Page 36 of A House of Gold
“The usual. He wanted success, recognition, to be the best at what he does. Seraph offered him perfection, flawless performance, impeccable reputation, the admiration of his peers. In exchange, Barnes signed away his ability to accept help from anyone. Ever.”
I wince. “So he’s isolated.”
“Completely. Can’t ask for assistance, can’t accept advice, can’t admit weakness. It’s destroying him, slowly. His marriage is failing, his health is declining, and his perfect performance is starting to crack under the pressure.” Croesus opens the folder, runs his fingers over what I assume is a document inside. “Seraph will collect his soul when he breaks, when the isolation becomes too much and he collapses under the weight of his own pride. It’s how Seraph operates. He gives them everything they want and watches them destroy themselves with it.”
“And you want me to break the contract before that happens?”
“Precisely.” Croesus closes the folder. “Barnes has a week, maybe two, before he breaks completely. If you can reach him before then, absorb the pride, break the contract, then his soul becomes available. And I’ll collect it instead of Seraph.”
“Corporate warfare,” I mutter.
“As I said.” He leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “This is what the houses do. We compete. We steal from each other. We pretend there are rules and honor while we stab each other in the back.” He tilts his head in that listening way. “Does that bother you?”
“Does it matter if it does?”
“Not particularly. But I’m curious.”
I think about it. About this man, David Barnes, who made a deal he didn’t understand and is now suffering for it. AboutSeraph, who offered perfection and delivered isolation. About Croesus, who wants to swoop in and claim the soul for himself.
“You’re both predators,” I say finally. “You and Seraph. You’re just fighting over the same prey.”
“True.” He doesn’t sound offended. If anything, he sounds pleased I understand. “But if you break the contract, Barnes goes free. He gets his life back. Isn’t that worth doing, regardless of my motivations?”
He’s right, and like most things about all of this, I hate it.
Because yes, breaking the contract saves Barnes. Frees him from Seraph’s deal, lets him live without that crushing isolation. That’s the whole point of what I do, giving people back their agency, their freedom, their lives.
The fact that Croesus benefits from it doesn’t change the fact that Barnes gets to walk away. Gets some time back before Croesus swoops in.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
“I know you will. You don’t have a choice.” He stands, moves around the desk. “But I appreciate the illusion of agreement.”
I should probably leave it there. Should just accept the assignment and go. But there’s something about the way he’s standing, almost approachable, that makes me think he might actually answer if I push.
“Can I ask you something?” I say before I can stop myself.
He pauses, tilts his head. “You just did,” he says, deadpan.
“Smartass.” The word slips out before I can filter it, and I tense, waiting for him to be offended.
Instead, he smiles. Actually smiles, and it transforms his face from merely beautiful to something that makes my breath catch. “Go ahead. Ask.”
“Auric,” I say. “The bound immortal thing. How does that work? He said he’s been serving you for four hundred years.”
“Four hundred and thirty-six,” Croesus corrects. “He made the deal in 1589. He was dying, plague, I believe. Came to me desperate, willing to trade anything for more time. So I gave him eternity in exchange for eternal service.”
“That seems like a raw deal for him.”
“Does it?” Croesus moves back to his desk, settles into his chair again. There’s something about the way he’s engaging with this conversation, genuinely interested rather than dismissive, that makes me bolder. “He gets to live forever. Never ages, never sickens, never dies. He’s seen empires rise and fall and has accumulated more knowledge and experience than most humans could dream of. The only cost is that he serves me.”
“And can never leave.”
“Well. Yes. There is that.” He steeples his fingers again. “But Auric knew the terms when he agreed. He chose this, chose life over death, even if that life came with strings attached.”
“Did he really have a choice? If he was dying?”
“Everyone has a choice, Raven. The question is whether they’re willing to accept the consequences of not choosing.” He pauses. “Why the interest in Auric?”
