“I need information.”
“Everyone does.” He stepped aside, gesturing them in with one enormous hand. “Come. Let’s discuss what you need to know, and what you’re willing to trade to learn it.”
The library inside defied architecture.
Shelves stretched into infinity in every direction, curving up walls that had no ceiling, spiraling into distances that shouldn’t fit inside any building. Books floated past like schools of fish: some bound in leather, others in fabric that seemed to breathe, a few in materials Ava couldn’t identify at all.
The air smelled like old paper and something else. Something that wasn’t quite incense, wasn’t quite ozone, wasn’t quite anything she’d ever encountered.
Samael flourished his fingers and a set of plump armchairs manifested from thin air, arranged around a low table that appeared a moment later.
“Sit, please. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Ava lowered herself into the nearest armchair. It adjusted itself to her exact shape, molding around her like it had known her body her whole life. The comfort was so perfect it unsettled her more than if it had been full of nails.
“Peterson Holdings,” Samael said, settling into his own chair with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere very old. “Oh, that’s an ancient trap. Vicious work.”
“You know about it?”
“My dear child, I know about most things.” He gestured, and a book drifted down from the shelves above: thick, boundin something that might have been leather but moved slightly under the light. “Your parents were caught fifteen years ago. A loan for a restaurant renovation, they thought. But the binding went much deeper than money.”
“Binding?”
“Blood magic. Very old. Older than the firm that administers it.” He opened the book, showing her a page covered in symbols she didn’t recognize. “Nine generations forward, nine generations back. Everyone connected to your parents by blood, past and future, claimed by the same power that holds them.”
The number landed. “That’s eighteen generations of people.”
“Yes. Your grandparents. Your children, should you have them. Their children. Their children’s children.” He said it almost admiringly, the way a craftsman might appreciate another’s work. “Quite the collection of souls.”
“Serve who?”
Samael’s smile widened. “Now that’s an interesting question.”
“You know. Don’t you.”
“I know many things, Ava Feng.” He closed the book. It vanished, absorbed back into the library. “The question is what such knowledge is worth to you.”
She met his ancient eyes. “What do you want?”
“Something precious.” He leaned back, studying her with patient attention. “I can tell you who truly binds your family. Show you how the magic works. How it might be undone.” His voice remained warm, reasonable. “But I don’t traffic in favors or gold. I collect moments. Beautiful ones.”
“What kind of moments?”
“Your eighth birthday.” His smile was gentle, almost kind. “The afternoon your grandmother gave you that pendant.”
Ava’s hand went automatically to the jade at her throat. Still warm from her skin. Still present. But suddenly, terribly vulnerable.
“I’ve glimpsed it,” Samael continued. “The warmth of her kitchen. Flour on your hands from making dumplings together. The way she laughed when you got more on yourself than in the bowl. The words she said when she clasped the chain around your neck.” His eyes were soft. “Such a lovely thing. Such a perfect moment of unconditional love.”
“And you want to take it from me.”
“I want to keep it safe.” He tilted his head, considering her. “I’m a collector, Ava. Beautiful things belong in beautiful places. You’d still know she gave you that gift. You’d know it was your eighth birthday. You just wouldn’t remember how it felt. The warmth. The love. The flour on your fingers.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.” He watched her with ancient patience. “But you’d have what you need. The name behind the binding. The way out. Your family, freed.”
Ava thought about her parents. Her mother’s panicked texts that kept coming, no matter how many times she said she was handling it. Her father, who’d worked eighteen-hour days for thirty years to build something his children could inherit, now trying to understand legal documents designed to destroy him.
