Nell snorted. “I think it’s done with us.”
“Rude.” Goldie mumbled. “I knew I should’ve taken the chance to ask about Mr. Lyle’s sexual preferences.”
Nell shrieked. “I’m sorry, do youwantto open a portal of existential horror and have the Cenobites come crawling out of the Lustrum? Because whatever his freak is, it’s that. Hellraiser sex kink, unlocked. You’ll probably make it happen just by asking about it. You have a death wish.”
“Apparently.” Goldie flung an arm over her eyes. “Because I’m sleepwalking, and the building has decided it’s going to stop helping me try to figure outwhy!”
Another soft pulse sighed through the apartment. Both women groaned in unison.
Goldie grabbed the wine box. “I’m done. No more thinking tonight.”
Nell tipped her head back against the couch. “Fine. Do you want to sleep over? I can get Sig to throw a ward on the door so you don’t wander off in the middle of the night. Then, tomorrow, we can figure out a better solution until we know who, or what, the building thinks should be following you.”
Theyes-doors opened and shut firmly enough to rattle the potted fern next to them.
Goldie and Nell turned as one to glare at the walls.
“I’m mad at you,” Goldie told the plaster firmly. Then, grudgingly: “Thanks, anyway, for what youwereable to tell me.”
The floor gave a soft, almost apologetic pulse. Warm air drifted through the room, brushing over their cheeks like a sighing exhale.
Goldie scowled into her wine. “Don’t think you can butter me up.”
The radiator ticked once, sounding gently amused.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The law office was, by human measure, elegant. A polished walnut desk gleamed beneath the lazy whirl of a ceiling fan. Leather chairs were polished to a muted sheen, their cushions smooth and supple. Brass lamps threw warm pools of light across shelves lined with immaculate volumes.
Splice stood in the center of it all like a fracture in the veneer. He could feel the façade straining around him. Beneath the parquet floors, the fevered pulse of the land throbbed.
Three lawyers huddled at the desk, their collars already damp, their hairlines shining. Paperwork spilled in tidy stacks that trembled whenever Splice’s vines twitched at his collar.
“For the twentieth time,” he said, voice grinding low, “no.”
A lawyer wearing a red tie winced as Splice pushed aside yet another document. Thin things, but each page coiled with a binding as sharp as any thorn. Human language wrapped around his god’s name like chains.
“You must sign to acknowledge receipt,” the red-tied lawyer insisted, dabbing furiously at his brow. “The transfer is automatic. It has already occurred. All we require is?—”
Splice slammed his palm flat on the desk. The lamp rattled, its chain clinking against the brass shade.
“What I require,” he roared, “is to reject this inheritance. I was not present at its making. Mycor was not present. How can this bind what was never consulted?”
A second lawyer, thin and austere in a grey-and cream houndstooth jacket, raised a finger as though lecturing a classroom. “The will does not strictly state that rejection is possible. You would need to name an inheritor of your own. That is the only permissible route.”
“Then let it return to the Trust,” Splice snarled.
Another lawyer, a neat little goblin in a pinstripe vest, shook his head. “Impossible. Truckenham’s clause forbids it. The Trust cannot reclaim the majority share under any condition. That stipulation was baked into the original charter, as a contingency against… well.” He coughed delicately. “Against rivalries.”
Splice’s vines writhed at his throat, snapping against his skin. “You speak in circles. Show me this clause. Now.”
The sweaty lawyer mopped his brow, eyes darting. “We can’t. It’s classified.”
“Classified?” Splice surged forward, towering over the desk. “My god withers, and you clutch your files as though they will keep your walls from cracking?”
“It’s not—” the red-tied lawyer stammered, his knuckles white around his fountain pen. “We’re not keeping this information from you to be difficult. It’s simply how the documents are structured.”
