Devon #2
At the bottom of the package was a tiny, sheer bag of makeup.
There was a note: “You are not required to wear cosmetics. But if you choose, these are hypoallergenic.” I snorted.
Who was this considerate, honestly? I put some tinted moisturizer on my face and fumbled with the tube of mascara that made my already long, dark lashes look even more dramatic.
I added a swipe of pink gloss to my lips and decided that was enough.
By the time I finished, I looked… good, better than good actually. I almost didn’t recognize myself.
When I opened the door again, Nikolay was waiting, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me, and for a moment he looked so genuinely happy that I wanted to cry.
“Ms. Wade,” he said, “if I may say so, you look lovely.”
Nobody had ever said that to me without an agenda. “Don’t get used to it,” I said, but my voice cracked.
He pretended not to notice. “Shall we?”
I grabbed the little included handbag with gold connected “Cs” on the flap, stuffing in my prepaid phone and the seven dollars I had left from last week’s tips.
He led the way down the stairwell, keeping a respectful two steps ahead of me at all times, like a bodyguard or a valet.
At the curb was a black SUV, windows tinted so dark they reflected the brick and graffiti of my building back at me.
A driver stepped out, tall and bald and silent, and opened the back door for us. I slid inside, feeling the softness of the leather seats.
Nikolay followed, seating himself next to me, his hands resting on his knees. “It’s about a fifteen-minute drive,” he said. “If you need to make arrangements with your employer, you may use the car’s Wi-Fi.”
I stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He looked confused. “About the Wi-Fi?”
“No, about—everything.” I pressed my head back against the seat. “Never mind. I’ll text Margie.”
Me: Margie, I’m sorry for the short notice, but I’ve been offered a new job that’s too good to pass up. Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you and Polk.
She replied within thirty seconds: I hope you find your happiness. I’ll miss you too.
I tucked the phone away and wiped away a small tear. It was only then that I realized how badly I must have wanted out for me to have said yes to this without even knowing the details.
I risked a glance at Nikolay. “Is it dangerous? The job, I mean.”
He considered it. “Not for you. My father is… particular about keeping those under his care safe.” He smiled. “You will find the environment stimulating. Many interesting people come through Obsidian.”
That was one way to put it.
We drove in silence; the city blurring past, my world shrinking to the size of this car, these borrowed clothes, this too-good-to-be-true promise. I tried to imagine what waited on the other side of this. A desk? A computer? Or a stone basement full of blood and secrets?
I didn’t know, but when the car pulled up in front of the club—its facade two large royal purple doors with gold veining—I stepped out and followed Nikolay without hesitation.
Inside, the air was cool, heavy with that purple light and a scent I couldn’t name. Amaya stood in the foyer, clipboard in hand. She did a double-take when she saw me, then nodded respectfully. We turned right and headed up the same stairs that Kazimir had taken me up yesterday.
Nikolay led me down a carpeted hall that opened into a large square reception area. He turned to me, his face solemn. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said, and meant it.
He led me to the office with his name and mine engraved on the door.
The office was nothing like I expected. I figured corporate, sterile, maybe a little gothic.
The space was large behind the door and held two offices.
Mine was first. A carved wooden desk with a beautiful velvet chair dominated one side of the room.
Plants and lamps gave a relaxing atmosphere.
It backed up to a wall of windows, with a brand-new laptop propped open, facing two large monitors waiting for me.
I ran my hand across the leather desk mat, and it left no trace; the surface was too perfect to hold fingerprints.
Nikolay hung back, letting me take it in. I caught him watching me, a smile just visible at the corner of his mouth.
“Is this… for me?” I said, feeling suddenly twelve years old.
“Of course,” he replied. “We want you to be comfortable. Productive.” He gestured to the door behind the desk. “Your bathroom is through there. Private, so you’ll always feel safe.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I doubt the other employees wouldn’t want me to sully their space.” I eyed the fridge. “Can I—?”
“It’s yours,” he said. “Eat what you like. Drink what you like. If you need anything else, call the number on your phone’s home screen. Our office manager, Clementine, will provide it. And Devon, no one will disrespect you here. You are one of us now.”
I looked down at my hands. The nails were bitten raw, but clean.
