The Devil's Dividend

3 The Handler's Directive

Sera woke to the insistent buzz of her phone against the nightstand, the sound cutting through her dreams like a blade. She reached for it blindly, her fingers fumbling across the smooth surface until they found the device.

5:47 AM.

The message on the screen made her blood run cold.

Meeting time changed. 10:00 AM. Same place. Be there. —Marcus

Sera sat up in bed, her heart already pounding. She stared at the message, reading it three times, four times, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something more convenient.

10:00 AM. She was supposed to be at her desk from 9:00. The safehouse was a two-and-a-half-hour drive away—longer with traffic. There was no way she could make it there and back without anyone noticing.

She typed back quickly, her fingers trembling.

‘I can't. I have work. Can we push it to this evening?’

The response came within seconds.

‘No. This is important. Find a way’. —Marcus

Sera wanted to scream. She wanted to throw her phone against the wall. She wanted to tell Marcus that she had a life, a job, a carefully constructed cover that would come crumbling down if she disappeared in the middle of the workday.

But she didn't.

Because Marcus wasn't the kind of man you argued with. He wasn't the kind of man who accepted excuses. He was the kind of man who gave orders and expected them to be followed, no questions asked.

So Sera got out of bed and started getting ready.

The morning passed in a haze of anxiety. Sera sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen without seeing it, her mind churning with possibilities and problems. She needed an excuse. A reason to disappear for at least five hours without raising suspicion.

She considered lacing Maya's coffee with a laxative, lacing the floor on which her office sat with laxative.

The thought crossed her mind and was immediately dismissed. It was a terrible idea. If Maya got sick, there would be questions. If anyone from another department came in and found her section of the office empty, there would be even more questions. And if someone noticed Sera's office was empty at the same time—

No. She needed something subtler. Something that wouldn't draw attention.

Maybe she could claim she had a doctor's appointment. A dental emergency. A sick relative. But those excuses required paperwork, documentation, the kind of evidence that could be checked and verified.

She was still running through options when the universe finally decided to cut her a break.

"Sera!" Maya appeared in her doorway, her expression bright with excitement. "I've got a department meeting in twenty minutes. Something about the new quarterly projections. Should be a blast."

Sera's heart leaped. "A meeting?"

"Yep. The whole department. It'll probably take an hour or two." Maya rolled her eyes dramatically. "Lots of PowerPoint slides. Lots of people who think they're more important than they actually are. You know the drill."

"Right. Of course." Sera forced her expression into something that looked appropriately sympathetic. "Sounds... thrilling."

"Don't I know it." Maya glanced at her watch. "Anyway, I should head down there. I'll see you when I get back?"

"Absolutely."

Maya disappeared down the corridor, and Sera counted to thirty before she moved. She grabbed her purse, slipped her tablet into it, and stood. She walked out of her office with the casual confidence of someone heading to the restroom or the coffee machine.

She didn't run. She didn't rush. She walked with measured, deliberate steps, her heels clicking against the polished floor in a rhythm that sounded perfectly normal.

The elevator ride was an eternity. Sera watched the numbers tick down, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain someone could hear it. When the doors finally opened onto the parking garage, she practically flew to her car.

The sedan was her "civilian" vehicle—a modest, unremarkable car that wouldn't attract attention. It was also painfully slow.

Sera started the engine, pulled out of the garage, and began the long drive to the safehouse.

The drive took two hours and thirty-eight minutes.

Sera spent every second of it swearing under her breath.

"Of all the days," she muttered, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. "Of all the days for Marcus to change the meeting time. Two and a half hours. Two and a half hours of driving because he couldn't send a message yesterday. Couldn't give me any warning."

She took a turn too fast, the tires squealing against the asphalt.

"I should have taken the motorcycle. Or the fast car. The one with the enhanced engine. The one that actually goes when you press the gas. But no. I had to take the boring car. The car that looks like it belongs to a normal person. The car that takes forever to get anywhere."

Another turn. Another stream of curses.

"I hope whatever this is about is important. I hope it's life-or-death. I hope someone is literally dying, because if I drove two and a half hours for something that could have been a phone call—"

She trailed off, her jaw tightening.

The truth was, she was scared. That was why she was swearing. That was why she was driving too fast and gripping the wheel too hard. She was scared of what Marcus was going to tell her. Scared that he'd discovered something about her. Scared that he'd discovered something about Dorian.

Scared that the voice in her head—the voice that sounded like silk and winter steel—wasn't just her imagination.

The last thirty minutes of the drive were the worst. The city faded into suburbs, and the suburbs faded into the kind of rural landscape that made Sera's skin crawl. Too many trees. Too much open space. Too many places for things to hide.

She pulled off the main road onto a narrow dirt path, her car bouncing over rocks and roots. The path wound through a thicket of trees, then opened onto a small clearing.

In the center of the clearing was a building.

It looked like an abandoned coffee shop.

The sign above the door read "The Grindstone" in faded, peeling letters. The windows were grimy, the paint was chipped, and the whole place had the slightly dilapidated air of a business that had closed its doors years ago and never quite managed to find a new purpose.

It was perfect.

Sera parked her car behind a cluster of bushes, ensuring it was hidden from the main road. She sat for a moment, scanning the area with practiced eyes, watching for any sign of movement. Any indication that she'd been followed.

Nothing.

She got out of the car, walked to the coffee shop's front door, and knocked three times. Paused. Knocked twice more.

A slot in the door slid open, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes.

"Password?" a gruff voice demanded.

"Shadow in the light," Sera responded.

"Purpose?"

"Business."

The slot slid closed. A moment later, the door opened, and Sera stepped inside.

