As soon as I slipped under the fabric cord to get back into the main area, I was greeted with a System window.

Dragon Eye

A-

Oracle

Passive observer

Foresight [Ac]

Heightened senses [Pa]

True sight [Ac]

Faintness [Pa]

Language comprehension (legal lingo)[Pa]

Thankfully, the Lords must have heard my prayers, since this had been the last ‘Dragon eye’ I saw that evening.

“Excuse me,” I called out to the person who’d just activated that skill, “Would you happen to know where Madame Pendu, the hostess of the event, is by any chance?”

“Oh my, you’re on a last name basis with the legendary artist herself?” The oracle replied. I wasn’t sure if it had been a genuine joke, or venomous sarcasm I’d sensed in their voice. “I’m just joking.” They continued, noticing my expression, before giving me a tap on the arm, as if to accentuate their point. “She was at her main showroom, in the bio-sculptures area. It’s at the end of the sculpture gallery, in that big room past the corridor with the glass birds.”

“Thank you.” I nodded before briskly walking away.

I vaguely remembered Gerard mentioning the glass birds, so I did expect to find him in that vicinity as well which could make things easier for me.

I didn’t make it to the bio-sculpture area. As I was passing through that buffet in the sculpture gallery, I heard a voice I recognised. It was that person from the bathroom, talking in half-whispers to some other guest. Although there was an argument to be had about whose behaviour had been shadier back then (them with their skill vs me hiding away), I decided to eavesdrop for just a moment longer.

I approached the buffet, picked up some mini-sandwich without even looking at it, and proceeded to eat it as slowly as possible to get as much as I could from that conversation.

“All I’m saying miss,” the unfamiliar guest spoke, “is that you’re offering me empty words, and asking a hefty sum for it.”

“You can’t expect me to wander around with the Eye of Calchas in my back pocket, can you?” The person from the restroom replied with an ever so slightly frustrated tone. “If you need any further … people …” they suddenly brought down the volume of their voice, making it hard for me to make out individual words.

The guest they were talking to did not hold the same reservations, however.

“Then how about we meet again at the Solstice, you’ll show me the pendant, I’ll show you the money, and we will conduct this as honest business.”

They whispered something in reply.

“Miss, I’ve had a pleasant talk, but I am afraid it is over. You must know that our ‘people’ as you’ve put it yourself, are already suspicious of the likes of you amongst our ranks. If you wish to conduct business with us, then I will need solid proof of your sincerity.”

I glanced to the side and watched that guest storm off towards the central ‘tulip’ room. I just about managed to catch a glimpse of the name tag above their head that read:

Jeffry Cook

C

“Dammit.” The person from the restroom quietly swore, and stomped their foot against the floor.

They then snatched a slice of cake from the buffet, as they came in dangerous proximity to me, before storming off as well towards the central room. I watched them leave, trying to think where or if I might have seen them before. That pendant they kept mentioning did sound important enough to have been present in ‘immoral immortality’ but I couldn’t link their short ginger hair or pale skin to any of the characters.

Jane Michaels

B+

Just as they left the room, I got a good lock at the name tag above their head, but it didn’t ring any bells either. I did eventually decide to shrug it off as just one of those strange things that were in fact regular occurrences in this world. After all, some shady individuals conducting even shadier business wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened to me today.

“Mademoiselle Camille,” A voice with an underlying German accent called out from behind me.

Since there was no one else at the buffet, I turned round to see whom it was that had mistaken me for this Camille. I raised my eyebrows and blinked in surprise, as I found myself face to face with no one other than that old man from Geneva; the one who’d stolen my drawing. He was dressed in a formal grey three-piece suit and was leaning onto an elegant but well-worn wooden cane. An amused smile appeared over his face, as he carried on talking:

“Camille Labrache I believe you told me your name was, and yet the words above you read more along the lines of ‘Laura Dubois’. Has no one ever told you that lying is bad, evil dare I even say?”

“Have you come to retrieve your 20€? You must have dropped it when you ran away with my drawing. Theft is, as you no doubt know, bad. Or dare I say, evil?” I replied mimicking his bemused tone.

