Page 11 of Casting Butterflies

“I cannot help my feline nature. You, however, choose to overindulge.”

“And? Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun.” It might have emerged a tad defensively.

“There is when you ignore our task.”

“Your task,” I emphasized, “and who says I shirked? I did the research you demanded.”

“Really?” Cedric sounded surprised. Jerk. “And?”

“Came across a bunch of folklore involving butterflies, most of it centering around rebirth, the ability to transform, with many believing they are somehow linked to our souls.”

“Go on.”

“That’s it. The general gist seemed to be about changing shape. I mean I can kind of see it. Caterpillar to butterfly, which bodes well for you going from kitty cat to tree man.”

“Meaning there might be something out there, a spell or a talisman, perhaps a ritual.” Cedric sounded pensive. “What else did you discover?”

“Well, the necklace itself doesn’t show up anywhere. I posted it in a few forums and ran it through every reverse image program I know of, even had it analyzed by a few AI’s and nada. It didn’t match up with anything.”

“Not surprising if it was a custom design that Papillon kept hidden.” Cedric paced, tail flicking. “Speaking of whom…”

“I found very little about her. She led a reclusive life. No social media presence at all. The only mentions were recent and had to do with the auction.”

“Did you contact her relations to see if we could return for a visit?”

“Not yet.” I yawned. “Didn’t want to be bugging them late at night. Let me get a coffee into me and I’ll give the guy running the show a ding.” A coffee, double-toasted everything bagel smeared in cream cheese, and a shower later, I found the auctioneer’s number. Turned out he did estate sales for a living. Jeremiah Cotton answered after the second ring.

“Valley Auction, Jeremiah Cotton speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Mr. Cotton. It’s Florence Girard. I was at your estate sale yesterday.”

“No returns, no refunds,” he hastily stated.

“That’s not why I’m calling. I was actually hoping for some information on the necklace I bought. The ugly butterfly pendant on the chain.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t suppose you know where it came from?”

The man snorted. “Nope. I’ll be honest, I’m surprised anyone even bought it.”

“If you thought it was junk, why even offer it for sale?”

“It was my daughter, Glady’s idea. See, my aunt, the late Ms. Papillon, was very protective of it. Glady’s once opened the box when I went to check on my aunt, and she, for lack of a better term, lost it. Claimed my daughter was to never ever touch the necklace, that it was dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“Who knows. My aunt had some strange ideas, as you can imagine.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I mean what was up with all those butterflies.”

“My aunt never did explain. Said she liked them and they made her feel safe. Personally, I found them creepy.”

“How long had she been collecting them?”

“Decades. She started when she returned from abroad. My mother, her sister, told me she’d planned to go backpacking through Europe for a year, only she disappeared six months into her trip. Mom contacted the authorities to look for her, but her case was chalked up to misadventure. About three or so years later, she came back.”

“What happened to her?”