I’d never had a desk job in my life. I’d never had a job that wasn’t hourly, or a shift, or “off the books.” I didn’t know what to do with myself except sit, so I sat.
The chair gave a little, as if it had been tuned to my weight in advance.
Nikolay waited, patient as ever. “If you’d like, I can give you a tour of the floor.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. We wandered past closed doors marked with placards—Finance, Records, Human Resources, IT. Every person we passed nodded or smiled. Some said hello. No one looked at me like I didn’t belong, which was maybe the weirdest part.
The kitchen had a real espresso machine. Nikolay asked if I wanted a coffee. I said yes, mostly to fill the silence, and to watch him make it—slow, careful, hands deft on the levers and dials. He handed me a steaming cup, fingers brushing mine for a split second.
I took a sip, and for a moment, the world stopped. It was the best coffee I’d ever had. I blinked at the cup. “Did you drug this?”
He laughed, startled and genuine. “No drugs, Ms. Wade. Only the finest imported beans.”
I stared into the depths of my cup, trying to hide the warmth rising to my cheeks. “Sorry. I’m not used to being… treated well.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He considered that, then nodded. “You will be. We take care of our own here.”
For a second, I almost believed him.
We returned to my desk, where I fiddled with the laptop, opening the spreadsheets and files preloaded onto the desktop.
I don’t know how I knew things, but most of it was basic stuff—expense reports, payroll, profit-and-loss summaries.
I could read numbers fine. It all made sense in a way that was almost scary, like some muscle memory had survived my lost years.
Nikolay leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“You’ll meet my brother Bohdan, soon. He is the manager of Obsidian.
If you have questions, ask him or me. Or my father.
He is always available for his employees.
” He paused, voice gentler. “He is a good man, Ms. Wade. Even if he doesn’t always show it. ”
The mention of Kazimir sent a small shock through me, like someone had thrown ice water down my spine. I’d been so focused on not screwing up that I’d forgotten the reason I was here. I wondered if he was in the building, watching, waiting for me to settle in.
“Will I see him?” I asked. Even as I asked the question, I knew I could feel him here. I don’t know how or why, but it was like his presence was pulling me to him.
“Soon,” Nikolay said. “He is eager to welcome you personally. Perhaps even tonight, if his meetings end early.”
I swallowed, suddenly parched despite the coffee. “Okay.”
He straightened and smoothed the front of his suit. “Until then, take your time. There are emails with instructions on some things you might want to work on today. There is nothing urgent.” He left, the door shutting behind him with a whisper.
I tried to focus on the screen, but my eyes kept drifting to the window, the city below.
I could see the Schuylkill River, the blue ribbon of I-76, the lights of Center City starting to come on as dusk crept closer.
All those people in all those buildings, and here I was, on the inside for once, not the outsider looking in.
The late afternoon turned into night. I skimmed reports, memorized codes, and even practiced my digital signature. At half-past six, as the sun slipped below the rooftops, there was a knock at my door.
Amaya. She had changed into a beautiful and sexy pale green gown with a slit up the leg that reached almost to her hip. Her dark hair was loose and curled around her face. I don’t know if I’d ever get used to the beauty of the people here.
“Come with me,” she said. “It’s time.”
My mouth went dry. I smoothed my jacket, checked my teeth for lipstick in the reflection of my laptop screen, and followed her down the hallway.
We took the elevator up one floor, then walked toward an intricately carved door. Amaya knocked once, then stepped aside.
“Enter,” came the voice from within. It was unmistakable—deep, a little gravelly, like a confession made over whiskey.
I hesitated at the threshold, caught between two worlds. Then I stepped inside, into the lion’s den.
The door swung shut with a click. The room was cathedral-high, lined with shelves of glass and obsidian, every surface polished until it looked wet.
A large window wall looked down on the main floor of the club.
Behind a massive desk, Kazimir sat, elbows planted, hands steepled as if he’d been expecting me for hours.
He wore a black suit with a shirt just a shade lighter, no tie, the collar open at the throat.
Against all the darkness, his face was pale as a death mask, those arctic-blue eyes the only color.
I stopped just inside the rug’s border, not sure if I was supposed to approach or kneel or what. The air was different here; thicker. I could feel the blood moving behind my ears.