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Brother Jacob, head of the Scottish branch of Diviners, and erstwhile schoolmate from a childhood spent in Calgary, gave me a look that almost made me squirm. Almost. "Sam, you didn't leave here utterly ignorant. You possess the skills to determine if this object is tainted by dark powers."
"Uh… Jake, I hate to disillusion you about any of my so-called skills, but I flunked divination, remember? I was kicked out of the Order."
"You left voluntarily," he said, still giving me the look that said I shouldn't be bothering him with petty things.
"Right. Only I was volunteered to leave by the head of the Order."
"Master Tsang was acting in your best interests—" Jake started to say, his brow furrowed.
I laughed and held up a hand. "Don't worry, Jake, I'm not here to start up that whole how-I-left-and-why-I-left thing. Honestly, I'm over it. And perfectly willing to accept that Master Tsang was right and I was wrong about divination being my calling. I'm a mutt, half human and half elf, neither one thing or another, and as we both know, divination is a gift, not a skill. Hence my inability to tell if that box is nasty or not. What do you think?"
Jake sighed and gave up trying to glare me into being something I just wasn't. He looked off into the distance as his hands spread across the box, an abstracted look on his face indicating he was deep in a world that only Diviners could access. "The box itself has been in the possession of a demon."
"So that was a demon? Interesting."
"However, the object inside it does not seem to be imbued with any dark powers."
"That's good to know. So what is it?" I asked, curious.
Jake blinked and shot me a jaded look. "I'm not an X-ray machine, Sam. If you want to know what's in it, you'll have to find out for yourself."
"But I told you, I can't divine anything—"
He rolled his eyes, shoving the box back at me. "I meant you'll have to open the box, you idiot."
"Oh." I smiled and punched him lightly in the shoulder, just to let him know I appreciated the insult. I bummed a pair of scissors from him to cut the leather thongs that bound the box, then popped off the lid, wondering what on earth a demon could be delivering, and whom it was supposed to be delivered to. "Huh. It's a statue."
"Of what?" Jake asked, peering over my shoulder. "A bird?"
"Yeah." I lifted the small statue from a nest of velvet material, surprised by its weight. It was gold-colored, about nine inches tall, apparently of a bird of prey. "Looks like a hawk or falcon or some raptor like that."
"Ooooh. Is it gold?" he asked, his voice hushed as if he was in the presence of something awe-inspiring.
I turned the statue around, flipping it over to look at the bottom. "I don't think so. I think it's brass."
"How can you tell?" he asked. "It looks like gold to me."
"One word." I pointed at the letters on the bottom of the statue. "Last I heard, Taiwan wasn't knocking off gold bird statues."
"Why would someone go to the trouble of having a demon deliver a non-gold Taiwanese statue?" Jake asked, looking as confused as I felt.
"That is the question, isn't it?" I gave the bird statue another quick once-over, then put it back in the box and strapped the lid on with some packing tape. "Maybe if I knew that, I'd know who it was meant for. Thanks for your help, Jake. And for the referral. I appreciate you spreading the word about our agency."
"What are you going to do with the statue?" he asked, waving away my thanks as he walked me to the door.
"You said it's not evil or anything, so…" I shrugged, pulling my jacket close against the chilly, damp May air. "I'll put it in a safe place until after this job is over, and then try to track down the person it was intended for. Thanks again. And stop frowning—my mother always says a frown is what brings the rain."
"That's because your mother's frowns literally do," he answered, yelling after me as I hurried off toward the bus stop a few streets away. "Be careful, Sam. The statue may not be made of gold, but it clearly has some value if a demon was engaged to deliver it. Whoever it was intended for may not take kindly to you possessing it."
I waved to let him know I heard, then made my way back to the office, stopping off at the store occupying the floor below to leave off the shoebox with Mila, sex shop diva, landlady extraordinaire, and more importantly, possessor of a huge black safe that squatted in the corner of her small office.
"I'm back," I called to Clare as I trotted upstairs to our office. "Did you get a list of antique dealers? Did you find out anything about that book? Why are the shades drawn? You would not believe the guy I saw in one of those long dusters that are so sexy on men. He was browsing through the condoms at the back of Mila's shop, and wow, talk about slobber city! Tall, dark, and handso—oh. Hello."
"Good afternoon." A man wearing a long leather coat and holding a black fedora loomed into view. For a fraction of a second my mouth hung open. Even though the room was dark, the lights on the desk illuminated him enough to see one hell of a specimen of man—short curly black hair, liquid silver eyes that glowed brightly in the dark room, and shoulders that seemed to go on forever. On the other side of the office, Clare quickly stuffed a tulip petal in her mouth, her eyes huge as she looked back and forth between the man and me. "You are the Diviner Samantha Cosse?"
"I'm Sam, yes," I said, skating around the non-applicable Diviner label. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so. My brother—he's the tall, dark and handsome one downstairs condom shopping—referred you to me as someone who might locate a missing object for me."
I sent Clare a woohoo, two-cases-in-one-day look, but she was too busy gawking at the man to catch it. Clearly, though, something was up to have her so flustered. "I see. Well, Mr… er…"
"My name is Paen Scott."
"Pain? As in… pain?"
"Paen. It's a medieval name, one that runs in my family. My mother liked it."
"It's… unique. Won't you have a seat at my desk, Mr. Scott?" I sidled over, grabbed Clare's arm, and hustled her toward the door. "I just need a quick word with my partner. I'll be right back to take down all the details of your missing item."
"You're leaving him alone in there?" Clare whispered as I opened the door to the hallway.
I glanced back inside. The man stood next to the client chair in front of my desk, his hat in his hands, a dark, vibrant figure that seemed to catch my gaze and hold it.
"He is something, isn't he?" I whispered back, pushing Clare through the doorway to the hall beyond. "I know he's a potential client and all, but hoo! The guy downstairs was nice-looking, but this man is drop-dead gorgeous."
Clare stared at me as if a second head had magically sprouted on my shoulders. She popped another bit of tulip in her mouth and chewed quickly. "You think he's… handsome?"
She said the word like it was made up of maggots. Rotten maggots. "Well, of course I do. I'd have to be dead not to notice. What's wrong with you? Why are you so wonked out?"
She stared at me again. "Don't you know what he is?"
"A client?" I asked, suddenly concerned. Clare liked men. Men worshipped Clare. For her to be in the presence of a devastatingly handsome man and not be responding with her typical flirtatious ma
"No. Yes, I mean, he is a client, but he's also…" Her voice trailed away as she waved the remains of the tulip around.
"What? Gay? Married? A homicidal maniac?"
"Vampire," she whispered, her eyes getting even bigger as she looked over my shoulder. A little shiver washed down my spine.
"We prefer the term Dark One, actually," a voice behind me said. I spun around to face the man. He had been right behind me, which meant I was now all but pressed up against him. Up close, he was even more handsome than standing across the room, the blunt line of his jaw and those bright silver eyes making my breath catch in my throat. "Moravian Dark One is the technical name, to be exact. If you are finished with your conference, perhaps we could get to my missing statue?"