Whispers filled my restless dreams.

I stood in my living room—or what I assumed to be my living room, given how the walls didn't quite match my recollection of them, too tall in places and too short in others, and I had never seen such strange patterns in the ceiling before. Whorls of color pulsed and faded, iridescent in the vision's gray-scale rendition, interspersed with oblique shapes like broken mirror shards caught, spiraling slowly.

I followed them with my gaze. White light poured against my back where the window should look out on the yard. Nothing but oblivion waited there now.

"I'm...asleep." My breath curled from my mouth in white puffs as I spoke and waved a hand, watching how the edges blurred indistinct and wavering. I knew I was asleep—and yet, I couldn't recollect a time I'd ever dreamed so lucidly, if this malformed half-world could be considered "lucid."

When did I fall asleep? Why was I seeing this?

In the deeper shadows thrown by the bulbous, disproportioned furniture, something stirred and hummed a low, resonating note that echoed in the crushing silence. The Sin of Pride leaned forward from his place on my armchair, the white, corrosive light harsh upon his severe face, and he apparently didn't see me because no acerbic, biting comment came. Instead, the demon stared ahead, unseeing, deep lines marring his brow.

He shifted. His eyes were the only constant color in the otherwise bleak, turgid space—and they glowed a brilliant blue.

"...Darius?" I said aloud, and though I heard my own voice echo, he didn't react.

Shadows thickened, bunching and pulling apart at the edges like thick curtains to admit a towering figure into the room. The darkness didn't quite leave his frame, holding him back, and as I watched, the light rippled and moved upon the hard, smooth planes of his face. There was an eerie, off-putting perfection to his complexion and the symmetry of his features, and not a single mark blemished his skin aside from the dark smudges under his eyes.

Those eyes looked like dying suns hung in an otherwise starless sky.

Breathing past the sudden lump tightening my throat, I struggled to say something—anything—as the looming man—creature, monster, towering, unearthly titan with clawed hands and a mouth of sharp teeth—reached for the Sin of Pride and—.

"Darius!" I shouted, and still the Sin didn't react—but the creature did. The terrifying man whirled about and met my gaze. His eyes widened, and the vision fell to pieces.

I woke with a choked gasp, sucking in great, lung-straining gulps of air. Perspiration dripped from my temples and clung in a sickly sheen to my trembling arms. My bedroom was dark, but early, pre-dawn light sat patiently upon the windowsill, waiting to mature, the air warm, humid. Tara's cat sat on the spare pillow, and his eyes rested on my face, tail moving from side to side with all the assurance of a metronome.

What had that been? Who had that been? The sheets laid twisted into malformed lumps at my feet. What had happened? Where was Darius—?!

The bedroom door creaked open, and the Sin himself stood at the threshold, leaning a solitary shoulder on the frame as the glow of lights left lit in the living room cast his body in silhouette. "Sara?"

It had been nothing. Darius was whole and unplagued by any fanged aberration, irritation riding his sleep-roughened voice. I must have woken him when I panicked, I thought as I rubbed a damp palm against my thundering chest. It was nothing but a nightmare.

Wordless, I collapsed into my pillow and once more drifted into an uneasy slumber.

I rose groggy and ill-tempered a few hours later, my hair lank and unmanageable about my head, mood soured by restless sleep and a sore, aching wound. I tugged on a skirt and a rumpled blouse, throwing a cardigan over the top, then shuffled my way into the living room, dragging both my feet and my purse behind me. I found the Sin in the living room, perched like a gargoyle in the armchair, and the image took my breath away.

That dream, I thought. What was that dream?

Darius shifted his attention from the front window to me, scowling, and I forgot the dream in lieu of reality. "I have decided to arrange a meeting with the Sin of Lust for later this evening," he said, dropping his feet to the rug so he could sit in a normal manner. "Be prepared. The experience will not be pleasant."

Considering I'd met two Sins aside from Darius—Danyel and Balthier—and neither experience had been pleasant, I doubted meeting the Sin of Lust would be any less grueling. Sighing, I dug into my purse until I found my absconded pain medication and popped one of the white pills into my mouth, swallowing.

"Fine. When should I be back?"

