I would have recognized the terrifying woman anywhere after our prior. Her countenance was just as severe as I recalled, a smirk playing at her red lips, nails tapping a slow, patient rhythm against the desk's top. She sat, a well-satisfied tyrant perched atop her empire, and watched with undisguised amusement as we approached.
Lavender flashed in her black eyes.
That's when it occurred to me. Grace Amoroth was the Sin of Lust. This was her office. Her building. The dread I felt chilling my bones was the burden of her power clawing at whoever found themselves in her immediate proximity. This was an otherworldly creature commanding billions in monetary wealth, a woman who could collapse the world's economy overnight and destroy millions of lives if it suited her mood.
Next to her, hostile and antagonistic Darius was woefully outclassed.
This woman was a Sin. A Sin not bound to me. A woman that just might crush my spine under her designer pumps if she didn't like what Darius and I had to say.
Ms. Amoroth tilted herself from the plush leather of her seat to move around the desk and lean her weight upon it. "Darius," she drawled. The violet color refused to fade from her eyes as she stared at the Sin of Pride. She crossed her arms and glanced at me. Her brow rose. "And Sara Gaspard of IMOR Advances. What a surprise."
Darius glared at the both of us. "You know her?" he demanded, his voice so rough I quickly shook my head before he could misunderstand.
"No. I met her at a—event, for IMOR. I didn't know she was...was...." I swallowed, unable to give voice to the word. I hadn't occurred to me, not even in my most muddled theories and considerations.
"A Sin, Ms. Gaspard. I am a Sin, as you no doubt know by now." The woman came closer, swaying on her stilettos, the material of her indigo pantsuit contoured to the sharp angles and curves of her body. "I wouldn't have guessed I'd see you in my office, let alone with such interesting company." The words she spoke were cordial enough, but the sarcasm dripped from her tone like toxic bile. "But where are my manners? Please, have a seat."
She slid her hand between Darius and me to take my arm before either of us could object. My face paled as I felt the strength present in her single hand. It was as if the woman had wrapped a vice over my forearm and not a slim set of feminine fingers.
The Sin brought me to a seat and I took it without complaint. I felt Darius shift behind the chair instead of taking the one at my side. The woman balanced her hip on the lip of the desk, standing close enough to touch if I were so inclined. Darius' hand rested on my shoulder. The air was frigid, the weight of the Sin's scrutiny like a swallowed ice cube sinking and burning the depths of my gut. Why did Darius bring me here? I didn't like being brought to this woman's attention. It wasn't a positive thing.
"So, what brings you Klau Incorporated, hmm?"
I took a breath and told myself my anxiety was unfounded. Yes, Amoroth was terrifying—but so was the menace skulking at my back. I had to trust Darius in this, at least to an extent, and though I found him unpredictable, I had to believe he wouldn't allow the other Sin to do anything...unpleasant.
While I was relaying these thoughts through my mind, sitting with a blank expression plastered on my face, Ms. Amoroth watched without speaking and her smirk took on a decidedly cruel mien. Darius grunted and moved so I could hear the rustle of his jacket's leather sleeves folding. "Amoroth—."
The Sin of Lust snarled at Darius—snarled with bared teeth and curled, feral lips—silencing Darius and nearly scaring me half to death. "I will not speak with you," she spat as her hands balled into small fists, the color in her eyes liquid and vibrant. How could I have ever mistaken this creature for a human woman? "You will do well to hold your tongue, bastard."
I winced as Darius' fingers applied mounting pressure to my collarbone. Ah. So this was why Darius required my presence.
"You're about to break your mortal's arm."
Darius' grip relaxed, then disappeared entirely.
Amoroth bent her neck and edged nearer. I flinched, and internally swore at myself for being so ridiculous. "Now, now, Ms. Gaspard, I'm nothing to be afraid of. Unlike that thing over there, I'm not a brute." Smug, she crossed her arms, eyes on Darius. She said she didn't want to speak to the other Sin, yet Amoroth wasn't above taunting him. "You came here to ask something, no? Ask what you will of me."
My mouth was so dry with dread I couldn't find my voice. "We wanted to ask...about the details of what goes into a ritual calling. What one would need to be successful in summoning a Sin."
Amoroth's brow rose again. "Why would you—." She was looking at Darius again, and the smile sprawling across her lips was nothing short of delighted. "Oh, how priceless. You don't know, do you? The Original Sin of Pride, he who goeth first—ignorant as a mewling human babe." She tossed back her head and let out a lingering chorus of laughter. "Ah, and here you are, in my city, forced to come crawling to me. How perfect."
