Page 35 of A House of Gold
I check my reflection one more time. Yeah, I look like someone who works for an angel–which is exactly the problem–and head for the door.
The hallway is empty. Silent. I stand there for a moment, trying to remember Auric’s advice.
The house responds to intent. If you want to find something, the hallways will take you there.
I close my eyes. Take a breath.
I want to find Croesus’ office. I need to report for this assignment before he decides I’m late and does something unpleasant.
When I open my eyes, the hallway feels different. Not visually, it still looks the same, all gold walls and identical doors. But there’s that pull and direction again, like a compass needle swinging north.
I follow it.
Left. Straight. Right. Down a hallway, past more doors that all look the same. The pull gets stronger, more insistent, until I’m standing in front of a door with a gold serpent handle.
Croesus’s office? Only one way to find out.
I knock.
“Enter,” comes Croesus’s voice from inside.
I turn the handle and step inside.
He’s standing by the windows again, back to the door, hands clasped behind him. Same position as yesterday. Like he nevermoved. Like he’s been standing there since I left just waiting for me to return.
The light catches the gold in his hair, making it shimmer.
“You’re on time,” he says without turning around. “Good.”
“Your note said not to keep you waiting.”
“And you listened. Impressive self-restraint.” Now he turns, and those molten gold eyes fix somewhere near my face. “You found the clothes I provided.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Hard to miss them. They take up the entire wardrobe.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
“I’m not thrilled that you know my exact measurements, no.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “I know the value of everything I acquire, Raven, as I told you. That includes physical dimensions. It would be inefficient to provide you with clothing that didn’t fit.”
“Still creepy.”
“Noted.” He moves toward his desk, runs his fingers along the edge. Learning the space through touch instead of sight. “But you wore them anyway.”
“They were the only options available.”
He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Sit. We need to discuss your first assignment.”
I sit, and he settles into his own chair with fluid, almost otherworldly, grace.
He pulls a leather-bound folder from a drawer and sets it on the desk between us, but doesn’t open it. Just rests his hand on top of it, fingers drumming once against the leather.
“Your first assignment is relatively straightforward,” he begins. “There’s a human in New York, a man named David Barnes, age forty-two, investment banker. Three months ago, he made a deal with the House of Ruin.”
Seraph. Pride.
“What kind of deal?” I ask.