"I will go to your place of work and we will leave from there."

I adjusted my arm and glanced at my watch. "I don't understand why I have to go with you." Though indelibly curious about the otherworld, meeting another Sin sounded dangerous, and I really could go without the experience. "Wouldn't things be better if I wasn't there?"

"Your presence will be required." Darius leaned forward and thumbed through the paperbacks stacked on the coffee table, tossing aside the volumes he disliked until he chose one he preferred. "Until then."

I huffed, fist balanced on my hip as I prepared myself for an undoubtedly fruitless argument, but Darius cut my words short.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Sara? Somewhere away from me?"

I was running late, and this argument already tired me. "Don't push your luck, creature."

"I wouldn't dream of it, girl."

The day continued in the same, typical manner most days did. I drove into the city, meandered with the crowd of caffeinated office workers, and arrived at my quiet desk in IMOR's cold lobby. I answered the phone, greeted visitors with my usual baring of teeth, and attempted to forget the presence of a murderous cult lurking somewhere out in the city in which I lived. I tried to forget about the monster they'd unleashed, and I tried to forget about Tara and her final, tremulous cry for her sister's help.

I had some success, though an intermittent bout of melancholy overtook me in the late afternoon, and when rain clouds hovered over Verweald, I abandoned my desk for the window and stood at the tinted panes to watch the drops splatter upon the glass.

I exhaled, lost in thought, and my breath fogged the barrier separating me and the outside world.

"I don't pay you to weather watch, Ms. Gaspard." Mr. Eoul stood at my back, hands folded before himself, expression stern.

"No, of course not, Mr. Eoul. I was just—."

"You just weren't working." His chest swelled with anger, his face gaining color. "Your attitude has been less than impressive. I don't know what personal issues are affecting your recent productivity, but this isn't promising, Sara."

"No, sir." I bowed my neck, but felt a creeping, alien heat balance itself upon my tongue, wanting to lash out. I'd thought I'd been managing myself well in light of everything, but apparently not.

"We at IMOR Advances pride our company on our impeccable presentation and hold ourselves to a certain standard of excellence our customers and vendors have come to expect. In this competitive industry, IMOR Advances survives by proving itself to be an exemplary manufacturer of the newest, most cutting-edge technologies. Even our receptionists are expected to display these necessary traits. Do you understand, Ms. Gaspard?"

"Yes, Mr. Eoul."

"Be sure you remember, then. I will see you tomorrow." The CEO gathered his briefcase and headed for the revolving doors, where another balding wreck of a board member waited for him. I heard them exchange some choice remarks before exiting the building, and I threw an uncomplimentary hand gesture at my boss's back. Recalling the numerous surveillance cameras littered in the lobby's steel rafters, I retracted my arm and stuffed the hand into my pocket as I grumbled about insensitive rich men and their two-faced employee relations. I was being unfair to Mr. Eoul. His job included keeping jaded, uncooperative employees such as myself in line, but I could still be pissed off and ungracious. Once Darius found the cult and we began our methodical eradication, I wouldn't have long left in this world. I deserved to be indignant.

"Receptionist," I grated, glaring at the pricey cars of managers and executives clogging the avenue. They were done for the day and on their way home. "I'll show you, receptionist—."

"Such language," Darius drawled, stepping up so his arm brushed my own, amusement quirking the corner of his lips when I flinched. I hadn't heard him arrive. "What violence exactly are we threatening?"

"Nothing," I retorted as I fidgeted with my sweater's cuffs. Darius's eyes—black again, hidden by his sunglasses—followed the direction of my attention out the window. "Your eyes are dark. Did you need to get something to eat before we, er, speak with your acquaintance?"

"No. After. Though, you should consider replenishing your food stores."

"It's called buying groceries, but yes, I will."

I collected my possessions from my cluttered desk, passing the Sin a partially eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'd managed to wrangle up for my lunch. Darius ate without question as we left IMOR, slipping into the evening crowd, the rain coming faster, thrumming upon the spread umbrellas drifting above the sea of migrating workers. The cool droplets to splattered on my upturned face as I spared a thought for the umbrella I'd abandoned in my car's backseat.

