Chapter 23 #2
"I've been to the House of Regret many times. Usually for formal occasions, political meetings, the tedious social obligations that come with our positions." His smile is cold. "Never for theft. This will be a first. I’m kind of excited about it."
I look at him, at this angel who's planned an elaborate heist just to hurt a rival, who's dressing me up and sending me into danger for his own territorial games, who's being completely honest about using me as a weapon.
"You're terrifying," I tell him.
"I know." He offers his arm. "Shall we?"
I take it, and we step toward the mirror.
The spaces between are less disorienting this time.
Maybe because I've done it before. Maybe because the binding makes me more anchored to Croesus, harder to lose in the gray nothingness. Or maybe I'm just getting used to the feeling of reality pressing in from all sides, trying to collapse back into shape.
We walk through static and formlessness, Croesus's hand firm around mine, until shapes begin to resolve in the distance.
The House of Regret appears slowly, first as a shimmer, then as reflections, then as an actual structure that shouldn't be able to exist.
It's made of mirrors.
Thousands of them, millions maybe, fitted together into walls and towers and spires. Every surface is reflective, showing infinite versions of the spaces between, of us, of things that might or might not be real.
"Don't look too long at any one reflection," Croesus warns. "Idris's house shows you possibilities. Lives you could have lived, choices you could have made. It's easy to get lost in them."
"Sounds dangerous."
"Envy always is."
We approach a massive door, mirror-surfaced like everything else, and Croesus adjusts his mask.
"Remember," he says quietly. "We're just guests at a masquerade. Don't draw attention. Find Helena, break the contract, get back here. I'll be watching for Idris, making sure he doesn't follow you too closely."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Then improvise. You're good at that." He says it like a compliment. "But call for me if you need me." He opens the door.
Music and laughter spill out, sophisticated, elegant, the sound of people enjoying themselves. We step through into a ballroom which defies geometry.
The walls are mirrors, the floor, the ceiling, all mirrors.
Everywhere I look, I see infinite reflections of the masquerade, hundreds of guests in elaborate costumes and masks, dancing and drinking and laughing.
Chandeliers that might be real or might be reflections cast light that fractures and multiplies until the whole space glows.
And I can't tell which guests are real and which are reflections.
"Stay close for now," Croesus murmurs, his hand on my lower back. "I'll point out Helena, then we separate."
We move through the crowd, and I realize the guests are dressed in costumes that represent different lives, different possibilities.
A woman in a wedding dress dances with a man in a business suit, but her reflection shows her in rags.
A man in military uniform stands alone, but his reflection shows him surrounded by family.
Everyone here is seeing what they could have been. What they wish they were. What they envy.
"There," Croesus says, with a subtle nod toward a staircase. "Second floor, private gallery. Woman in silver."
I follow his gaze and see her, Helena Cortez, elegant in a silver gown, climbing the stairs alone. Her mask is pushed up on her head, and even from here, I can see the emptiness in her expression.
"I see her."
"Good." Croesus's hand tightens on my back briefly.
"After you break the contract, get back to the House of Gold immediately, if you can.” He presses the mirror into my hand.
“The backup supplies are in the storage room I told you about, third floor, eastern wing, behind the Narcissus tapestry. Everything you need is there."
"Why won't you be able to come to me?"
"Because once you break the contract, Idris will feel it.
He'll come looking, probably follow us back.
I'll need to stay visible, keep watch for him without drawing attention to where you are.
" His voice drops lower. "I won't be able to come to you immediately without leading him right to you.
So if something goes wrong, you'll have what you need. "
"And if he finds me anyway?"
"Use the binding to call for me. I'll come." He leans close, his breath warm against my ear. "Be careful."
Then he's gone, melting into the crowd like a ghost.
I watch him go, feeling his presence through the binding as he moves away. Then I turn and head for the stairs.
The second floor is quieter. The gallery is a long corridor lined with paintings, each one reflecting in the mirrored walls until it's impossible to tell which are originals and which are reflections.
Helena is standing in the center, staring at what appears to be a Monet, water lilies, soft blues and greens and purples, but there's nothing in her eyes. No appreciation. No joy. Just... emptiness.
