"I haven't been able to get hold of his phone number, so I was wondering if you would help me set up a meeting with him so we can discuss the situation."
    "I'll see what I can do," I replied, somewhat puzzled as to how they could have lost Chandler's number.
    "Please do. It's very important that we know about it quickly if it turns out that she really is unstable."
    "I understand. I'll see if he's willing to talk to you."
    "Thank you."
    Something else to keep me from following up on what had happened that morning, what I may or may not have seen. Before I could get going on Winters' errand, another call came through, this one patched through by the police department. Promethean took it, and spent a while talking to Tim Cooper, who had attended the auction where the butterflies were sold and remembered the man who had bought them, one Sean Mort. He had even caught the man in one of his photographs of the items for sale; he would send it over to the island. The name Sean Mort didn't show up in the criminal files.
    One of the others could deal with Mr. Mort if they wished; I left on my own errand.
    I haven't been to Chandler's place since That Day, except for when we went to get Lucky out after she was attacked. He opened the door before I could knock.
    "Come in."
    I had fogotten that habit of his of knowing people were coming before they got there. "Hi. I wanted to talk to you about Lucky." I followed him into the front hall.
    He didn't show any surprise at all. "Oh, yes. She's displaying withdrawal symptoms? Biological or psychological?"
    "Psychological, I think. I don't really know." I found myself frowning. "Do you think they could cause biological withdrawal?"
    "I'm not entirely certain about that."
    "Anyway, how would I know?"
    "You could take a TK reading of her aura."
    I had never even thought of doing that; it seems invasive. "She'd be really pissed if she found out I did that."
    "So don't tell her. Come in here."
    I followed him to his sanctum, where he took a book down from a very high shelf.
    "I've been reading up on those things lately, and I think I've found out some things."
    Lately? The book was covered in dust. I didn't ask.
    "Do you know what those gloves are?" he asked.
    "No."
    "They're daemons."
    I opened my mouth and closed it again. "They're what?"
    He explained that all daemons require a physical substance of some sort to attach themselves to, a host body they can bind to. These in particular, he's pretty sure, first showed up in the 13th century with the Knights Templar as a pair of gauntlets which could generate a magical sword. The Knights, if they knew about the gloves' nature, were unable to break the connection, and soon enough the order was dissolved and the gloves lost to history. The person they first showed up on may have been a familiar of some sort; he had prominent tusks and a mane of stiff hair. Chandler isn't sure if that was the result of an unrelated condition or if it may actually have been caused by the gloves themselves.
    I couldn't process all of this at once; as far as I was concerned, it boiled down to one question: "Is it better for her to have them, or to not have them?"
    "I'm not entirely sure. I don't think they're harming her. I'm pretty sure her symptoms are psychological; she's grown to depend on them, and when she doesn't have them she feels helpless and vulnerable. Like a four-year-old, she needs her security blanket."
    If anyone should know Lucky, andthose damn gloves, it's him. I'll just have to hope he's right.
    "How are you doing?" he asked, changing the subject before I could mention the prospect of a meeting with Winters.
    "Me? Oh, I'm just fine," I replied with a slightly brittle laugh that caused a concerned frown to cross his expression.
    "What happened?"
    I considered brushing it off as nothing, sighed and told him, "I saw someone this morning I knew ten years ago."
    His, "Oh," indicated understanding. "Who?"
    "Travis Leone."

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