His smile only widened in response.

“I have so much to say that I am at a loss for words.” He admitted with sudden sincerity. “I never expected to find you here, although I do suppose it makes sense, as Paris would have been my next obvious place to look for you after Bordeaux and Caen.”

“So it was about the money?” I asked, genuinely confused.

Because if it wasn’t that, it could only mean that this man too was after me because of my father.

“No.” He softly replied as he shook his head. “If you don’t mind I’d like us to have a long chat in the foreseeable future, perhaps even this evening. I- I knew your mother, you see.”

“Sure.” I replied as I frowned ever so slightly. This was a first. But it was also an opportunity for me to find out what truly happened with that woman, as I had never managed to properly recall her death. “So what brings you here then?”

The old man grinned, before lifting his arms up in a dramatic gesture.

“Art!” he exclaimed.

I noticed his right leg shake ever so slightly before he shifted his weight to his good leg.

“I don’t think you should be doing that.” I quietly said, not wanting to sound rude, but not wanting to see him fall over either.

“Same reason as you, I assume.” He continued, ignoring my words, but leaving just that little bit of doubt in his voice, making it sound like a question, and not necessarily a statement.

“I’m accompanying Gerard … Grotas.” I replied, having taken half a second to recall his last name.

“Ah-” The German man exclaimed as he rolled his eyes. “Who did that old bugger outbid this time? No offence, but I doubt he invited you here because of your pretty eyes.”

“He invited my sister, it’s a long story.” I shrugged. “How do you know him?”

I suspected the answer would be something along the lines of ‘the art world is small, and word goes around’.

“Oh, I know most people here. But as you can see them an I avoid each other like the plague.” He replied with a glint of something malicious in his eyes. “Most are jealous of my collection, and the rest are jealous of my rank.”

As he said those words, my eyes instinctively went up to the top of his head, but there was no name or rank there. I must have noticed it right away, but ignored it due to the shock of seeing him here.

He cleared his throat, before showing me his cufflinks, both representing tiny dog heads, as he tapped the one on his left sleeve with his other hand.

“It’s to prevent prying eyes and the like. I’ve only recently found myself no longer needing them, and old habits die hard, as you probably know.”

I nodded. Those seemed like they could come in handy in more ways than one, and I started to regret not researching this kind of magic items in my spare time.

“Okay.” I said, having come to a definite decision in regards to his earlier offer to talk.

He gave me a questioning look.

“Perhaps you know a place nearby where we could quietly ‘chat’, as you’ve put it earlier? I have a few more things that I need to sort out here, so if you don’t mind waiting an hour or so, hopefully, I will be done by then.” I said, before quickly adding, in fear of sounding rude, “you made it sound quite urgent.”

He softly smiled and nodded.

“What business do you have here, if you don’t mind my asking? If you’re looking to buy some pieces, I’d rather prefer to avoid painting myself as your competitor.”

I put down the plate I’d been eating from and gestured for him to follow me to a corner of the room.

“I, well, stabbed a painting, to put it bluntly.”

The German man gave me a mischievous look.

“I see you are well-set on a path of artistic anarchy, with such bold statements.”

“It – well it wasn’t really an accident, but I didn’t do it on purpose either. But either way, I’m assuming now I have to buy it?”

“That would be the morally correct thing to do.” He replied, letting me know through his tone that there were many other, less ‘correct’, options. “Do you recall what the name of the painting and the artist was?”

“A sunset in full bloom, by Jerimiah K-something.” I replied.

The old man nodded, showing that he knew what I was talking about, and I pressed my lips together in relief at the fact that I wouldn’t have to waste my remaining MP on this.

“Jerimiah Khalid.” He said, confirming my thoughts. “I will handle this for you, if you don’t mind. And am I right to assume that the other issue tying you here is our common friend Grostas?”

I nodded.

“Well, then let’s not waste precious time.” He said with a smile, before readjusting his grip over his cane, and nodding for me to follow him.