Everything is gray. Formless. The air tastes like ozone and old magic. I can feel reality pressing in from all sides, trying to collapse back into shape, and the only solid thing is Croesus' hand in mine.
"Don't let go," he says, voice bursting through the static. "And don't look too closely at anything you see. The spaces between show you things that aren't meant to be seen."
I keep my eyes on his back and try not to think about the shapes moving in my peripheral vision.
We walk for what feels like hours or minutes, time doesn't work right here, until Croesus stops in front of what looks like a door carved from living wood. It's covered in symbols I don't recognize, pulsing with faint green light.
He knocks three times.
The door opens.
"Croesus." The woman standing in the doorway is around forty, with dark skin, silver-streaked black hair pulled into a messy bun, and sharp brown eyes that assess us both in a heartbeat. There's something else about her too, a faint shimmer in her irises, a heat to her presence that speaks of demon blood somewhere in her lineage. She's wearing practical clothes, jeans, a flannel shirt, boots caked with dirt. "It's been what, fifty years?"
"Sixty-three." He inclines his head. "Wren. Thank you for seeing us on short notice."
"Short notice?" She laughs. "You sent word three hours ago and expected me to drop everything. Lucky for you, I was between projects." Her eyes land on me. "And this must be the sin eater you mentioned. The one with a watcher problem."
"Raven Vesper," I say, offering my hand.
She takes it, her grip strong and warm. "Wren Lindsay. Come in, both of you. Let's see what we're dealing with."
Her home is interesting.
The door opens into a cottage that shouldn't be able to exist in the gray nothingness of the spaces between. But here it is, cozy, lived-in, with wooden floors and a fireplace crackling with real flames. Herbs hang from the ceiling to dry. Books line every available surface. A fat orange cat watches us from a sunny windowsill, though there's no sun here.
"Ignore Pumpkin," Wren says, closing the door behind us. "He's judgmental but harmless."
The cat meows like he disagrees.
"Sit." She gestures to a worn couch. "Tea?"
"Please," I say, because I'm still shaking from the journey through the between.
Croesus remains standing, but I sink onto the couch gratefully. Wren moves around a small kitchen, putting akettle on a stove that probably runs on magic, pulling down mismatched mugs.
"So," she says, not looking at us. "Watchers. That's a problem you don't see every day. How'd you piss off Heaven?"
"By existing," I say. "Apparently, that's enough."
"Must be some existence." She brings over three mugs of tea that smells like chamomile and something sharper. Sits in an armchair across from us. "Croesus said you're researching angelic curses. That you're a sin eater with angel blood serving all seven houses. And that your grandmother was killed for asking the wrong questions."
"That about sums it up." The idea of my grandmother being murdered is still something I haven’t fully grasped, but now isn’t the time to get into it.
"Ballsy. I like it." She takes a sip of tea. "Your grandmother came to me, you know. About six months before she died. Wanted protective wards. I told her the same thing I'm going to tell you: wards can hide you, but they can't save you if Heaven really wants you dead."
My chest tightens. "She was here?"
"Twice. Once for wards. Once for information about old rituals." Wren's expression softens. "She was brilliant. Cold as winter, but brilliant. I'm sorry she's gone."
"Did she say why she needed the wards?"
"She said she was looking into something dangerous. Something that could change everything or destroy her trying. I got the sense she knew she was playing with fire." Wren looks at Croesus. "And now you're asking me to ward her granddaughter. History repeating itself."
"With better protection this time," Croesus says. "I'm asking for something more."
"A binding." Wren sets down her tea. "You want me to tether her to the House of Gold. Make her part of your domain sothoroughly that watchers can't touch her without declaring war on you directly."
"Yes."
