Chapter 18
Croesus finds me in the library three days after I call Ash.
Maybe he did. Angels can do that, right?
"We have work," he says without preamble.
I close the ledger. "What kind of work?"
"The kind that requires your particular talents." His gold eyes are unreadable. "Get your things. We're leaving in ten minutes."
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 lives in 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.
"She doesn't want to help," Victoria says, but her voice wavers as she addresses Croesus. "She wants to steal from me. Everyone wants to steal. That's why I need more. To protect what's mine."
"I'm not going to steal from you." I crouch in front of her so we're eye level. "I'm going to break your contract. Free you from this hunger."
"No." Her hands grip the desk so hard her knuckles go white. "No, you can't. If you break it, I'll lose everything. I'll be nothing. I'll have nothing."
"You'll have yourself back." I look at Croesus. "How bad is this going to be?"
"Worse than the pride." His voice is flat. "This is fifteen years of my particular curse. Concentrated. Feeding on itself. When you absorb it–" He stops. "You'll feel what I feel. Every moment of every day. And it will try to kill you."
"Great." I turn back to Victoria. "I need you to trust me."
"I don't trust anyone."
"I know. The greed won't let you." I pull out my knife. "But you're going to have to try."
I cut my palm. Reach for her hand. She jerks away.
"Don't touch me. Don't touch what's mine."
"Victoria." Croesus moves behind her, places his hands on her shoulders. "Let her help you. Please."
The please seems to break something. She goes still, and I see tears on her face.
"I'm so tired," she whispers. "I'm so empty. Nothing fills it. Nothing ever fills it."
"I know," I say softly. "I'm going to fix it."
I take her hand. Cut her palm. Press our blood together.
And pull.
The greed hits me like drowning in razor blades.
Not a single overwhelming sensation, this is layered. Wave after wave of hunger crashing over me, each one worse than the last, building and building until I can't breathe, can't think, can't exist as anything except need.
I need more. More money. More power. More gold, more jewels, more property, more everything.
The three billion isn't enough. Will never be enough.
I could swallow the sun and still feel cold.
I could drink the ocean and still die of thirst. The hunger is a black hole with teeth, consuming everything and satisfied by nothing.
But that's just the surface.
Underneath, there's the emptiness. A void so vast and so complete that no amount of wealth could ever fill it.
Every dollar, every asset, every acquisition, it all pours into that void and vanishes like water into sand, like trying to fill a cemetery with laughter.
I'm trying to satisfy an appetite that has no bottom, no end, no possible satiation.
And underneath that, deepest of all, is loneliness.
The isolation of having everything and feeling nothing. Of being a king on a throne of ashes. Of taking and taking and taking and never once feeling satisfied, never once feeling full, never once feeling enough.
This is what Croesus feels.
This is what he's felt for three thousand years. Three thousand years of drowning in a desert of gold.
The chains break. Victoria gasps and collapses. I hear Croesus catch her, lower her to the floor gently.
But I can't focus on that because the greed is eating me alive.
I need to acquire. Need to claim. Need to take. This penthouse, it should be mine. Victoria's wealth, mine. Croesus's gold, mine. The House, the vault, the entire domain, mine mine mine...
I'm on my knees. When did I fall? My hands are on the floor, and I'm trying to hold on but there's nothing to hold onto because the greed is telling me the floor is mine, the building is mine, the city is mine, the world is mine and I need to take it, need to claim it, need to—
My fingers dig into marble like I'm trying to claw through to the foundation, to the bedrock, to the center of the earth itself. I want to swallow the world whole. "Raven." Croesus's voice cuts through the roar. "We need to go. Now."
"Can't." The word comes out choked. "Too much. Can't hold it."
"You can." His hands grip my shoulders. "You've held worse."
"No." I look up at him, and his face blurs. "No, I haven't. This is, Croesus, this is what you feel. All the time. This is..."
"I know." His jaw tightens. "And you need to survive it long enough to purge it. Can you stand?"
I can't. But the greed won't let me admit weakness.He picks me up anyway. Carries me like I weigh nothing. And the greed screams at being carried, at being vulnerable, at being in someone else's control instead of controlling everything myself.
"Put me down,” I demand.. "I can walk."
"No, you can't." He's moving fast now, through the penthouse, toward the bathroom. "You can barely breathe. Don't argue."
The mirror transition is agony. Reality bends, and the greed hates it, hates anything I can't control or claim or own.
By the time we materialize in the House of Gold, I'm shaking so hard, my teeth are chattering. But the disorientation of it helps me find a bit of myself before I’m completely consumed.
"Ritual room," I gasp.
"I know." He's already moving, striding through golden corridors that seem to shift and part for him. "Hold on. Just hold on."
I can’t. The greed is too strong. Fifteen years of Victoria's avarice plus Croesus's curse are woven through it like poison through my veins. It's trying to convince me I don't need the ritual, don't need to purge, don't need anything except to take and claim and own.
We reach the ritual room. He sets me down inside the purification circle, and I collapse immediately.
"Raven." His voice is sharp. "Look at me."
I force my eyes open. He's crouched in front of me, gold eyes blazing.
"You're going to purge this. Right now. But you can't do it alone." He pulls a knife from somewhere, his athame, I realize, different from mine. "You need my blood for this. My power. Do you understand?"
"Your blood?" The greed surges. His blood. Take it. Claim it. Mine.
"To break my contract, one this longly held by Victoria, you need me." He cuts his palm without hesitation. Blood wells up, not red like mine, but gold. Liquid gold dripping from his hand. "Your blood alone won't be strong enough. You need mine to burn this out."
"Why?" I can barely form words. "Why help me?"
"Because you're mine." His voice is fierce. "And I don't let what's mine die."
He presses his bleeding palm to the floor of the circle. The gold inlay ignites, not white flames like when I use my blood, but pure golden fire that roars up like a living thing.
"Light the candles," he orders. "Now."