The next evening, I was summoned to Marcel's private office.
He sat behind an antique desk, paperwork spread before him—the mundane reality of running a supernatural empire. Ledgers, property deeds, reports from patrols. Even immortals had to deal with bureaucracy.
"Close the door."
I complied, taking the seat across from him without waiting for permission.
"Confident." Marcel set down his pen. "I've been thinking about you all day. Running scenarios. Trying to figure out where you fit."
"And?"
"And I keep coming back to the same conclusion." He leaned back, studying me with those ancient eyes. "You're not a newborn. Not really. The body is fresh—maybe a few days old—but something in you is... older. Much older."
Perceptive. Marcel's intelligence was underrated in the show.
"I've been around."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." I met his gaze steadily. "What matters isn't where I came from. It's what I can do for you."
"And what can you do for me?"
"Solve problems. Anticipate threats. Navigate situations that require more than brute force." I paused. "For example: your witch problem."
Marcel's expression flickered. "What witch problem?"
"The one you don't want to admit exists. The witches are restless. They're planning something—meetings in Lafayette Cemetery, increased communication, mentions of something called 'the Harvest.'" I watched his face carefully. "You know about it. You just don't know how to stop it."
"And you do?"
"I know more than you. For now." I smiled. "Give me access, resources, and freedom to move. I'll find out exactly what they're planning. Who's leading them. When they intend to move."
"And in return?"
"I get to exist in your city without being treated like a threat. A position. A purpose." I spread my hands. "I'm not here to take over, Marcel. I'm here to... observe. Participate. See where things go."
Marcel studied me for a long moment. I could see him calculating, weighing risk against potential reward.
"Thierry will be your handler. You report to him, he reports to me. If you find something useful, you tell us immediately." He leaned forward. "And if you're working for someone else—Klaus, the witches, whoever—I'll know eventually. And when I do, I'll make your death last centuries."
"Fair enough."
"You're not afraid of that threat."
"No." I stood. "But I appreciate the clarity. It's refreshing, dealing with someone who says what they mean."
Marcel almost smiled. "Get out of here. Thierry will find you at sunset."
I left his office with the first piece of the puzzle in place.
Position established. Trust building. Next: the witches.
And somewhere in this city, a girl in an attic was painting pictures of a world she couldn't see.
I'd find her eventually. But first, I needed to understand the game.
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