Page 124 of A House of Gold
"Yes." His mouth quirks in something that's not quite a smile. "Because you're your grandmother's heir. And I'm too greedy to let anyone take what's mine."
I probably should argue with the "mine" part, remind him I make my own choices. Instead, I just hold onto him and stare at my grandmother's handwriting:
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Don't trust anyone.
Sorry, Gramms. But I'm going to have to break that rule.
Because fighting archangels and Heaven's conspiracies alone?
That's a death wish.
And I'm not ready to die yet.
27
Ican't sleep.
It's been hours since Croesus and I stood in the library, my grandmother's research folder between us like a bomb waiting to detonate. Hours since he promised to call a meeting of all seven houses. Hours since we acknowledged, again, that someone powerful enough to kill my grandmother is probably coming for me next.
And I can't stop thinking about those forty-seven names. Forty-seven people who made deals and vanished. Forty-seven souls that should have been collected but weren't. Forty-seven people who were probably just like me.
I stare down at my arms. Forty-seven tattoos marking the sins of others. Of people I’ve saved? A coincidence, I’d find this now?
I'm lying in my bed, the too-soft bed in my gilded room, staring at the ceiling that shifts due to the gold swirls, depending on the light. Through the binding, I can feel Croesus somewhere else in the house. I sense his alertness, his tension, the constant vigilance of a predator who knows something is hunting in his territory.
The clock on my nightstand reads three am. Not that time means much here.
I'm about to give up on sleep entirely when the binding flares with sudden, sharp alarm.
Croesus.
Something's wrong.
I'm out of bed before I consciously decide to move, grabbing my ritual knife from the nightstand. The floor is cold under my bare feet. I'm still in the oversized shirt I sleep in, but there's no time to change.
Through the binding, I feel Croesus's emotions spike, fury, territorial rage, and underneath it all, fear.
Fear for me.
The house shudders.
It's subtle at first, just a tremor in the walls, a flicker in the golden light. But then it happens again, stronger. The floor tilts slightly beneath my feet. Somewhere in the distance, glass shatters.
The house is under attack.
I run.
The corridors shift as I move through them, but for once they're not fighting me. They're pulling me toward Croesus, toward the source of the disturbance. I can feel the house itself responding to the threat, wards activating, defenses rising, the entire pocket dimension tightening like a fist.
I round a corner and nearly collide with Nat.
He's not wearing his usual dress shirts and slacks. Instead, he's in black combat gear, and he's holding what looks like a sword made of crystallized gold. His truth-seeing eyes are blazing silver.
"Get back to your room," he says. "Lock the door. Ward it if you know how."
"What's happening?"
"Collectors." He pushes past me. "They're trying to breach the vault."