The Grindstone's interior was a masterclass in misdirection. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned coffee shop. From the inside, passing through a door that looked like it led to a kitchen and clicking on a device that led downwards, it looked like an abandoned coffee shop that had been gutted and rebuilt as a military command center.

The walls were lined with monitors displaying feeds from cameras all over the city. A massive table dominated the center of the room, covered in maps and documents and the kind of equipment that would make a tech enthusiast weep with joy. In the corner, a bank of servers hummed quietly, their lights blinking in rhythmic patterns.

And at the center of it all stood Marcus.

He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and imposing, with graying hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. His eyes were the kind of gray that seemed to see through everything, and his expression was perpetually stern.

"Sera." His voice was deep, commanding. "You're late."

Sera bit back the retort that rose to her lips. "The drive took longer than expected."

"I changed the meeting time to give you more time."

"You changed the meeting time to 10:05 AM. I had to invent an excuse to leave work. I had to drive two and a half hours. I had to—"

"Sit down." Marcus gestured to a chair at the table. "We have things to discuss."

Sera sat, her jaw tight with frustration. She wanted to argue. She wanted to demand an explanation. But she knew better than to push Marcus when he was in this mood.

"What's going on?" she asked instead. "Why the urgency?"

Marcus didn't answer immediately. He moved to one of the monitors, his fingers flying across a keyboard. The screen flickered to life, displaying a map of the city with several locations marked in red.

"We've received intelligence," he said, his voice low and serious. "Someone is gathering the disparate factions of the supernatural world under one banner. Here. In the city."

Sera's blood chilled. "Gathering them for what?"

"That's what we need to find out." Marcus turned to face her, his gray eyes boring into hers. "We've detected movements. Meetings. Alliances forming between groups that have historically been enemies. Vampires meeting with werewolves. Witches consorting with demons. It's unprecedented."

Sera stared at the map, her mind racing. "Who's behind it?"

"We don't know yet. That's why you're here."

"I don't understand."

Marcus walked to the table, bracing his hands on its surface. "I'm assigning you a new directive, Sera. Observe, don't engage. Someone is pulling the strings, and we need to know who. You're going to find them."

Sera's heart leaped into her throat. For a moment—just a moment—she thought about telling him. About speaking the name that was burning on her tongue.

Dorian Blackwood.

The words were right there, waiting to be spoken. She could see his face in her mind. His perfect smile. His glowing eyes. The way his voice had whispered through her thoughts like a promise and a threat all at once.

I know what you're thinking, Sera.

She opened her mouth.

And then she closed it.

Because she had no proof. No evidence. Nothing but a feeling and a voice that might have been her imagination. If she accused the most powerful man in the city of being a supernatural entity without evidence, she'd be laughed out of the Order. She'd lose her credibility, her position, everything she'd worked for.

"Any leads?" she asked instead, her voice carefully neutral. "Anyone suspicious?"

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he sensed there was something she wasn't telling him. But he didn't push.

"Several," he said. "We have a list of potential candidates. High-value targets who might have the resources and influence to orchestrate something like this." He slid a folder across the table. "Your job is to observe them. Gather intelligence. Find out who's behind the alliances."

Sera opened the folder, scanning the names. There were dozens of them—supernatural entities she'd encountered before, known players in the city's shadowy underworld. Vampire clan leaders. Werewolf pack alphas. Witch covens.

And one name that made her heart stop.

Dorian Blackwood.

There it was. Written in neat, precise handwriting at the bottom of the list. His name. His face. His entire profile, compiled in the Order's records.

Sera's fingers trembled as she traced the letters. "He's on the list?"

"He's on everyone's list." Marcus's voice was flat. "The man is a mystery, Sera. He appeared out of nowhere thirty years ago, built an empire in record time, and has been operating in our territory ever since. We have no idea what he is, what he wants, or why he's here."

"You think he's behind this?"

"I think he's suspicious. I think anyone with his level of power and influence is worth investigating." Marcus paused, studying her face. "Do you have reason to believe otherwise?"

Sera forced herself to meet his eyes. "No. I just... I've worked for him for three years. I've never seen anything that would suggest—"

"You've been in close proximity to him," Marcus interrupted. "Closer than any of our other operatives. That's precisely why you're perfect for this assignment."

Sera's stomach twisted. "You want me to observe him?"

"I want you to observe everyone on that list. But yes." Marcus's eyes were cold, calculating. "He's your boss. You have access to him. Access we can't get any other way."

Sera stared at the folder. At Dorian's name. At his face, captured in a grainy surveillance photo that did nothing to capture the way his eyes seemed to see through everything.

Observe. Don't engage.

She could do that. She could watch him from a distance, gather evidence, build a case. She could prove that he was a monster without ever getting close enough to risk him discovering her true identity.

It was the perfect plan.

Except for one small problem.

I know what you're thinking, Sera.

She shoved the thought away. "Okay," she said. "I'll do it."

Marcus nodded, his expression approving. "Good. I knew I could count on you."

Sera closed the folder, tucking it into her bag. "Is that all?"

"For now. Report back next week. I want to know what you've found."

Sera stood, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. She walked toward the door, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and fears.

"Sera."

She paused, turning back.

Marcus was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Be careful," he said. "Whoever is behind this is powerful. Dangerous. If you get too close, they'll know."

Sera nodded, her throat tight. "I know."

She stepped out of the coffee shop and into the gray afternoon light.

The drive back to the city was a blur. Sera's mind was racing, turning over the possibilities, the implications, the terrible, wonderful, terrifying truth that was beginning to take shape in her mind.

Dorian Blackwood was a suspect.

Dorian Blackwood was the suspect.

And Sera was going to prove it.

Even if it killed her.