Even Vampires Get The Blues

I debated just going ahead and doing the scrying without waiting as ordered by Paen—after all, I am a take-charge sort of person, and he was paying me to do a job—but in the end I justified a wait as something that would be courteous and professional. Not to mention the good five minutes I spent flat on my belly hiding from the group of Scottish horticulturists who were grouped just on the other side of the clump of palms that screened me from the walkway, examining the leaves with a closeness that almost led to my discovery.

Where are you?

Butterfly house, off to the left of the entrance, north corner, hidden behind a sturdy clump of palms.

Could you have chosen a brighter spot? I don't think this sunlight is quite enough to fry me to a crisp.

I didn't know you were coming to the party. There's a shady spot just behind me, covered by an energy curtain and hidden behind a big misting pump, if you want to risk that. I have to stay in the sun. It powers me.

The palms in front of me rustled as a black shadow streaked into the corner made dark by an overhead curtain, and a lurking machine that churga-churgaed away quietly to itself.

What are you doing?

I smiled at the peevish note in Paen's voice. Poor man, all this sunlight had to be uncomfortable for him.

Listening to the butterflies argue.

A meaningful pause filled my head. Butterflies argue?

Oh yeah. They're really actually quite cantankerous for such pretty things. Always getting into fights with each other.

I see. Is this an elf trait, or have you just lost your wits?

I gave him a mental eye roll. Look, I don't pick on you because of the way you were born, OK? So don't give me any grief about being able to understand butterfly. And while we're on the subject of different—what made you change your mind about doing the mental thing with me?

A sigh emerged from over my shoulder, in the vicinity of the misting machine. I smiled straight ahead at a couple of startlingly blue mortho butterflies that were flitting around taunting each other.

"Are you going to try scrying now?"

"As soon as Jake gets back from looking at creepy-crawlies. Are you going to avoid answering my question?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I don't wish to answer it. How long will the scrying take?"

"Probably not too long. Why are you so adamant about avoiding the fact that we can mind-talk?"

"Why are you so desirous of doing it?"

I shrugged, still watching the butterflies as one took offense to a slur and attacked the other. "I've never had this ability with anyone. It's pretty unique. I just don't understand why you're so freaked about it—oh, hi, Jake."

"Don't tell me, you're talking to the butterflies?"

"No, to my client, Paen Scott. Paen, this is Brother Jacob, one of the Diviners who used to teach me."

Jake glanced around quickly, giving me a worried look. "Erm… Sam…"

"He's behind the machinery," I said, waving at the big misting machine. "He's a Dark One. Sunshine is a no-no."

"Ah," Jake said, squinting at the machine. "Pleasure."

"Likewise," came Paen's voice from behind the machine. "Can we get on with this? I have a tip I'd like to discuss with you, Samantha."

"Tip? What tip? About your statue?"

Paen said nothing.

"Fine, be mysterious." I sighed, picking up the black mirrored bowl in one hand, the flask of spring-water in the other. "Hopefully this won't take very long."

Scrying isn't my forte. I came to that conclusion some ten minutes later, when I was trying to decipher the images that flashed in my mind while covered with hundreds and hundreds of squabbling butterflies. An image of the gold bird statue popped into my head for a moment. Clearly I had statues on the brain. I closed it out and focused my thoughts on the monkey statue before looking into the bowl.

"What exactly do you see?" Jake asked, batting at a couple of butterflies that left me to investigate him.