Page 7 of Casting Butterflies

The butterfly theme might have been prevalent outside, but inside…you couldn’t look anywhere without seeing them. Some subtle and only noticeable if you concentrated. Others gaudy beyond belief.

“Geezus,” I breathed as my gaze darted around, flitting from one winged bug to another.

The white tile floor in the entrance had black butterflies embedded in each piece. The carpets, woven of bright threads, had a pattern displaying a chaotic amount in flight. The cream-colored wallpaper looked normal until you realized the silver pattern happened to be silhouetted versions.

The crystal chandelier, rather than pendants, had, you guessed it, more of the bugs. The wooden furniture had vines and leaves carved with butterflies at rest. The cushions, more of the patterned eye sore. There wasn’t a single object, or even part of the house, that didn’t have a butterfly. Despite my phobia, the sheer number of fake lepto-whatcha-ma-callits, left me more amused and flabbergasted than scared.

As I wandered room to room, seeing even more horrific design choices—which would likely haunt me longer than the original Amityville movie—I left the other visitors behind and felt safe whispering to Cedric, “What the fuck? This is insane.”

“Is the décor really any worse than that lady with the gnome fetish for holidays?”

“It’s way worse because at least the lawn ornaments come down after Christmas. This is permanent and literally crazy. No one loves butterflies this much.”

“You can say that despite proof all the around us?”

“There must have been a reason behind her obsession.”

“Does it matter? We came with a singular purpose, and it has nothing to do with the artistic choices the previous owner took.”

The reminder had me grimacing. “In other words, focus on our task. Have you sensed any magic?”

“Nothing at all which is unusual. A house this old should be oozing something. The collection of antiques alone should have emitted some residue, but it’s as if we’ve entered a magical void.”

“Which begs the question, how and why erase all traces of magic?” I muttered, suddenly less reassured than when I believed the house might be a cesspool for the paranormal.

“The auction will begin shortly on the rear porch,” a male voice suddenly announced. “Please submit your information at the registration table.”

“Guess I should see what items he’s got on the docket,” I stated, heading for the stairs down.

“I’ll be along in a few. I want to explore a bit more,” Cedric declared before leaping from my shoulder.

I would go out on a limb—an oak one—and predict he’d find butterflies. Lots of them. Made me wonder if the toilet seats had been shaped like the winged bugs. Maybe I’d find out for piss and giggles before I left.

Following the crowd through the kitchen—which I won’t describe because a horror such as it should be burned and never spoken of—we exited through a door into the backyard. Chairs had been set up on the stone slab patio stamped with butterflies. After filling out a form, I plopped into a seat with my numbered paddled. Basically, I simply had wave it to indicate my interest in bidding on the current item. Hopefully nothing cost more than three hundred and twenty-three dollars, all the room I had left on my credit card until my next paycheck. Maybe I should let Cedric steal to help pay the bills but only from bad people who deserved it.

“We shall begin the auction with the collectable ceramics,” the man declared. A young girl trotted out a box from which the fellow pulled a few select pieces of the winged bugs and gave a brief history on their supposed provenance, rarity blah, blah. That box, plus the next five, sold for a jaw-dropping amount, as did the collection of crystal wineglasses etched with butterflies.

Apparently, while the previous owner lacked taste in decorating, she did like expensive things. It also didn’t seem like it would matter if any of the objects had magic because, for one, Cedric had yet to return to sniff them out, and secondly, I couldn’t afford any of the hideous butterfly stuff. Who the fuck dropped seven thousand dollars on a lamp shade with mosaic glass featuring yellow and orange monarchs? Sure, it might be a custom Tiffany, but seven fucking K?

I wasted my time. However, I couldn’t exactly leave without my cat, thus I remained seated in the audience as more weird shit got auctioned. The grand piano, which I’d not even seen, that apparently had its lid shaped like… you know what. The vanity and stool combo more suited for a young girl than the paunchy man who lovingly stroked it once he won. Someone paid three hundred dollars for the glass cases holding some pinned butterfly corpses. Another coughed up two for the light catchers still strung up in the windows.

As the seats emptied and only a few of us remained, I noticed we had finally entered the cheap junk part of the auction, which also happened to be when Cedric reappeared. He hopped into my lap and stared at me until I lowered my head.

“I figured out why I couldn’t sense any magic,” he whispered. “There is argencae all over the house.”

I frowned, and before I could ask what the fuck, he explained.

“Argencae is an element usually found in Infernal that inhibits magic. Usually used in the cells for prisoners to ensure they can’t escape or cause trouble.”

My brows rose, and I muttered in a low tone, “What would it be doing here?”

Before Cedric could answer, his head swiveled sharply as the young girl helping the auctioneer emerged with a jewelry-type box. Wooden, super basic in design and yet Cedric stiffened.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“I’m fairly certain its lined in argencae.”

My brows lifted. Could the object inside be what the seers wanted us to find?