Darius said nothing, but tiny crystals of ice were forming in my breath and frost nipped my backside.
"Your city?" I asked in hopes of distracting Amoroth before she could goad Darius further. Call me stupid, but it had been my idea to approach another Sin to ask for this information, and despite Darius' reluctance, he had arranged this meeting. I almost felt...guilty for subjecting him to the other Sin's taunting. I didn't understand their relationship, but Amoroth was visibly hostile.
"Yes, of course my city." Amoroth swept her arm out as if to encompass the entirety of the rain-clad valley beyond her windows. "I have been cultivating and building Verweald for the past forty years. You don't truly believe your kind could construct a mecca like this in such a short amount of time, do you? Verweald is mine. I am its master, and I will allow no one to taint its streets." Her final words were yet another jab toward the Sin of Pride.
My God. The woman was not exaggerating; she thought Verweald was hers, and I couldn't help but believe her. I knew of four Sins, and of those four, Amoroth and Daniel were obscenely rich and influential amongst my kind, while Balthier commanded enough power to make the rest of his kin tremble. They mocked Darius. Darius, who was starving for energy and short-tempered to a fault, a Sin out of touch with humankind and the supernatural world, a Sin who slept on my sofa. Imagine if I'd formed a contract with a creature like Amoroth! The information she would have access to! I didn't need knowledge of Amoroth's personality or character to recognize her as a capable woman and an efficacious Sin.
I dropped my gaze to my knees as I frowned.
"Oh, I think she just realized what a wreck you are, Darius. Have you been misleading the poor mortal? Lofting your title as 'original,' hmm? Did you tell her where you were for the past forty years—?"
"Amoroth." Darius' voice was hushed, the uttered name blaring audible warning.
"Ms. Amoroth," I interrupted as I shivered from the cold. "The information I asked about?"
Amoroth pursed her lips and leaned to the side again, bringing herself closer to me. "Why, of course. I do know the information you seek. Most Sins would, after all. Maybe not Danyel, but he is only a child." She chuckled, the sound harsh. "The real question is, Ms. Gaspard, what information will you give me in exchange?"
"Exchange?"
"Of course. Did you think I would help you from the goodness in my little black heart?" She touched her chest to highlight her point. "Dear, I may be a Sin, but I am also a female executive in a world that spits upon the professional woman. In other words; I don't barter what I know or have for free." Amoroth extended her hand toward me, two fingertips pressing themselves under my chin to tip my eyes upward. "Why do you want this information?"
I hesitated, and she saw. The blunted edge of her fingernails gently scratched my skin.
"We want to figure out who was trying to summon one. One of you."
"Hmm." Amoroth didn't sound satisfied. The narrow slant of her eyes attested to that—but the hand on my person retracted, and the Sin straightened as she paced her desk's perimeter to the window. "There are five main ingredients which go into a ritual calling, the quality of which can and will vary." She held up a hand while her back remained turn, her fingers splayed. "These ingredients are; a celestial occurrence, blood, the name of Sin, a higher species, and—naturally—a soul." As she enumerated her list, Amoroth ticked her fingers. "The celestial occurrence is what powers the call. It's what grants the summoner the proper energy to send forth their call. It's one of the only ambient magics to exist in Terrestria. The grander the celestial occurrence, the greater the energy granted. Eclipses, full moons, comets, meteor showers, and any variation there within can count as the required celestial occurrence. Sunset and sunrise are celestial occurrences, but they do not generate enough energy.
"Blood opens the door. The more extraordinary the blood, the more...intriguing it can be. Or, it can have a perverse effect. Some of our kind have been known to ignore callings when they sense the bloodbath behind them. Dealing with such irresponsible or manic people can be so taxing. As such, the amount of blood is immaterial. A drop or a pint can be provided. It is simply something that opens the door and provides a taste, if you will, for the intended Sin.
"Of course, the name of the Sin is required—old or current, though a current name is more effective. The call is impossible without a name and intent. You could slather the world in all the blood you want, but if your sacrifice is made without a name, how in the world would the Sin know it was intended from him?
"The presence of a higher species provides the pathway to the opened door. Many people who attempt ritual callings overlook this ingredient, which is why most callings fail. It's hardly creative, now is it? The chosen member of the higher species—you would simply label them as supernatural—is another point of intrigue for the intended Sin. Typically, combined with the blood and the sacrifice, it gives us an idea of whom we will be dealing with. If a mage is present, some of us will not answer. Too risky. A witch? Too irenic for some, perfect for others, depending on the coven. The higher or more unusual the species, the more likely we are to answer. To have a Valian present would almost certainly warrant investigation, or curiosity. Most summoners who do include this ingredient try to compensate for a lackluster presence with their sacrifice.
