavier than it looks," Paen said, turning it over. "This is brass?"

"I think so. It's certainly not gold."

"Hmm." He rapped his knuckles against the back of the statue. "It doesn't sound hollow. Probably it is plaster covered over with a thin veneer of brass. That's a very common technique used by knockoff artists."

"I wouldn't doubt it. It certainly doesn't look at all valuable. Any bright ideas on what's so important about it?"

Paen shook his head. "None. But I'm hardly an expert on art pieces, other than an interest in the Jilin God."

"Maybe it's cursed," Finn suggested, taking the statue from Paen. "Or maybe this isn't really brass. What if it's gold made to look like brass? Or what if there's a valuable jewel or something hidden inside of it?"

"Ooh, I like jewels," Clare said, peering over Finn's shoulder.

"Could be a secret drawer or something built into it," Finn said, pressing various parts of the statue.

Paen and I shook our heads in synchronized disagreement. "It's too solid for that," I said.

"Well, then, your guess is as good as mine," Finn said, admitting defeat. He handed it to me.

"My guesses aren't particularly good at all." I avoided looking at Paen, trying my best to ignore the dull ache in the region of my heart. Now was not the time to try to work out my feelings—with someone trying to kill one or more of us, I had to focus on what really mattered.

My broken heart sobbed a lament that was hard to ignore.

"I think you should have an expert examine the statue," Paen said, giving it a thoughtful look.

"Art expert, you mean?" I asked.

He shook his head. I tried hard to forget how silky his dark curls were as they brushed against my flesh, but the memory refused to be banished. "I was thinking more about that Diviner friend of yours," he said with a long, unreadable look at me.

I didn't even try to reach out to his mind.

"Jake has already examined it, Kind of. He looked at the box and said that what was in it wasn't touched by evil."

"He might find more if he could examine the statue himself."

I thought about that for a few moments. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to ask him, although that's not really the sort of thing a Diviner does."

Paen glanced at his watch. "I have some estate business to take care of at home. Will you be all right for a few hours if I leave?"

"Do you mean will I be shot at again by murderous villains who wish to steal my statue?" I risked a quick peek at him. His eyes were clouded and dark. I shrugged. "No idea, but now that I'm Miss Immortality 2006, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Sam—"

"I'll be fine," I said quickly, not wanting him to say anything that might set me off again. "Go do your stuff. I'll take the statue to Jake and see what he has to say about it."

"What would you like us to do?" Clare asked, waving her hands toward the desk. "Shall we compile a list of historic tombs in Scotland?"

"That would be helpful, although I'd suggest starting with this area first. If Owen Race does, in fact, have the Jilin God, it would likely be somewhere near his house, wouldn't you think?"

"We'll look up the history on his house and family," Clare said, hurrying over to her computer, snatching up a tulip as an elevenses snack.

"Great, then everyone's got a job," I said, packing the statue up in its box and stuffing it into my oversized bag. "We can meet back here for dinner, if you all like. Hopefully I'll have information about this statue so that we can figure out who wants it, and why."

Sam?

The soft brush of his voice in my mind almost brought me to my knees. I stiffened both them and my resolve, snatching up my coat and bag as I headed for the door. "See you all later."

Paen's voice was soft in my head, filled with regret. I don't want to leave you feeling this way.

I didn't answer him. There was nothing to say. Well, nothing he wanted to hear. On the bus to the Diviners' House, I thought of quite a few things I'd like to say to him, but my pride kept me from saying them.

"You've been dumped before," I told myself as I got off the bus and started off the three blocks to my destination. "It stings for a bit, then goes away."

"Rather like the bite of an annoying insect?" a man asked from behind me. Cold seeped into my skin, leaching all heat from my body.

I spun around and found myself facing the man who had tried to murder Clare and Paen, the same man who shot me, rifled Paen's desk, and menaced me so greatly that even seeing him in broad daylight on a busy Edinburgh street left me chilled and shaken. It was Pilar, and not even the sight of Beppo in cute pinstriped overalls could dilute the sensations of power and menace that rolled off the man. "You're Pilar, aren't you? What do you want with me?"

The man smiled. "In general, or at this moment?"

"Let's start with what you're doing now," I said, backing up a step.

His smile deepened. "You will come with me now."

