Chapter 30
Silence falls as the angels read through my grandmother's research.
Silence that feels alive, weighted with centuries of power and barely restrained violence. I can hear my own heartbeat, feel the press of divine attention like heavy weight against my skin.
Seraph is the first to look up, his mirror eyes reflecting the candlelight. "Forty-seven souls. And you're certain of this pattern?"
"My grandmother was certain," I say before Croesus can answer.
Those mirror eyes fix on me. "You speak with remarkable confidence for someone who owes me a year of service. Tell me, little sin eater, do you know what I do to those who waste my time with conspiracy theories?"
"This isn't a theory." I meet his gaze, refusing to look away even though it's like staring into a mirror that judges you. "Collectors tried to erase me with void. Not capture, erase. Make it so I never existed."
Interesting. Idris's voice slides into my mind, smooth as silk. Collectors are Heaven's executioners. They either collect souls or erase them entirely. If they tried to erase you, that means someone wants you dead. Permanently.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Croesus says, his tone clipped.
"Someone is collecting angel-bloodline humans.
Someone powerful enough to hide this pattern for over a century.
Someone who killed Meredith when she discovered it.
" His gold eyes sweep across the gathered angels.
"And if they're targeting sin eaters, targeting bloodlines, then this threatens all of us. "
"Does it?" Kael speaks for the first time, his voice a low rumble. Heat shimmers in the air around him. "We lose souls occasionally. Contracts break. Humans slip through. This is nothing new."
"Forty-seven souls across seven houses over a hundred years is not 'occasionally,'" Croesus counters. "That's systematic. Organized. Someone is stealing from us."
The temperature in the cathedral drops ten degrees at the word "stealing."
Because that, I realize, is what matters to them. Not the murders. Not the conspiracy. Not even the threat to me.
Someone stole from them.
"Show me the list again." Dorian moves closer, wine glass still in hand.
His warm brown eyes scan the papers with sudden intensity.
"These dates. These locations." He looks up at Croesus.
"Three of these souls were mine. Contracts that should have been collected but.
.. weren't. I thought it was my mistake. Poor record keeping."
"Same," Lysander drawls from where he's leaning against a pillar.
His purple eyes are half-lidded, but there's nothing lazy about his attention now.
"I lost several contracts in the last fifty years.
All strong angel-blood. Vanished right before collection.
" His gaze slides to me, appraising. "I didn't realize it was part of a pattern. "
"Because we don't talk to each other," Seraph says coldly. "We compete. We steal from each other. We maintain our territories and guard our secrets." He looks at Croesus. "You're saying someone exploited that. Used our animosity against us."
"Yes."
"Clever." Idris's mental voice carries a note of grudging admiration. “Whoever orchestrated this understood us very well. They knew we'd never compare notes. Never see the pattern.Counted on it.”
"Until Meredith did," I say. "Until my grandmother served two houses, saw the discrepancies, and started asking questions."
Caspian shifts in the shadows, his cane scraping against stone. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, tired, hollow. "Which means this goes high. Very high. collectors aren't common tools. They're reserved for–"
"Archangels," Croesus finishes. "Heaven's generals. The ones who enforce divine law."
The silence that follows is different now. Heavier. Afraid.
"If archangels are involved," Seraph says slowly, "then this isn't just theft. This is a sanctioned operation. Heaven itself is collecting these bloodlines."
"But why?" Dorian sets down his wine glass. "What do they want with angel-blood humans? What purpose?"
"That's what we need to find out," Croesus interrupts. "Before they come for Raven again. Before they finish whatever they started."
"Ah yes. Raven." Lysander pushes off the pillar, saunters closer. His eyes rake over me with open appreciation. "The sin eater who's apparently important enough to kill for. Tell me, darling, what makes you so special? Besides the obvious, of course."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't know."
"She's Meredith's heir," Croesus says sharply. "She inherited the contracts. She has the same bloodline."
"She has access to all Seven Houses," Seraph cuts in, his mirror eyes sharp. "That's what makes her unique. Most sin eaters work independently. They break contracts here and there, stay under the radar. But Raven..." He tilts his head. "Raven is bound to serve each of us."
"Exactly what her grandmother was doing," Idris adds, their mental voice thoughtful. “Meredith served two houses before she died. Was she building something? Creating a connection between us?”