"The sacrifice is the soul promised to the intended Sin, the final ingredient in a ritual calling. It is the most important piece of the calling." Amoroth lowered her arm, bracing her hands together behind her back as she watched the rain paint spastic patterns on the glass. "The summoner can promise one soul—or many. He can promise his own, or he can give the Sin another. If the Sin accepts the soul, it is what binds the contract between host and Sin. Different souls entice different Sins. For example, I am not a bloodthirsty beast, unlike some of my kind. If I were to answer a ritual calling, I would prefer the sacrifice to be the soul of my host, not an unwilling third party. It presents too many...variables, variables I haven't the inclination to explain to you." Amoroth sighed. She returned to the desk, the clack of her heels loud in the silence as she took her seat. "Well, then. I've given you everything you have asked of me, correct? But, I must tell you, Ms. Gaspard, if you wish to find out who was attempting a ritual calling, the easiest solution is to ask the intended Sin." She steepled her fingers, her eyes hooded and smile barbed. "Why don't you ask?"
Her question was a sound one. After all, it had been what I had first questioned Darius about. "It's not possible," I replied, fighting the urge to drop my gaze. The Sin wasn't fooled by my bravado.
"Oh? Well, there are other ways. I could, perhaps, share that information with you." Her teeth glimmered, and the frost had begun to ice the droplets smacking the windows. I could hear the crawling screech scratching its way inward from the window's extremities. "If you tell me which of my sordid brethren was being called."
"Why does it matter?"
"Because, this is my city, Ms. Gaspard. My city. My territory, and I already see one intruder behind you." The Sin flicked her hair back from her face. "Danyel passes through from time to time, which I accept as he pays tribute and it's part of his assumed identity—but the others? Oh no, Ms. Gaspard. The others are not welcomed to play here. I wish to know who was invited to visit without my permission."
I looked for Darius, unsure of what I should say. The Sin of Pride had warned me not to mention Envy's name. Amoroth could—and most likely would—go to him out of fear and tell the monster we were asking questions about his presence in the city. It was nigh impossible to imagine Amoroth scared of anything, but I believed in Darius' assertion.
"No, Ms. Gaspard. Don't look at him. Answer me."
My neck twisted forward, and Balthier's name leaped to my lips as if it were only natural for it to be there. Amoroth's words wound sticky, needling threads through my mind, tempting me, urging me. I wanted to tell her. Everything in my being wished for nothing but to avoid eye contact with Darius and to tell the Sin of Lust everything she wanted to know.
Did she...did she use the Tongue of the Realm on me?! Realizing this, some semblance of control returned to my vocal cords, and I clenched my jaws shut until the muscles trembled. Such an underhanded thing to do. Had Darius ever done this to me without my knowledge?
The gentle prodding of Amoroth's words became sharper until I balked at the stinging pain behind my eyes. My thoughts frazzled, tainted by Amoroth's invading will and an implacable, seeping darkness that thrust itself between my freewill and the Sin's persuasion. It felt...alien, but warm, soothing, a palpable shield between her desires and mine.
What was that?
As I glared and said nothing—having a private battle within my own head—Amoroth frowned.
"Enough!" If the power of Amoroth's language was an enticing, slinking tide cajoling me into its drowning waters, then Darius' language was a tidal wave affording no other option but to succumb to the abyss. I gasped as it swept through my thoughts, shredding Amoroth's will to smithereens as the Sin leaned over my chair and slammed his fist onto the desk. The wood buckled. "It was Envy."
Amoroth paled, her sneer fading. It seemed the female Sin was finished with her petty game, as she spoke directly to Darius. "What do you mean Envy?"
"I mean they attempted to summon Balthier, Amoroth."
Her eyes rounded and her fingers danced along the spider-web of cracks on the desktop. "W-what—why would you look for anyone trying to summon him?" Her panic vanished and her voice resumed its whip-like tone, hands stilling. "My God, the Baal really did break you, didn't he? Why else would you be doing this again?"
Again?
I didn't understand what she meant by that. The question irritated Darius to no end as the ice swept higher on the windows, blossoming in intricate patterns. I would have been frozen, if not for the inferno of Darius' presence just behind my seat. "Just give us something we can use, Amoroth."
Amoroth's mouth puckered. "It's obvious, or so I would have thought. If you can't ask the Sin, you find the witness; the non-human presence. Knowing the Sin who was being summoned and the location of the summoning, you can rule out several options. Balthier would not answer the summons of a mage, not that there should be any skulking about my city. I doubt any of the Syndicate would participate in such a ritual anyway. There are a den and a coven within the city's borders, and a rather withered síhde hovel somewhere out in the county limits. If I were you—and thank Christ I'm not—I would think I should begin looking for that den, hmm?"
