Even Vampires Get the Blues (2 page)

“Ah. As I feared. The market price on virgin's
blood has been outrageous of late. Ever since the virgins formed a union, they have been unreasonable in their demands. Slainte.” Caspar sipped at his whisky. “Excellent. How old is it?”

“My father set it down the year I was born,” Paen answered, leaning a hip against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “What exactly is it you want?”

Caspar took another sip. “Extremely smooth for a whisky that's . . . hmm. I judge it to be approximately three hundred years old?”

“Two hundred and forty-six.”

“Ah. Delightful, nonetheless.”

Paen frowned. His curiosity was roused by the being who sat before him, drinking his father's whisky, but not so much that he was willing to spend all afternoon in polite chitchat with him.

“The reason I am here involves your father, actually. You have no doubt heard how he met your mother?”

“Yes,” Paen said, growing uneasy. Caspar Green might not be a demon, but nothing good could come of someone from the Otherworld being concerned with his father. “They met at the conclusion of what is now referred to as the French and Indian War. My mother was French. My father fought on the side of the English. His head was almost completely severed during one battle, and she found him and tended to him despite her family's objections. They fell in love. What do my parents have to do with you?”

“A great deal, actually. Or rather, their meeting does. The story you've been told isn't quite accurate—your father
was
wounded, and your mother
did
nurse him back to health, but he himself inflicted the injury.”

Paen thinned his lips. He didn't believe anything so ridiculous. “Why on earth would he do such a foolish thing?”

“Because I told him his Beloved was nearby.”

“
You
told him?” Paen stared at the man in outright disbelief.

Caspar smiled—on the surface a pleasant smile, but Paen was aware of the aura of power that surrounded the alastor. “Yes. Your father engaged the demon lord Oriens to find his Beloved. I was charged with locating her, which I did. I informed your father of her situation, and counseled that a drastic action would be needed to get within her circle of friends. He took the action, and the rest, as they say, is history. Literally, in this case, but that's one of the perks of being immortal.”

“Even assuming that's true—and it sounds highly unlikely to me—what does that have to do with my father
now?
”

Caspar carefully set the glass onto the desk, clasping his hands over his knee, an affectation that for some reason annoyed Paen. “There is a little matter of the debt your father incurred by purchasing Oriens's help.”

Paen's jaw tightened. Yet another gold digger, albeit a demonic one. He went around to the other side of the desk, pulling out the estate checkbook. “How much?”

“You misunderstand me, Paen. The debt your father owes Oriens is not one that can be repaid by means of mortal money.”

“Oh?” Paen closed the checkbook, watching the man suspiciously. “What is it he owes for this debt, then?”

“A simple thing, really. A small statue of a monkey. You may be familiar with it? I understand it is a family heirloom—the Jilin God is its most common name.”

Paen frowned as he dug through his memories. “A statue of a monkey? No, I've never heard of it, let alone being familiar with it.”

Caspar pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here is a sketch of it. It's about six inches high, black, made of ebony. Its origins are said to be Chinese, about six hundred years old.”

“Ming dynasty,” Paen said absently, still poking around in his memories. As far as he could remember, his father never mentioned anything about a monkey statue as a family heirloom. He himself knew every square inch of the castle, and he'd never seen such a statue.

“Yes. How perspicacious of you to know that. Are you familiar with the era?”

“Only in a collateral sense. I am doing some research on a knight in the service of Marco Polo. He was in China during the Ming dynasty. What proof do I have that any of what you're telling me is true?”

Caspar smiled yet again. Paen was starting to get tired of that knowing smile. He felt decidedly out of his depths with the man, and it wasn't a feeling he relished. “I thought you might ask for some proof. I have here”—Caspar pulled out a small leather case, the size to hold a passport—“a document signed by your father, and bearing his seal.”

Paen took the document over to where a
magnifying light sat on his worktable. He read the document quickly. It simply stated that one Alec Munroe McGregor Scott, of Darmish, Scotland, did swear to provide the lord Oriens or his due representative with the statue known as the Jilin God in exchange for services rendered him. Paen, no stranger to antique parchment, and certainly familiar enough with it to detect modern paper doctored to look old, examined the item closely with the magnifying glass. He went so far as to pull out a small pocket microscope to examine the fiber content of the document, as well as the red wax seal.

“Very well. I concede this document is real. But why has Oriens waited two hundred and forty years to collect this debt?”

“Oriens is a busy demon lord. Perhaps it slipped his mind, or perhaps he had no need for the statue until now. Regardless of the why, the debt is now being called due, and it must be paid.”

“I have no idea what or where this Jilin God statue is. If Oriens waited this long, he can wait another three months until my parents return from the depths of the Bolivian forests to their home in La Paz.”

Caspar spread his hands. “Alas, it is not so easy. The debt must be repaid within one lunar cycle upon being called due, or else Oriens is entitled to claim the collateral used to secure his services.”

Paen could have sworn his blood turned to ice. The situation was quickly going from bad to worse. “What collateral?”

“There is really only one thing a demon lord wants—a soul.”

“My father promised his soul in order to have you locate his Beloved?”

“No, his soul was held in trust for another, so he could not use it,” Caspar answered, shaking his head. “He tried to, but Oriens wouldn't accept that as collateral.”

Little glaciers rose in Paen's heart. “Then whose soul did he use?”

Caspar smiled, just as Paen knew he would. “Why, that of his Beloved, naturally. Although strictly speaking he wasn't in possession of her soul, the fact that she was his Beloved, and would by her very nature agree to sacrifice herself on his behalf, served as a guarantee. I'm afraid that means if you do not provide me with the Jilin God in the next five days, your mother's soul is forfeit. Unfair to her, true, but that is the nature of these arrangements.”