"Helena," I say softly.
She turns, and for a moment, hope flickers across her face. Then it dies when she realizes she doesn't know me.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice cultured and tired. "I thought you were someone else. Someone who could help me understand." She gestures helplessly at the painting. "I used to love this. I used to see beauty here. Now it's just... colors. Shapes. I don't understand what I'm supposed to feel."
My chest aches. This is what Idris did to her. Took her ability to feel beauty and left her with only the hunger for more.
"I can help you," I say, stepping forward. "My name is Raven. I'm a sin eater. I can break your contract with Idris. I can give you back what he took."
Her eyes widen. "Break the...but that's not possible. The contracts can't be broken."
"They can. I've done it before. Let me help you."
She stares at me for a long moment. "What's the cost?"
I remember Croesus's brutal honesty and decide to follow his example.
"Your soul becomes available for collection by another house.
The House of Gold wants it. But you won't owe them anything new.
Won't have to serve. You'll be free to live your life until they decide to collect, which could be years from now, or never. "
"So I trade one angel's claim for another's?" she says slowly. "But I get to feel again?"
"Yes."
She looks at the Monet one more time. At the colors and shapes that mean nothing to her anymore.
"Do it," she says. "Please. I can't keep living like this."
I step forward and place my hands on her shoulders. Through the binding, I feel Croesus's presence somewhere below, steady, watchful, ready.
I reach out with my senses, searching for the contract. It's there, a golden thread wrapped around Helena's heart, pulsing with Idris's power. Envy given form. The need to possess, to acquire, to have what others have.
I grasp it.
The contract fights me. They always do. It doesn't want to break, doesn't want to release its hold. But I'm stronger. I pull it into myself, absorb it, let the envy flood through me.
And suddenly, I want everything. Every painting in this gallery, every dress in Helena's closet, every experience she's ever had. I want Croesus's power, Idris's beauty, the lives of every person at this masquerade. I want and want and want until the hunger feels like it's going to tear me apart.
Helena gasps. The thread breaks, andthe contract shatters.
I collapse, the envy burning through my veins like acid.
"Go," I manage, gripping the back of a chair to pull myself upright. "Leave now. Before, before Idris comes."
"Thank you," Helena breathes, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you."
She's running for the stairs, and I'm alone with the envy clawing at my insides.
I need to move. Need to get back to the House of Gold. Need to find that storage room and purge this before it consumes me.
I stumble trying to raise the mirror we came through. The envy is making everything worse. I want the walls, the mirrors, the reflections. I want to be every version of myself I see in the glass. I want lives I never lived, choices I never made.
Focus. Get home. Home?
Nothing happens when I try to move through it. Shit. He gave the mirror to me but didn’ really tell me how to use it.
I force my legs to work, stumbling down the hallway. The house's corridors are blessedly empty, everyone else is at the party, and I'm grateful for the solitude. I can barely think through the wanting, the needing, the desperate hunger for everything I see.
There, the tapestry. Narcissus staring at his reflection in a pool of water.
Behind it, the door. I push through into the storage room.
My ritual supplies are exactly where Croesus said they'd be. I sink to the floor beside them, hands trembling as I reach for the bag.
The door opens.
I look up, and Croesus is there, black suit, no mask now, moving toward me with familiar grace.
He doesn't say anything. Just closes the door quietly behind him and moves to the wall, settling against it. Watching me.
Relief floods through me. He's here. Guarding the door like he promised.
I nod at him gratefully and turn back to the ritual supplies.
I begin the ritual.
Salt in a circle around me since I don’t have an established circle. Herbs crushed and scattered, wormwood for banishing, rue for protection. Candles lit at the cardinal points. Seven white. Seven black. Seven red. The familiar motions, the familiar preparations.
I've done this dozens of times. But it never gets easier.
I take up the small knife from my supplies, press it to my forearm, and cut. Quick and clean. Blood wells up, dark and red.
The pain cuts through the envy's hold just enough for me to think clearly. To remember the words.
I begin in Latin, voice steady despite the trembling in my hands:
"Ex carne mea, te expello." From my flesh, I cast you out.