"And now Raven continues that work," Kael growls. "Whether she knows it or not."
The weight of their attention presses down on me like a physical thing. Seven fallen angels, all looking at me like I'm a puzzle they need to solve. Or a weapon they need to claim.
"So we protect her," Croesus says. His voice carries an edge of possession that makes my teeth clench. "We work together."
"Work together?" Seraph laughs, sharp and cold. "You mean you want us to help you keep your little sin eater safe. How noble. How uncharacteristic."
"Someone is stealing from all of us."
"Oh, I'll help." Seraph's smile is dangerous. "But let's not pretend this is purely altruistic. You want to protect her because she's yours. For now." He turns those mirror eyes on me. "But in less than a year, she'll be mine. And I guarantee I won't be as lenient as Croesus has been."
"Lenient?" Lysander laughs. "Please. Our golden lord here has been utterly besotted. Look at her, wearing his jewelry, marked with his claim. I've never seen him so possessive over an acquisition."
"She's not an acquisition." Croesus snarls.
"Isn't she?" Seraph arches an eyebrow. "A human bound by contract. That sounds like property to me."
Through the binding, I feel Croesus's fury spike. But before he can respond, Dorian speaks up, his voice gentle but firm. "The girl is standing right there. Perhaps we should stop discussing her like she's not."
"Why?" Kael's ember eyes fix on me. "She knows what she is. What she agreed to. Seven years, seven Houses, seven sins." His scarred lips curve in something that's not quite a smile. "She knew the price."
My jaw clenches. He's right. They're all right. I did know. But I wasn’t exactly given the choice to be passed between them like currency.
But knowing it and hearing them discuss it so casually are two different things.
"I'm aware of my contracts," I say, keeping my voice level. "I'm aware that after Croesus, I'll serve each of you in turn. I accepted those terms to protect my sister. That hasn't changed."
How practical. Idris purrs in my mind. No illusions. No false hope of escape. You simply accept your fate.
"I accept reality," I correct. "Which, right now, means that someone is trying to kill me, and we need to figure out why."
"She has spine," Lysander observes, his purple eyes bright with interest. "I like that. Tell me, darling, has Croesus been treating you well? I only ask because I want to know what standard I'll need to exceed when you're mine."
"When she's yours?" Croesus's voice is deadly quiet.
Seraph's smile is sharp. "You had your turn. Or you're having it, rather. But the rest of us are waiting. And we're very curious to see what you've done with her. What habits you've taught her. What scars you've left."
"I haven't left anything."
"Oh please." Seraph waves a dismissive hand.
"We can all feel the binding between you.
It's practically vibrating with your need.
You've claimed her in every way that matters.
" His mirror eyes find mine. "The question is: will she survive the transition to the next house?
Or will Croesus's possessiveness have broken something vital? "
"I'll survive," I say through gritted teeth.
"Will you?" Kael leans forward, heat rolling off him in waves. "Because I don't do gentle. I don't do patience. When you're in my house, you'll need to be strong enough to withstand fire. Literally."
"And I expect perfection," Seraph adds. "Absolute, unwavering perfection. The smallest flaw, the slightest imperfection, I'll spend a year correcting it. Reshaping you into something worthy of my attention."
"While I," Lysander says with a wink, "will simply enjoy you. Though I must say, Croesus, I didn't realize the contracts included such...intimate service." His purple eyes gleam. "Judging by the binding between you, you've been quite thorough in your claims."
"That's none of your concern," Croesus growls.
Oh, but it is. Idris's mental voice is amused. We all serve the same contracts. If the terms include binding ourselves to her, sharing essence, becoming entangled in such delicious ways... Well, I for one am very much looking forward to discovering what that entails.
"I doubt Croesus will enjoy watching that," Lysander finishes.
The binding flares with Croesus's rage. "Enough."
Why? Idris's mental voice is amused. We're simply stating facts. She owes us each a year. We're merely anticipating our turns.
"She's not a toy."
"No," Dorian interrupts quietly. "She's a sin eater.”He looks at me, those warm brown eyes sad but kind. "She's stronger than you're giving her credit for. Strong enough to serve each of us and remain herself."
"Is she?" Seraph challenges. "We'll see. In ten months, when her year with Croesus ends, I'll test that theory personally."