"You're leaving?" I asked Paen, a little shaft of pain turning in my chest. "I won't deny I could do with a little rest, but I thought you… I thought we were going to…"
"Your flat is well warded, and Finn will protect you both from anything that manages to get past them," he answered, giving his brother a quick nod before the latter was hauled into Clare's room, the door slamming behind them.
"I don't need protecting by any man," I said grumpily. I wanted to pretend it was because I was annoyed at all the distractions, but the truth was that I didn't want Paen to leave. There was something about him that felt so… right. Like we fit together seamlessly. "Besides, I think Finn's attention will be elsewhere."
"Regardless, you need sleep, not sex."
"Maybe I need both," I said a bit tartishly, annoyed with his high-handed attitude.
He just gave me a look.
"Oh, all right, I admit I'm a little tired, but in defense I'd like to point out that the activities in which we were engaged ended up with me drifting off just as I've done every other time."
"I'd only just started," Paen said, looking annoyed as well. "I didn't have a proper chance."
"Mmm. Well, guess the point is moot since you're ordering me to bed." I started toward my bedroom, pausing to look back as he opened the front door. "Mind if I ask what you're going to be doing while the rest of us are sleeping?"
"Yes, I do," he said, closing the door firmly behind him.
You rat fink, I yelled at him, only just refraining from slamming my bedroom door.
He smiled. Right into my head. It was such a sweet, gentle brush against my mind, I thought for a moment that I'd imagined it.
Chapter 8
"There you are. I wondered if you were going to show before noon." I smiled at Clare as she bustled into the office, a fresh bouquet of mixed flowers in her hand.
"Of course I'm here! Where did you think I'd be?" She plucked out the remains of yesterday's mostly eaten bouquet and took the vase down the hall to the bathroom for fresh water.
"Well, given that you and Finn were at it all night, I'm surprised you're here at all," I said when she returned.
"Hmph," she snorted, plopping the fresh flowers in the vase. "You're just jealous because your boyfriend left you and mine didn't."
"I don't have a boyfriend. Paen is not a boyfriend. He is a client. I admit we have a personal situation going on, but it's nothing permanent."
"So you say. What have you been doing this morning, Miss Productive?"
I tossed a folder onto her desk, stretched, and looked out the window at a rare sunny May day.
"Quite a bit, actually. I ran out to Mr. Race's house first thing this morning to see what it knew about his manuscript, but came up empty there."
"Was it like Finn's castle?" she asked, leafing through the pages of the report I'd typed up and printed.
"No, the house remembered a manuscript, but the memory was fuzzy, as if it was from a long time ago. The housekeeper let me look around, but there wasn't anything else to pick up. I did get the name of the appraisers who worked on Mr. Race's collection a few years ago. I was just about to drop by their offices and see if I couldn't wheedle a peek at their report on the manuscript, but if you don't have other plans, perhaps you could do that while I go talk to the local expert on mages."
"Mages?" Clare's nose wrinkled as I scooped up my purse and jacket. "Why on earth do you want to talk to someone about mages?"
"Read the second report. While you've been romping away half the morning in bed with Finn, I found a morsel of information about the Jilin God statue. Turns out it's older than I thought—and has mystical origins. There are not a lot of details about it available—"
"You can say that again," Clare interrupted. "I've researched that thing for three days now without finding so much as a solid description of it."
"—but I did find an obscure reference to a mage who supposedly possessed it before it disappeared. It's not a big lead, but other than scrying, it's the only avenue I have to pursue right now."
Her eyes got huge. "You're not going to scry, are you?"
"Stop looking so frightened. I told you I had it under control," I reassured her. "But just to make you rest easier, I'm going to have Jake with me when I try it. Just in case."
"Oh, Sam, I wish you wouldn't—"
I let her work it out of her system (there's nothing quite as pathetic as a frustrated faery), but in the end, did what I had intended to do all along. I did admit there was some validity to her concerns, however, and swore to be careful and to not scry without a spotter. "Jake'll be there for me," I told her as I was leaving.
"I just hope that's enough," she said darkly.
I hurried down the stairs and out onto the street, stopping when Clare leaned out the window to bellow at me, "What about the statue? I thought we were going to look at it?"
"Later!" I waved frantically at her to hush up, glancing up and down the busy street. No one seemed to pay us any attention, but who knew what interested ears might have caught that?
The mage expert lived on Cockburn Street, in a very chic area full of cafes, exclusive shops, and snooty galleries. The apartments, like the other businesses, were housed in a connected line of grey stone, steep-gabled Victorian buildings. I located the correct apartment, pressed the appropriate buzzer, and gave my name. "Hi, I'm Samantha Cosse. I called earlier."
"Ah, Miss Cosse, yes, of course I remember you." The disembodied voice of a man came out with the tinny quality so peculiar to intercoms. "Please come up."
I glanced at the sign reading Caspar Green and noted the apartment number, opening the door when it buzzed at me. Two minutes later I found myself in a sunny peach and cream sitting room, enjoying a brief burst of sunlight while sipping a cup of India tea and nibbling on a tart lemon cookie.
It was perfectly normal-looking, peaceful even, except for one thing—my elf warning system was going off like mad. Something was not right in this room. Something was definitely not right.
"How can I assist you?" Caspar asked, holding out his hands in a gesture of generosity.
I rubbed my arms, trying to quell the goose bumps that marched up and down my flesh. "Er… this is going to sound very rude, and I apologize in advance for that, but you don't happen to have anything demonic around, do you?"
"Demonic?" he asked, looking startled.
"Yes. Something that a demon has touched, maybe?" I suggested, looking around the flat. Nothing looked out of place—the sitting room was flooded with sunlight, the peach walls catching the light and turning it warm and soothing. Regardless of that, I felt chilled, as if the air was refrigerated. "Perhaps something that's been charged with a dark power?"
Caspar looked around as well. "I am a bit taken aback by that question. I have no demonic object, nor any object that has powers, dark or light."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you," I said hurriedly. "It's just that something is pinging my Otherworld radar."
His face, unremarkable except for a pair of extremely bushy black eyebrows, mirrored surprise. "Your Otherworld radar?"
"That's what I call it," I said, smiling and trying to analyze the feeling that something was wrong. "But I have to admit that sometimes it's a bit off."
"Indeed," he said politely, offering me the plate of cookies again. "How is it I can be of help to you?"
"I understand you have an academic interest in the history of mages," I said, hastily swallowing a mouthful of cookie. Nothing makes quite such a dashing impression as spewing cookie crumbs all over the place. "I'm interested in the man who may be connected with a manuscript called the Simla Gestor Coda. Have you ever heard of him or it?"