Even Vampires Get The Blues

"No, it's a manuscript. Sixteenth century. It was named Simia Gestor Coda because the mage who wrote it supposedly had a fascination with monkeys."

"But," I said, my mind grinding to a halt, "I know about the Coda."

"What?" Paen whirled around to stare at me. "How?"

"It's the manuscript Owen Race hired us to find. He said it was stolen from his house."

Paen swore passionately. "I've been searching for it for almost forty years!"

"Is anyone else curious about the coincidences here?" I asked. "The Jilin God—"

"Is a statue of a monkey, yes," Paen answered. "I noticed that as you have, but the two are separate objects, related only by the fact that both share a common theme."

"More common than you know," I said, then told him what I had learned on my first trip to Caspar's house.

He was pacing the small area in our living room by the time I finished. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

I held up my hand and ticked off the reasons. "Trapped in the beyond, lost the bird statue, meeting with seer, murdered by Pilar, resurrection. Besides, you never asked me."

He glared at me. I shrugged. "All right, that wasn't fair, but to be honest, there has been so much going on, I didn't think of telling you about an item I'm trying to find for another client."

"Owen Race," Paen said as he paced by me.

"Yes."

"The same man who was said to know where the Jilin God was."

"Yes. Oh." I frowned as I glanced up at him. "You think he's involved with Pilar, don't you?"

"It makes sense that he could well be involved, yes."

"But you said Pilar was in the employ of Caspar Green," Finn pointed out. Clare nibbled on a rose leaf.

"Yes, but Caspar wanted the statue at all costs," I said, pieces of the puzzle starting to slide together. At least a few of them were. "Pilar knew I had the bird statue, but he evidently didn't tell Caspar that."

"He was acting on his own," Finn said, nodding.

"Or on someone else's behalf," Paen corrected.

"Like Owen Race's," I said.

"He's a double agent?" Clare asked, her eyes huge. She turned to Finn. "This is so exciting! It's just like a spy movie!"

"The Jilin statue and the manuscript are clearly tied together," I said slowly, watching Paen as he paced. He was thinking like mad, too. "You never heard reference to a statue when you researched the manuscript?"

"No, never. That's why I'm so surprised now—I've never seen mention of any other object in connection to it. But the coincidences are too striking to not mean something. Just what, though, I'm afraid I don't know."

"Mr. Race might know how they're related."

"Yes, he may well. He seems to be the mysterious figure behind a number of things," Paen said.

I glanced at the clock. "It's a little after two—is that too early to drop in on him?" I asked the room in general.

"I think we should," Clare said, getting off Finn's lap. "Right now! Client or not, it would serve him right if he's been hiding something from us."

"The sooner we can talk to him—and get the statue back—the better for Sam and Mum," Finn said, getting to his feet as well. "I say let's do it."

"No. Sam needs rest," Paen declared, stopping in front of me. I looked up to his face. His eyes were glittering brightly, and not just with concern. "She's been through hell tonight. A few hours' rest won't make a difference to Mum or the Coda, but will do much to help Sam recover."

His scent teased me almost as much as his warmth and light attracted me. I got to my feet with languid grace that was only partially due to weakness, a slow smile on my lips. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

"But—" Finn started to protest.

Paen's hand was warm on my back as he gave me a gentle shove toward my bedroom. "Sam needs time," he said. "We owe her that much."

The door to my bedroom closed on Finn's protests. I flipped on the light and frowned. The jungle of plants that inhabited my room looked more like a wasteland blighted by some horrific pesticide. Everywhere I looked were dried, brown fronds drooping lifelessly over the sides of containers, dead stems standing stiff and brittle, and spotted yellow and brown leaves carpeting the floor so completely that it was almost invisible.

"It appears my plants don't approve of the new me," I said as I stepped over a sagging palm frond.

"So it would seem," Paen said, watching me as he leaned against the door.

"What's it going to be?" I asked, striking a pose next to a draped swatch of mosquito netting. "Fucking or lovemaking?"

"Which do you prefer?" he asked, his face unreadable.

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. I enjoy both."

That got him moving. He strolled across the detritus of plants to where I stood, wrapping one hand around my neck, his thumb brushing my pulse point. "Sam, I know what it's like. I lived as you are now for almost three hundred years. But you were right when you told me there was more than just sexual gratification to be had from a relationship."