Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

CLIO

Clio strode toward the broad double doors of Chrysalis's gray facade. Eryx darted ahead of her and grabbed a door, pulling it open. Unnaturally bright light spilled out, making Clio squint. She stepped across the threshold, and for a second, she felt like she was back on Earth.

The reception area was excessively roomy, with scattered groups of comfortable chairs, and half a dozen different corridors joined the large area. White tiled floors, white walls, and white fluorescent lights gave the whole space a sterile feel, but the effect was softened by a dozen potted plants and the dark wood of a large reception desk, where three female daemons sat. This building clearly used electricity, though Clio had seen no signs of human technology on the ride through Asphodel.

Two people sat on nearby chairs, bent over a sheet of paper and talking in low voices. Another group of three—two men in white lab coats and a woman—stood near a wide corridor, chatting casually. Another handful were crossing from one hall to another, and Clio guessed this was an intersection of multiple wings of the sweeping building. To her relief, everyone looked perfectly normal—daemons in proper glamour, with no skeletal hands, horns, or forked tongues.

At her appearance, however, every one of them stopped to stare. The silence was thick enough to choke.

With Kassia and Eryx flanking her, Clio did her best queenly glide to the reception desk. The woman in the center, her brown hair cut in a short bob, watched them approach with her mouth hanging open.

Clio stopped in front of the desk, draped in dramatic layers of fabric, her jeweled accessories glittering, and her face mostly hidden. She waited silently.

The receptionist cleared her throat. "You must be the envoy from Irida. We've been expecting you. Welcome to Chrysalis."

"We're looking forward to doing business here," Clio replied, matching the woman's cool, professional tone.

The receptionist snapped her fingers at the younger woman on her left. "Their file, please."

Tearing her stare away from Clio, the young woman grabbed a plain brown folder and handed it over. Around them, the other occupants of the room gradually resumed their interrupted activities.

The head receptionist flipped the folder open and skimmed the first page. "Yes, yes," she murmured absently. "Ah, I see we have not received your initial payment yet?"

Clio nodded and pulled a small bag from a hidden pocket in her sleeve. Its heavy green silk was embroidered with the Nereid family crest of a blossom with a gemstone in the center circled by a leafy vine. She set it on the desk as casually as possible. The receptionist lifted the pouch, pulled the drawstring, and upended the contents into her palm. The other two women gasped softly.

Ten uncut diamonds, each twenty carats and the size of a small grape, sparkled in a luminescent rainbow.

The receptionist feigned disinterest as she slid the diamonds back into the pouch, showing more care than she had when she'd dumped them out. She set the bag aside and returned her attention to the folder.

"Your consultant has already reviewed your proposal. I'll call him up and he will take you to—" She broke off, her gaze fixed on the paper. "This can't be right."

An explosion of panic threatened to rupture Clio's belly. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no. Just one moment please." The receptionist grabbed her coworker's arm and pulled her a few paces away.

Clio held perfectly still, projecting composure.

"What is this?" the receptionist hissed as she brandished the folder. "This is wrong. He can't be their consultant."

"No, it's right," the younger woman whispered, tugging ineffectively at her arm, still in the other woman's grip. "I delivered his copy of the file myself."

"But why is he doing a consultation?"

"I don't know. Did you expect me to question them?"

The receptionist exhaled harshly. "Go get him, then."

As the young woman hurried away from the desk, the receptionist turned back around, unaware that Clio had heard everything.

"Is there a problem?" Clio asked again.

"Not at all." The receptionist forced a smile. "In fact, you should be quite pleased. It seems one of our esteemed master weavers will assist you today. I can assure you that is an honor normally reserved for our most distinguished clients."

A master weaver? Clio's nerves prickled, and despite the receptionist's assurances that they should be "honored," it didn't seem like a good thing.

"You may take a seat," the receptionist said. "He'll be here momentarily."

Clio glided to a cluster of chairs surrounding a round coffee table but didn't sit. A potted tree with silvery leaves partially blocked the view of the reception desk, offering a bit of privacy. She tugged her sleeves straight as her nervousness sharpened into real anxiety.

"A master weaver," Eryx whispered. "I guess they really want our business."

"What exactly did Bastian's proposal say?" Clio whispered back.

"We're looking for spellcrafted weaponry suited for war, and we're open to trading a large surplus of high-quality lodestones as payment."

The harder a material was, the better it could hold magic reserves or magic weavings. Irida's mountains were full of precious stones, meaning Chrysalis had the opportunity to make a very lucrative deal for more lodestones to hold their weavings.

Clio's job was to start negotiations, see as much of their magic as she could in the process, then agree to a deal and return home. Once she was safely back in Irida, Bastian would ensure the final negotiations fell through, and no further payments would be made. But Irida would have everything they needed—for the cost of ten lodestones instead of hundreds.

Clio adjusted her mask, its gems a clear demonstration of Irida's wealth. Bastian knew exactly how to play his cards with these people, but she didn't feel remotely prepared. The irrational fear that someone would tear her mask off and accuse her of being an imposter was growing stronger by the minute.

As her anxiety climbed, she looked around for a distraction. Stepping closer to the potted tree, she pinched a broad, silvery leaf between her fingers, examining its dark veins and waxy texture, then pushed more leaves aside to peer at the tree's thin branches.

"Clio, what are you doing?"

She didn't glance back at Kassia's exasperated whisper, focused on the trunk's smooth bark. "Looking at this tree. It's fascinating."

"Don't you think you should?—"

Clio bent down to check the soil. Damp loam met her touch. Interesting. Was the earth outside similar, or was the tree from a different part of the Underworld?

"Clio," Kassia hissed. "Get up."