I had no idea what she meant by that, but Darius didn't question her, so I rose, thinking our business concluded. I peeked at Darius and found him yet standing behind the chair, the chill still pronounced in the roomy office.
"Tell me something else, Amoroth," the Sin said, his gaze not quite meeting the woman's.
"What?"
"How long would it take for a wound inflicted by a Sin to heal on a mortal?"
I knew Darius was speaking of the stubborn wound in my side, though I was uncomfortable with him telling the other Sin about it. She would remember that tidbit of information and add it to the catalog of my other weaknesses.
Amoroth exhaled a short bark of laughter. "Why? Did you hurt your little host here?"
"By the Pit, Amoroth—," Darius' anger rose. Amoroth waved him off, continuing.
"It should heal normally, unless the wound was inflicted with the intention of killing the mortal. I may think less of you than you deserve, Darius, but even you should know a Sin's killing blow is tainted with liminal magic. In the almost none existent chance that a mortal escapes a Sin's death blow, the resulting injury won't heal. It will persist until it kills the victim."
That was not what I wanted to hear. Was Balthier's wound killing me? My hand cupped my side, teeth digging into my inner cheek until the tissue bled. I'd already acknowledged the inevitability of my death, but I hadn't considered this. Would Balthier's wound kill me before Darius ever found the cult?
Amoroth tracked the motion of my hand as it settled over my wound. Her eyes flickered. "Listen to me, Gaspard; Balthier may be a devastating, twisted monster—but his threat is distant to the one hovering at your backside. Darius is an effete, corrupted fool of Sin clinging to an outdated appellation he's never deserved or lived up to. They struck his name from the annals of history, and do you know why? Because he is the Betrayer. The consummate liar. He is far more unstable and dangerous than Balthier ever will be."
A crack appeared in the window behind Amoroth, the sound of glass shifting a sudden scream in the silence. I couldn't even exhale before Darius was across the room and at Amoroth's throat. Having expected his reaction, Amoroth moved with quick precision, snatching a slender letter opener from underneath an assortment of spilled envelopes. She didn't so much as stab Darius as allow his own momentum to drive the dull blade into his gut.
I yelped and Darius shouted, his arm outstretched for Amoroth despite his stumbling step. The other Sin flitted several yards away, her stance aggressive and knees bent in preparation as Darius ripped the blade from his middle with no hesitation, slinging a fine line of red across the stone floor. From one breath to the next, he was on Amoroth again, his lips curved to bear an ugly grimace of white teeth while the bloody letter opener remained in hand. They swung together in a liquid motion, their movements blurred as my eyes were unable to track their lightning progress.
Despite her scathing remarks and his apparent starvation, Amoroth was not stronger than Darius—but she was much slower and physically weaker than the Sin of Pride. A mere second into the confrontation, Darius slammed Amoroth against one of the windows and the glass cracked. The resulting blow shook the building, the vibration of it settling in my teeth, dissipating into the floor below. Darius braced his forearm against Amoroth's throat, holding the Sin several inches over the floor as he pointed the bloody letter opener toward her open eye.
"I have tolerated your blithe, disrespectful attitude, but you have overstepped, Amoroth. Cuxiel's favoritism will only get you so far," Darius hissed as he shook with the force of his rage. Amoroth chocked, her white, manicured nails digging into Darius' arm. "I am Original. I have existed since time immemorial and will exist still when you're little more than dust, you fifth-born plebeian. Touch my host, and know my fury."
Darius breathed loud and insistent in the answering quiet, and storm's thunder continued sweeping through Verweald, blood spattering the floor. Darius' shoes were covered. Without warning, he released Amoroth and she landed on her heels with a clatter, coughing. The letter opener bounced on the floor several feet away.
Amoroth rubbed her throat as she eyed the streaks of red ruining the clean fabric of her suit. Ignoring Darius despite the clear and ominous threat of his presence, Amoroth turned to her desk and found a tissue in her pocket as she walked away. "Always a pleasure, Darius," she retorted, dabbing at the stain. "Gaspard."
Darius was already striding to the elevator, leaving me to flow after him. I caught Amoroth's eye as I went, her irises brilliant with unforgiving color. He is far more unstable and dangerous than Balthier ever will be. Her words resonated in my thoughts, foreign and intrusive, but intractable, an unwelcome squatter feeding my niggling doubt.
Who was Darius, really? Just who had I invited into my life, into my home? Just who had I promised my soul to?