Page 41 of A House of Gold
“Within limits. The access points are fixed, so I can’t simply create new ones at will. But I have enough scattered throughout the city and beyond to make travel efficient.” He shifts slightly, angling toward me. “Why? Planning an escape?”
“Would it work if I tried?”
“No, you’re bound to me for the year. Even if you slipped through an access point and ran, the binding would pull you back. Painfully.” He says it casually. “I don’t recommend testing it.”
“Good to know.” I turn from the window to look at him. “So what’s the plan? We show up at Barnes’s office, I break his contract, and we leave?”
“Essentially. Though there are complications.”
“There always are.”
“Barnes is a high-profile investment banker. His office building has security cameras, guards, keycard access. We can’t simply walk in looking like...” He gestures vaguely at himself, at me, at the expensive car we’re sitting in. “This.”
“Then why am I dressed like I’m going to the opera?”
“Because we’re not sneaking in. We’re walking in the front door.” He settles back against the leather seat, perfectly relaxed. “Barnes works late. His assistant left hours ago. Security knows him as the workaholic who’s always there past midnight. They won’t question a colleague stopping by. Or a colleague’s companion.”
The way he says “companion” makes it clear exactly what role I’m supposed to play.
“You want them to think I’m your...what?”
“Date. Associate. Whatever they assume. It doesn’t matter as long as it gives us access.” He tilts his head in that listening way. “Does that bother you?”
“Pretending to be your date or the fact that you planned this without asking me? Can’t you just use your powers to force the guard?”
“Either. Both. And no, I’m afraid, forcing humans outside of an agreement isn’t something I’m capable of.”
I think about it. About walking into a building on Croesus’s arm, playing the role of expensive arm candy while he sweet-talks us past security. About the assumptions people will make, the way they’ll look at me, at us, and draw conclusions.
“It’s practical,” I say finally. “I don’t have to like it.” I file the new bit of information away to examine later.
“No. You don’t.” There’s something in his voice, amusement, maybe, or approval. “But you’ll do it anyway because you’re smart enough to know it’s the best option.”
He’s right, but I’ll be damned before I tell him so anymore than what I already said.
The car glides through downtown traffic, heading toward the financial district. Tall buildings, glass and steel, lights blazing even at this hour.
“Are you going to pout?”
I huff. “I’m thinking, not pouting.” I look out the window, watching the city scroll past. Trying to focus on anything except the way his hand is still resting on the seat between us. Close enough to touch. “About the houses. The politics. You said the seven don’t like each other?”
“That’s an understatement.” His fingers drum once against the leather then pluck the hem of my gown to run between hisfingers. “Though some of us manage better than others. Seraph and I have a contentious relationship. He thinks I’m crass and obsessed with material wealth. I think he’s a narcissistic peacock who can’t see past his own reflection.”
Despite myself, I smile. “You don’t like him. What does he look like? Since you can’t... you know.”
“I’m told he’s beautiful. Tall, pale, platinum hair. Six wings, which is unusual; most Fallen lose their wings entirely. He kept his as a reminder of what he was.” His hand stills on the silk. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Trying to understand the houses, the politics, who’s who. And wondering if you all go through so much trouble for one soul. Why this one guy? Can you offer John down the block a lot of money and be done with it?”
He blinks a few times and looks almost appalled I said such a thing. “I won’t dignify that question with an answer. Some things I will not explain to you for the asking. You’ll have to figure them out on your own. And you’ll meet Seraph soon enough; he’ll want to confront you about this theft. The others will come in time. They’re all curious about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the first sin eater any of us has employed openly in centuries. And because you’re mine. Your grandmother owed a debt, but her payment was not breaking contracts.” His fingers trace another small circle on the silk, closer to my thigh now. Close enough that I can feel the heat of his hand through the fabric. “That makes you valuable. Interesting. Worth paying attention to.”
The car feels smaller suddenly. The space between us charged.
“I’m not yours,” I say, but my voice lacks the conviction I know is in here somewhere.
