“You must be tired,” Siljar gently overrode his words.
Brandel lifted his head high enough to give a relieved smile.
“Exhausted, actually. If you will excuse me?”
“Certainly.”
Siljar stepped to the side so Brandel could scurry from the cavern, her expression distracted.
Levet clicked his tongue. “I may not be an Oracle, but I do have a highly sensitive nose.” He turned his head to one side, allowing Siljar to admire his snout. “In profile I am told it resembles Brad Pitt’s.”
“Ah, so I see.” Siljar cleared her throat. “And what did your magnificent nose tell you?”
Levet turned back to meet the Oracle’s steady gaze. “Brandel the Historian has not been to Singapore.”
“No?”
“Non.”
“Then where has he been?”
“Canada.”
A slow blink was Siljar’s only reaction to the information one of her fellow Oracles was liar-liar-pants-on-fire.
“Interesting.”
Levet shrugged. Eh bien. If she did not care, then neither did he.
“And odd,” he muttered.
“Why do you say that?”
“I, myself, was in Canada before I was so rudely transported here.”
“Indeed.” Siljar smiled. “Why were you in Canada?”
Now she was interested?
He grabbed his tail to polish the tip, attempting to appear modest.
A difficult task for a gargoyle as formidable as himself.
“As usual the vampires were in need of my considerable skills.”
She nodded, naturally eager to learn of his bravery. “Any skills in particular?”
He dropped his tail back to the ground. He needed champagne to get a true gloss.
“The clan chief of Nevada was searching for his missing mate.”
“The witch?”
“Oui.” Levet heaved a sigh. “Lovely Sally. I hope that she can find the truth of her past. I sense it might be important.”
“As do I,” Siljar said, so softly Levet barely caught the words.
“Levet.” The female voice came without warning, and Levet flinched as Yannah stormed into the room, her long braid swaying and her white robe brushing the ground. “What are you doing here?”