“Five days?”
Paen asked, his mind awhirl. He would die before he let a demon lord lay one hell-spawned finger on his mother, let alone her beautiful, pure soul. “What happened to a lunar cycle?”

“I'm afraid that it took me some time to track down your whereabouts,” Caspar said with faux apology.

“That's ridiculous! Right, there are four of us. We'll just divide up the work . . .”

“Oh, no, I'm afraid that's not possible.” Caspar gave him a sad little smile. “Didn't I tell you? This debt is yours alone to fulfill. You are your father's son, you see.”

Paen frowned. “Why mine? My brothers are just as much the sons of my father as I am.”

“Yes, but you are the eldest. According to the
agreement your father signed”—he gestured toward the note—“the debt must be repayed by the debtor himself, or the nearest member of his blood. That would be you, the oldest son.”

“That is completely outrageous. My brothers—”

“—are not eligible to locate the missing statue. If they do, the debt will be considered forfeit, and the collateral will be collected.” Caspar plucked the promissory note from Paen's hands and tucked it away in the leather case. “All that remains is five days. If you do not have the statue in that time . . . well. We won't dwell on the unpleasant.”

“Get out,” Paen said, gritting his teeth against the pain that threatened to swamp him at the thought of what the alastor was saying.

“I understand that you are upset, but—”

“Get the hell out of my house! Now!” Paen roared, starting toward the unwelcome visitor.

“I will be in touch about your progress with the statue,” Caspar said hurriedly, backing toward the wall as Paen prepared to grab him and throw him out of the room. Hell, he wanted to throw him out of the country . . . off the planet, if he could manage it. “Until then, farewell!”

Paen snarled several obscenities and medieval oaths as the man's form shimmered, then disappeared. He continued to swear under his breath over the next half hour as he placed four international phone calls and authorized three messengers to be sent out into the depths of the Bolivian forests in an attempt to locate his parents.

“I don't suppose you have any idea where they
are, or where this monkey god statue is?” he asked his brothers that evening.

“Not a clue on either count,” Avery said as he slipped on a leather jacket. “No one tells me anything. The whole thing sounds a bit dicey to me, to be honest. We can't help you search for this statue because you're the eldest? What's up with that?”

“Some archaic medieval law still around a few hundred years ago, no doubt,” Paen grumbled. “There were all sorts of agreements then that operated under obsolete laws.”

“Well, I hate to be callous, but since we can't help you search for the statue, I guess I'll go out.”

“You'll do nothing of the kind,” Paen said, stalking past his brother. “You and Dan will go to the Lachmanol Abbey in the Outer Hebrides, and beg the abbot for access to his very rare collection of sixteenth-century manuscripts. There you will scour the collection for references to this damned statue.”

“Me? Why me?” Paen's second-youngest brother looked up from the evening paper. “Why can't you go? And I thought this demon said none of us could look for the statue.”

“You're not going to be looking for the statue itself. I want to know more about it—where it came from, what its history is, that sort of thing. You're the only one besides me who knows Latin. Avery can use his charm to get access to the manuscripts, and you can translate them.”

“Sounds like a bloody bore, but I'll do it for Mum.” Avery admired himself in the mirror again, then frowned at Paen. “You're not going to brood the
whole time we're gone, are you? Because if you are, we won't bring back any souvenir girls for you.”

“We're going to an abbey, you idiot,” Daniel said, smacking his brother on the arm as he stretched and grabbed his coat.

“Bet you I could find some.”

Paen only just kept himself from rolling his eyes. “I'm not brooding. I never brood.”

His brothers, all three of the rotters, laughed.

“Paen, you're the world's champion brooder,” Daniel said, stretching again and squinting at the clock.

“Aye, and a broodaholic, to boot. I'm thinking we need to do an intervention, or maybe get you into one of those twelve-step programs. ‘Hi, my name is Paen, and I'm broody.' Maybe that'll help you lighten up a bit.” Finn grinned at his brother.

Paen stifled the urge to sock him in the arm. Finn was just as tall as he was, and although he had a good twenty pounds on his brother, it had been a near thing the last time he wrestled Finn—or any of them, for that matter.

Instead, Paen gave them all a narrow-eyed look, wondering for the umpteenth time how his fair-haired mother and dark-haired father could produce four sons who differed so greatly in appearance. He took after his father in looks, with black hair that insisted on curling despite his efforts to make it lie flat, and grey eyes. Avery was every bit his blond-haired, blue-eyed mother's son, while Finn and Daniel were somewhere in between. “There is a vast difference between being concerned for Mum's soul and brooding. What you see here is concern, with just a dash of
worry thrown in to keep from going stale. There's not a single shred of brood on me.”

“Here it comes,” Avery told Finn.

The latter nodded. “The bit about us lot being so lucky because we have our souls, and him being damned and all. Same old, same old.”

“Well, I
am
damned! You don't have the slightest concept what it is to be in my position,” Paen argued. “You have no idea the torment, the pain—”

“ ‘—the agony of living each day without any hope, without love shared with a soulmate, without any chance at redemption,' ” his brothers all chanted together.

Paen growled. He loved his brothers, but there were times when he would pay good money to be an only child.

“And yet you claim you're perfectly happy that way. We've told you that we'd move heaven and earth to help you find your Beloved,” Avery said. “Just say the word, and we'll scour the length and breadth of Scotland for her. The whole of Britain, even!”