"Sara." Darius caught my sleeve, halting my progress. I'd been careening toward the crowded parking structure while Darius had stepped aside to the curb, and so he pulled me into his side as he tossed a lazy gesture across the blocked street. "We're going there."

There?

Across the way, the headquarters of Klau Incorporated stood as indomitable as ever, rain sluicing from the obsidian monolith, the top blurred by a cloud's bulging belly. Two uniformed men flanked the doors, both grim-faced and tolerant of the rain misting their swollen bulk. We crossed the road, and Darius pinched the sleeve of my gray sweater again to quicken my pace through the open entry. A chill breathed upon the back of my neck, so—uneasy—I glanced behind us as we passed the attending guards. One pressed two fingers to his lapel and began softly mumbling.

I had never been inside Klau Tower despite walking by each day I went to work. Modern, yet warm, walls built with a smooth, ivory stone comprised the interior, sleek, glistening black tiles underfoot, like viscous oil pressed beneath the glass.

Colorful plants and contemporary furnishings offset the steel and silver finishes, and unlike IMOR Advances, a decent mixture of employees and miscellaneous business-goers populated the lobby. A gilt chandelier sprouting bulbous, shimmering crystals hung from the ceiling some five stories up, illuminating the bordering mezzanines and the empty koi pond below. Cushioned benches and potted aspidistras lined the pond, several of the benches occupied by suited businessmen grumbling into their phones, and the far wall hosted to a bank of glass elevators. To my right waited a long, mahogany receptionist desk with two uniformed women and one uniformed man working behind it. A line of waiting people blocked the large desk.

Above us, written on the ledge of the lowest mezzanine, glaring, maroon neon back-lit the name "Klau Incorporated."

Darius had placed himself at the head of the waiting line—prompting a chorus of complaints from those behind him and the intervention of a nearby security guard—while I stared upward, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the place and the strange, beguiling beauty of the chandelier's crystals. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away.

A spooked, bespectacled employee came out of the metal double doors behind the reception area, slamming one door into the wall, clutching a briefcase to his chest, his stride harried. He rushed for the main entrance, and in doing so rammed his shoulder into mine. I fell with a grunt—but Darius was already jerking me upright by the scruff of my collar before anyone else had a chance to notice. His touch finally pulled my eyes from the chandelier.

"Kings above and below only know how you've managed to make it this far in life," Darius sighed, dragging both of us to the back of the line. He kept one hand clenched above my elbow while the other rubbed at his shut eyes. "I've never met a being more blithely ignorant of their surroundings than you."

I shot the creature a look, wrestling free of his grasp. "It wasn't my fault that guy came out of nowhere."

Darius twisted his hand in a vague, circular motion, expressing that I'd made his point for him. I smacked his wrist—hard—then simpered at the curious bystanders who'd heard the sudden crack of skin striking skin and had turned to look.

The rain outside fell faster as we waited, splattering upon the swept pavement as the wind rose from a casual August breeze to a harsher, deeper howl bringing the first tidings of fall. The guards closed the doors, capturing the noise and warmth reverberating within the tower's cavernous foyer. The line moved in sluggish increments, the reception area shorthanded.

Given the free time, I thought it a perfect opportunity to interrogate Darius. "Are there fairies?" I asked the Sin, my voice too low for the polished executive in front of us to hear, but loud enough for Darius's ears.

He blew air between his lips as his eyes scanned the room. "Of a sort."

"How about...unicorns?"

"Is this your bid to be more creative?"

I shrugged and fidgeted. "Perhaps."

The Sin didn't appreciate my abrupt desire to engage in a round of twenty questions, but—as he was unable to shove his way to the line's front again, what with the security guard still scrutinizing him—Darius's only options were to ignore me or to indulge my inquisitiveness. Momentarily defeated, he heaved a great sigh. "Some. Not here, though."

I wondered what he meant by "not here." Not in Verweald? California? Earth?

"How about, um, dragons?"

"Yes."

"Like flying, fireball-spitting lizards? Those?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"No, not here. And no, I've never met one. They are not native to Terrestria."

"Oh. I guess—I imagine not. It'd be impossible for something of their size to remain hidden, wouldn't it? How about elves?"