"One more second. I just want to see…" She dug into the dirt, searching for the roots. The shape, color, and texture of the leaves suggested a rainy, low-light environment, but the roots would confirm?—

"Clio."

This time, Kassia's tone wasn't sharp with exasperation. Instead, it was somehow alarmed, amazed, and breathless all at once.

Clio shot up. Her head hit the low branches of the tree and sent the narrow pot rocking. She grabbed wildly for the thin trunk as the whole thing toppled over. The tree hit the floor and the ceramic pot broke, spilling dirt across the pristine white tiles.

She froze, hands extended toward the tree she'd failed to catch. Utter silence had fallen over the reception area—again.

Then, finally, someone spoke.

"Is this a traditional Overworld plant-smashing ceremony? Or are you just here to break our stuff?"

For a few seconds that lasted an eternity, all Clio registered was the tantalizing familiarity of that impossibly sexy voice. Then it hit her where she'd heard it before.

No. No way. It was not possible .

She spun around. The owner of the voice stood just beyond the circle of chairs, one hand tucked in the pocket of his lab coat, the other holding a thin blue binder. Radiant golden-brown skin, silky pale blond hair in a sexy tousle, and an impossibly perfect face that begged her gaze to caress every delicious angle.

And those eyes—bright amber rimmed with a dark patina like ancient gold.

Clio stared, her mouth hanging open. It couldn't be the same incubus from the spell shop. Maybe all incubi were more or less indistinguishable, and this was a completely different daemon from the one she'd encountered on Earth.

He spoke again, which was good, because she was on the verge of shrieking hysterical questions for the whole room to hear.

"Welcome to Chrysalis." Sounding inexpressibly bored, he glanced over her outfit. "I'm your consultant, Lyre."

Clio's jaw was still slack, her mouth dry. It was him. His voice was unmistakable—smooth as silk, deep but not baritone, just a little husky. Perfect for whispering hot, suggestive words in a woman's ear.

Why was he here? Why?

"If you'd like to follow me," he continued, somehow sounding sultry and disinterested at the same time, "I'll show you to?—"

"Wait," Eryx interrupted. " You're our consultant?"

Clio jolted out of her daze. Kassia was gawking at the incubus like he was an apparition, but Eryx was stiff and almost … angry.

"That's what I said," Lyre confirmed with a hint of an ironic drawl.

"But you're an incubus ."

Clio swung her gaze to Eryx, unable to believe his scathing tone.

Lyre's lips curved into a smirk that shouldn't have been sexy—but it was. "Jealous, are we?"

Eryx bared his teeth. "Like hell!"

"You're in hell, Overworlder, so I suggest you reconsider your attitude." Lyre ran his fingers through his hair, casually canting his head to one side with the motion. "Though, feel free to continue. It will be more entertaining for me."

Clio realized she might have swooned when Lyre had done the hand-through-hair thing. Giving her head a shake, she stepped in front of Eryx before he could say anything else stupid.

"We're looking forward to doing business here," she blurted. She'd said that already, hadn't she? Every time Lyre spoke, her thoughts scattered. "Could, uh, I mean—we require a moment."

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak—and scramble her brain again—she walked away from Lyre, desperately hoping Kassia and Eryx would take the hint and follow her. When she was reasonably sure they were out of earshot, she stopped and turned to Eryx.

"What's the matter with you?" she hissed. "Why are you insulting him?"

"He can't be a master weaver," Eryx growled. "Incubi are only good for whoring women. They have no magical skill."

Clio looked to Kassia for help, but she was staring in Lyre's direction.

"So that's an incubus?" Kassia sounded a little dreamy. "I see why you were distracted by the one in the spell shop."

"Kass, that's the same incubus."

Kassia snapped to attention. "What?"

"It's the same one. I'm sure of it."

"No way. Did he recognize you?"

Clio lightly touched her mask, grateful for the first time that she'd worn it. "I don't think so."

"If he recognizes you from the shop, he might suspect you're a spy. We should abort."

"Abort?" Eryx repeated sharply. " Now? "

Clio shook her head. "We've come this far. Leaving now would be more suspicious. I'll make sure to keep my mask on." She jabbed Eryx in the arm. " You make sure to keep your opinions about incubi to yourself."

Not giving him a chance to argue, she returned to Lyre, her skirts swishing with each step. He watched her approach, eyebrows slightly raised but his expression otherwise unreadable.

"My apologies," she told him.

"Not a problem," he said tonelessly. "As I was saying, we have a meeting room already prepared, so?—"

"Wait," Clio said, almost panicking. She needed to see their spells, and that wouldn't happen in a meeting room. "I need to—I want a tour first."

He blinked. "A tour?"

"Yes. Being Overworlders, most of what we know about Chrysalis is secondhand information. I want to see the facility and the kinds of spellcrafting you produce before we discuss anything."

"A tour." He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as though considering the possible ramifications. "Fine. I'll give you a tour." He waved toward Kassia and Eryx. "But not them."

"W-what?"

"We don't show off our work to just anyone. I'll make an exception for you, but that's it."

"But these—they're part of Irida's envoy and?—"

"They're not even nymphs," he said dismissively. " You are the envoy."

"I—I insist they accompany me."

"No tour, then."

She gritted her teeth. "If you won't cooperate, we'll just?—"

"You'll what?" He leaned closer and she completely forgot what she'd been saying. "You'll take your business to the competition? I'll let you in on a little secret: we have no competition. So let's be honest with each other, hmm? You aren't going anywhere."

Squeezing her hands together, Clio lifted her chin with stubborn determination. "Very well. Let's go."

Lyre smiled, triggering a wave of butterflies in her belly that could have been exhilaration or terror. She had no idea which.