"What do I look like, the world's stupidest person?" I asked, trying to bravado my way out of the situation. He reached for me, but I backed away, toward the road. "You think I'm going to go meekly with you so you can shoot me again? Think again."

"Mr. Green wishes to see you," Pilar said, gesturing with one hand. He must have had a taxi waiting, because one obediently pulled up directly behind me.

Beppo watched it all from his perch on Pilar's shoulder, his tail wrapped securely around the man's throat.

"Caspar Green? You know him?" I said, instinctively reaching out my mind for Paen. I stopped just before the words formed, flinching at the pain the action caused. It felt so wrong to not share something with him, but he'd made it perfectly clear that ours was a casual relationship at best. I was completely on my own—not a hideously comforting thought.

"He wishes to see you," Pilar said again, opening the door to the taxi, making like he was going to shove me in. I had a moment in which I could have resisted him and made an escape, but in the end, I allowed him to have his way. My curiosity got the better of me, and I figured so long as we were in a public venue, I'd be safe from any attempts he made on my life.

Public like a parking lot? my inner self asked. "Fine, but just so you know, I'm armed," I said, clutching my purse in a manner I hoped indicated some serious firepower.

He merely pulled back one side of his coat to reveal a smaller version of the crossbow he shot me with, and gave me a sardonic smile.

"You didn't have much luck with that earlier." I ignored the faint pull of pain in my shoulder. "Both Paen and I are still alive and kicking."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Pilar said, his eyes flat and black with denial.

I gawked at him for a moment, glancing at the cab-driver before saying in a low voice, "You're not going to try to make me believe you didn't shoot me a few hours ago, right? Not to mention shoot a few holes into my cousin a day ago? Because there's no way I'm going to believe it wasn't you who shot Clare—not that many people walk around Edinburgh with a spider monkey on their shoulder—and I know you were on the other end of that crossbow earlier today."

"You must have me confused with someone else," was all he said, and sat back, refusing to answer any of the other questions I pelted him with on the ride to Cockburn Street. Beppo tried to make friends with me, but I was too upset and confused to do more than shake his hand when he offered it to me.

Pilar was all but glued to my side as we walked upstairs to apartment 12-C, the building as elegantly quiet as I remembered from my previous visit. The cold that seeped from him was so great, however, I made sure to put as much distance as possible between us.

Caspar opened the door with the same polite smile he had when I last left him. "Good afternoon, Miss Cosse. How nice to see you again."

"Thanks," I said, entering the apartment when he waved me in, Pilar and Beppo hot on my heels. "If it's not too rude of me to ask, why are you trying to have my cousin and a friend killed?"

Caspar looked genuinely astonished, I'll give him that. Either he was a hell of an actor, or he hadn't asked Pilar to shoot Clare and Paen full of holes. For a brief moment I wondered if I'd seen my attacker correctly, but one glance at Pilar reaffirmed that he was the man I'd recently stared down at the other end of a crossbow.

"Miss Cosse, I must humbly beg your indulgence. Am I to understand there has been a murder attempt on your life?" Caspar asked, taking my coat.

"Um… yeah. Something like that," I said, deciding not to say anything about Pilar. If he was acting on Caspar's request, then I wouldn't be telling him anything new. And if Pilar wasn't working with Caspar… well, that meant he had his own purpose in wanting us dead, and I'd have to find out just what that was. "I had no idea you and Pilar were… acquainted."

Caspar ignored the slight emphasis. "Ah, yes, Pilar and I go back many years. I've found it beneficial to employ him from time to time."

"Do you always hire someone to bring people to see you? I'd think a simple phone call and invitation would be less of a drain on the old expense sheet." I took the seat he indicated. The room was just as sunny as it had been earlier, but something in it was still rubbing my warning system the wrong way.

"Indeed, no. But I thought it expedient to have Pilar bring you himself. I know you are a busy woman, and what I have to say to you is of the utmost importance."

"Shoot," I said, then flinched. Pilar smiled a particularly unpleasant smile. The temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees as he took a seat on a chair against the wall. Beppo jumped off onto a bookcase, and started examining a leafy spider fern. I pulled my eyes from the two of them to the pleasantly smiling man who was busy at a sideboard. "Er… go ahead."

"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.