Page 136 of A House of Gold
"Let's go," I say. "Before I lose my nerve."
Croesus opens the door. Beyond it isn't a hallway but a shimmering portal, golden light that pulses like a heartbeat. He steps through first, pulling me after him.
Reality shifts. Twists. For a moment I'm nowhere, suspended in gold and void and the space between breaths.
Then we're standing in a cathedral.
It's beautiful in the way ruins are beautiful, crumbling grandeur, broken stained glass, pews rotting beneath centuries of neglect. But there's power here too. I feel it pressing againstmy skin, old and divine and angry. This place remembers what it was. What it housed. And it doesn't like what it's become.
Six figures are already here, standing in a loose circle around the crumbling stone altar. Six fallen angels, each one radiating power that makes my teeth ache.
And they're all looking at me.
"Croesus," one of them says, arms crossed over his chest, platinum blonde hair falling to his shoulders, silver-white eyes like mirrors reflecting my own face back at me. Seraph. I've met him before at his house, endured his dance and his cutting words. His six white-gold wings are folded against his back, visible and perfect as always. "You brought your little sin eater. How...predictable."
Through the binding, I feel Croesus's fury spike. But his voice is controlled when he speaks. "Raven is here because this concerns her directly. The attack was on my house, targeting her specifically."
"So you've said in your summons." Seraph's mirror eyes reflect me, assess me, find me wanting. "She looks intact. Disappointing, really. I was hoping the collectors would have at least left a mark."
A voice slides into my mind, familiar, invasive, like silk against my thoughts:Still alive, little sin eater? How fortunate. Idris. I glance toward him. Their features are sharp and beautiful in a way that makes my eyes hurt, hair shifting colors like oil on water. Their lips move as if speaking, but no sound comes out.
A massive figure stands to Seraph's left, radiating heat I can feel from here, Kael, the Angel of Wrath. Dark red hair, ember-bright eyes, scars covering every visible inch of skin. Arms, neck, even his face bears burn marks. He doesn't speak, just watches with that predator's stillness, and I swear the air around him shimmers with barely contained heat. I'd seen him at gathering but never up close.
Lysander leans against a broken pew, again looking like he just rolled out of bed. Dark hair with red undertones catches the cathedral's dim light, and his purple eyes are half-lidded, lazy. Everything about him screams sensuality. "Darling," he purrs, "you're looking well for someone who nearly died. I do love resilience in a woman."
Dorian stands slightly apart from the others, holding a wine glass despite the setting. Golden-brown hair, warm brown eyes, a kind face that can't quite hide the hollow sadness beneath. "Raven," he says simply, nodding. There's genuine warmth in his greeting, but it feels empty somehow.
And in the shadows near a crumbling pillar, barely visible even in the dim light, a pale figure leaning heavily on a cane. I've never seen this one before.
Caspian. The Angel of Sloth. The one who never leaves his house.
His presence here, more than anything, tells me how serious this threat is.
I feel like prey standing in front of seven predators.
Croesus's hand tightens on mine. Through the binding, his message is clear: Stand tall. Don't show weakness. You belong here.
I take a breath, lift my chin, and meet Seraph's silver eyes.
"I'm not a pet," I say clearly. "I'm a sin eater. And someone is killing people like me. Like my grandmother." I look at each angel in turn. "So you can respect me, or you can lose whatever chance you have of stopping whoever is stealing your souls. Your choice."
Silence.
Then someone laughs, a warm, rich sound that's completely inappropriate for the moment. One of the angels steps forward, beautiful in a way that makes my breath catch. Rose-gold eyes, perfect features, charm radiating like heat.
Lysander.
"I like her," he says, smile sharp and interested. "She's got spine. This is going to be fun."
"Fun?" Kael's voice is a growl. "We're here because Heaven sent assassins. This isn't entertainment."
"Everything is entertainment if you have the right attitude." Lysander winks at me. "I'm already looking forward to our year together, darling."
Through the binding, I feel Croesus's absolute fury. But he keeps his voice level. "Perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand. Someone tried to kill Raven three days ago. Collectors breached the House of Gold. And based on the evidence she found, this has been happening for over a century."
"Show us," says another voice, deeper, older, tired. The pale angel, barely visible even standing a few feet away. Caspian. "Show us the evidence, and we'll decide if it's worth our time."
Croesus pulls out the folder, my grandmother's research. He spreads the papers on a nearby pew, and the angels gather around like vultures circling a corpse.