A ghost of a smile touched Darius' face, then dissipated. "A few. And though the odds of you meeting one are staggering, call them 'elves' at your own peril." His red eyes settled on my face. "And never tell them you are a Sin's host."

"It's not exactly a fun fact I'm about to spread around," I retorted. His insistence on the matter was intriguing, however. Before I could ask more, the businessman in front of us moved, and a neat, middle-aged receptionist ushered us closer. As the Sin and I stepped up to the desk, my eye drifted over her uniform, thinking of the discrepancies in our attires—and our attitudes.

"Good evening, and welcome to Klau Incorporated. My name is Angela. How may I assist you?"

"I have an appointment with the CEO."

CEO?! I gawked as the receptionist frowned and tapped the wireless device attached to her ear, then tapped a key on the keyboard and read the monitor. I'd assumed we were here to meet an employee—a Sin posing as a worker for some nefarious purpose, but the CEO? Was the CEO a Sin?

"Your name, sir?"

"Darius Bellows."

"Please wait a moment while I arrange for an escort to take you up."

The woman left the desk and disappeared into the double doors at her back, Darius leaning on the smooth wood of the counter, drumming his fingers with impatience. I scooted closer to him and, eying the other receptionists, lifted my chin so I could mutter in his lowered ear. "'Bellows?'"

"An adopted surname. My kind do not have family names nor, in general, do most non-human beings. Having one allows for easier integration, though."

My gaze wandered, moving over the stretch of tidy desk, pausing on a phone by Angela's top-of-the-line computer. Blinking dials and switches covered it, and every so often one of Angela's fellows would tap their earpiece and one of the blinking lights would solidify, or go out.

I settled next to Darius with my elbows by his on the counter, thinking of Klau Incorporated and what I knew of it. My thoughts braved the mire of last Sunday night, when I'd briefly attended IMOR's company party and had given my dues to Mr. Eoul—but, just before that, I had exchanged a terse greeting with a stooped, elderly man who smelled of cedar and—decay.

Jackson Klau. His name was Jackson Klau. Is—is he the Sin of Lust? Would he be willing to help? Based on our brief encounter, I doubted it.

Angela returned with another, muscle-bound security guard, and for half a moment I thought she meant to throw us out—but, no, the man simply gestured us to the bank of waiting elevators. We took the one in the middle, our escort politely asking other employees to step aside, and inside the narrow car, I slid to the back behind the larger men. The enclosed space ratcheted my anxiety to new highs once the embossed doors glided shut. Darius was considerably slighter than the hulking man, but the Sin simply sneered up at him, and his presence crackling light static against my skin.

The guard drew a keycard from his uniform's pocket and extended it to the elevator's panel. There was an impressive collection of floors to choose from—obviously, given the size of the building, but there was also an abnormal amount of key slots located beneath the rows of buttons, denoting many floors as out of bounds. Just what else was hidden in this building?

All too soon, the elevator shot skyward without pause and came to a smooth stop a minute later at our required floor. As the doors parted, Darius leaned into the guard and his power—lightning in my veins, ozone on my tongue—grew more insistent.

"Wait here for our return. You will hear nothing. See nothing. You will wait for us to return to the lobby, then forget we were ever here." The man did not reply, but he did remain inside the elevator, staring blankly at the far wall as Darius shooed me forward.

The Sin and I walked into a single, continuous space dominating the majority of the allotted level. The dim, hungering glow of the sun through the dark clouds blotted the cavernous room in off-white hues, like bruises pressed into the stone, the ceiling arching high, detailed in a Romantic fresco. The longer I stared at the art, trying to see it in the vague lighting, the less I understood; the slender men and women were disproportioned, some of the dogs running with them bipedal, and the forest limning the edges, I swore I saw people dragging themselves through the brambles.

Verweald surrounded us, visible from all angles as if we stood atop Mount Olympus and looked down upon the sordid realm of man.

There was one desk—walnut, black, sleek—positioned at the head of a stone colonnade, flanked by two, modern seats meant for visitors and one great winged chair behind it. Someone sat within that chair, watching us—but it wasn't Jackson Klau.

It was Grace Amoroth