This was wrong. This was geometrically, physically, fundamentally wrong. Her eyes couldn’t process what they were seeing. Her brain kept trying to impose normal architecture on something that refused to comply.
“What is this?”
“The truth, Ms. Feng.”
Victor stepped inside. The room’s geometry shifted around him, shelves sliding apart to create a path. Like the space recognized him. Like it had been waiting.
“The Henderson family sold their souls in 1843. Every merger since has been an attempt to recoup that loss through subsidiary acquisition.”
“Souls aren’t real.”
Even as she said it, a book flew overhead, pages fluttering like wings. It landed on a shelf three rows up and settled itself between two larger volumes with a contented sigh.
“Aren’t they?” Victor pulled a book from a nearby shelf. It fell open in his hands, pages turning themselves until they found the right entry. “Henderson versus Malphas, 1843. Josiah Henderson wagered his family’s souls against a Manhattan real estate portfolio.”
He held the book out to her.
“He lost.”
The contract was written in English, Latin, and symbols she couldn’t name. At the bottom, two signatures. One glowed ember-red:Josiah Henderson. The other burned blue-white:Malphas.
“Malphas,” she said. “Like the firm’s name.”
“Exactly like the firm’s name.” Victor closed the book. It floated back to its shelf, the other volumes shifting to accommodate it. “He’s upstairs if you’d like to discuss the matter directly.”
“Upstairs.” Her voice came from very far away. “Malphas is upstairs.”
“Third office on the left, sixty-sixth floor. You’ve passed him several times this week. Tall, thin, fingers too long for his hands?” Victor’s mouth curved slightly. “He’s particularly fond of property law.”
“The senior partner.”
“One of them.” Victor moved to another shelf. “Grimm founded this firm when Manhattan was still a trading post. He commanded legions before there were nations to command them against. Now he reviews mergers and acquisitions.”
“Grimm,” she repeated. The name felt strange in her mouth. Wrong.
“Beleth handles estates and trusts. He dances to music only he can hear, literally, Ms. Feng, not metaphorically. The music of spheres, of probability, of fate itself. He knows how things end before they begin.”
A book drifted past her shoulder. She flinched.
“And Azrael manages our litigation department.” Victor’s voice was almost casual. “He was death before death had a name. The first ending. The template all others followed.”
He set another book on the podium. It opened to show anatomical drawings: wings and tails and faces with too many eyes. Things that wore human shapes the way other people wore suits.
“They’re all demons, Ms. Feng.”
He paused.
“And Lilith was the first woman. Before Eve. She refused to submit, demanded equality, and was cast out for the sin of having a spine.” His mouth pressed into a hard line. “She’s been amongst mortals since before I came here. Unusual for someone of her rank.”
“Why?”
“That’s what concerns me.”
The room tilted. Ava grabbed the nearest shelf for support, and the wood pulsed under her palm. Warm. Alive. She jerked her hand back.
“And you?” Her voice cracked. “What are you?”
“The same.” He said it the way someone might mention their alma mater. A fact, nothing more. “I have been since before your species discovered fire.”
