Page 76 of A House of Gold
He turns to go, and I remember he hasn't mentioned the kiss. Hasn't said anything about what happened three nights ago in the ritual room.
Maybe it meant nothing to him, just another moment of possession, another thing he claimed because he could.
The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it does.
"Croesus."
He stops, doesn't turn around. "What kind of contract are we breaking?"
"One of mine."
That makes me pause. "You want me to break your own contract?"
"Yes." Now he does turn, and there's something in his expression I can't read. "A mistake. Something that needs correcting. You're the only one who can do it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm asking you to." His voice goes soft, dangerous. "That should be reason enough."
It's not, but I follow him anyway.
The client livesin a penthouse in Manhattan. We travel through mirrors again, which seems to be Croesus' preferred method of transportation, and emerge in a bathroom that's as beautiful as it is expensive.
"Stay quiet," Croesus says as we exit into a hallway. "Let me do the talking. You're only here to break the contract."
"Who is it?"
"Her name is Victoria Reeves. Fifty-three. Investment banker. Made a deal with me fifteen years ago." He moves through the penthouse with the ease of someone who's been here before. "She wanted wealth. I gave it to her. More than she could spend in ten lifetimes."
"What's the cost?"
He doesn't answer. Just opens a door to a study where a woman sits at a desk surrounded by screens showing stock tickers, market data, and financial reports. She's thin, too thin, with hollow eyes and shaking hands. Her suit is expensive but hangs on her frame like it's two sizes too big.
She looks up when we enter, and the hunger in her eyes is immediate and terrible.
"Lord Croesus." Her voice is hoarse. "You came. Do you have it? The thing I asked for?"
"No, Victoria. I don't." He moves closer, and I follow. "We need to talk about your contract."
"I don't want to talk. I want more." She's on her feet now, unsteady. "You promised me wealth. You gave me wealth. But it's not enough. It's never enough. I need more."
The words dig into me deep. How many times have I heard the same? I've heard every variation of them before. In my own head. In the voice of every sin I've absorbed.
Not enough. Never enough.More.
"Victoria." Croesus's voice is gentle. "When's the last time you ate?"
"I don't have time to eat. I need to work. Need to make more. Need to..." She stumbles, catches herself on the desk. "I have three billion dollars. Three billion. But it's not enough. I need ten billion. Twenty. I need all of it."
"You're dying," I say quietly.
She looks at me like she's only just realized I'm here. "Who are you?"
"Someone who's going to help you." I step closer, and I can see the chains now. Not gold or silver, pure, distilled greed. Like aged bronze. Green with wear. They wrap around her like a cocoon, sinking so deep into her soul, they've become part of her nervous system. Fifteen years of accumulated avarice, by my estimate, feeding on itself, growing like a cancer.
This is what Croesus feels. Every second of every day for three thousand years.
The realization makes me dizzy.
