Catherine's parlor looked the same as always—antique furniture, pre-war wine, the careful cultivation of atmosphere that ancient vampires treated as necessity rather than luxury.
"Revenue diversification," she said, rolling the phrase like wine across her palate. "You want to become a merchant now, Monster King?"
"I want to fund an army. Merchants can help."
Her smile carried the familiar edges—amusement mixed with assessment, the constant evaluation that marked every interaction with creatures who'd survived centuries. "An army. Such ambitious vocabulary."
"Coalition, then. Organization. Whatever term satisfies your aesthetic preferences." I accepted the glass she offered—the same pre-1800 vintage we'd shared during previous meetings. "The point remains. Expansion requires resources. Resources require revenue. Revenue requires trade."
"And you come to me for contacts in the artifact trade specifically."
"You know everyone worth knowing in the supernatural underworld. This seems within your expertise."
Catherine settled into her chair with the fluid grace that came from centuries of practice. Outside the curtained windows, Missoula went about its business, oblivious to the vampire nest nested in its historic district.
"There is someone," she said finally. "A human who operates at the boundary you're describing. Clever. Ruthless. Completely untrustworthy."
"Perfect."
"Her name is Bela Talbot."
The name triggered distant recognition—meta-knowledge from my previous life, fragments of a character I remembered from episodes I'd watched years ago. British accent. Artifact dealer. Complex relationship with the supernatural world.
And, if I remembered correctly, a demon deal hanging over her head.
"Tell me about her."
"British. Educated. Came from money but lost access to it—I don't know the details, but something happened in her family that left her operating independently." Catherine swirled her wine. "She started dealing artifacts about five years ago. Built a reputation for finding rare items and delivering on contracts."
"What makes her untrustworthy?"
"Two years ago, she sold information about a nest to hunters. Ten vampires dead." Catherine's expression hardened. "The nest wasn't mine, but the principle offended. She deals with both sides, Monster King. Hunters and monsters alike. Whoever pays more gets her loyalty."
"That's transparency, not untrustworthiness."
"Is there a difference?"
Fair point. A dealer who sold to the highest bidder was at least predictable. You knew where you stood—exactly as far as your money could carry you.
"What else should I know?"
"She's under pressure." Catherine set down her glass. "Despite being successful, despite commanding premium prices, she's desperate for money. Constantly working, constantly pursuing high-value items. Something's hanging over her."
A demon deal. The timeline matched—Bela would have made her deal years ago, the ten-year contract slowly counting down toward collection. She was selling her soul on the installment plan, trying to buy her way out of damnation.
I couldn't mention that. Meta-knowledge stayed hidden, even from allies.
"Desperate people make useful partners," I said instead. "They have motivation to perform."
"They also have motivation to betray when better options appear." Catherine rose, moving to her desk. "I'm not discouraging contact. I'm providing context. She can be useful—her network extends into collector circles, museum archives, even some academic institutions. But never trust her with information you can't afford to lose."
"Understood."
She returned with a folder—thinner than Malcolm's dossier, but professionally assembled. Contact information. Known associates. Operational patterns.
"She moves between cities. Currently operating out of New York, from what my sources indicate." Catherine handed me the folder. "A phone number and an address. Use them carefully."
I opened the folder. Professional photograph—attractive woman, dark hair, expression that suggested she found the camera beneath her dignity. Contact details. Brief summary of recent activities.
"Thank you."
"Consider it payment for the Malcolm situation." Her smile returned—warmer now, or at least wearing warmth convincingly. "His elimination simplified my regional politics considerably. The favor I'm owed remains outstanding, but this information is... a bonus."
"Generous."
"Strategic. If you succeed in establishing artifact trade operations, I want partnership consideration." She refilled both our glasses. "Vampires accumulate objects over centuries. We're well-positioned to supply your inventory."
Always an angle. Always a calculation beneath the gesture. But that was Catherine—transactional to her core, reliable precisely because her motivations were transparent.
"We can discuss terms once operations are established."
"I look forward to it."
The wine was excellent. We discussed regional politics for another hour—hunter movements, territorial adjustments, rumors filtering through supernatural networks. Catherine's intelligence operation rivaled anything I'd built, and her willingness to share information remained one of the alliance's most valuable assets.
When I left, the folder sat heavy in my jacket pocket.
Bela Talbot. Artifact dealer. Untrustworthy. Desperate.
She operated out of New York. Sebastian Morrow—my human identity—was a businessman with real estate interests. A wealthy collector seeking rare items would be entirely within character.
Time to make a trip.
The drive back to the Haven took two hours through Montana darkness. I used the time to plan.
New York was enemy territory—not because of supernatural threats, but because of exposure. Major cities meant surveillance, documentation, witnesses. Every interaction left traces that could potentially connect back to coalition activities.
But major cities also meant opportunity. Artifact trade couldn't happen in isolation. It required access to collectors, connections to suppliers, presence in markets where supernatural goods changed hands.
Sebastian Morrow would need to become more than a paper identity. He'd need to be a person—someone with history, preferences, relationships. A character I could inhabit when dealings required human facade.
[OPERATION PLANNING: ARTIFACT TRADE INITIATIVE] [PRIMARY CONTACT: BELA TALBOT] [COVER IDENTITY: SEBASTIAN MORROW — ENHANCEMENT REQUIRED] [LOCATION: NEW YORK CITY] [TIMELINE: FLEXIBLE — RECOMMEND WITHIN 30 DAYS]
The System tracked variables, calculated probabilities, offered recommendations I could accept or ignore. Our relationship had stabilized since the conflict—mutual understanding replacing the earlier tension.
I still didn't trust it. Probably never would. But I'd learned to work with it.
Jenny was waiting at the Haven entrance when I arrived.
"Catherine came through?"
"Name and contact information. Bela Talbot. Operates out of New York." I handed her the folder. "I'll need to make the approach personally. Sebastian Morrow, wealthy collector, seeking rare acquisitions."
"You're going to New York?"
"Eventually. The contact needs preparation first." I started walking toward my quarters. "Sebastian Morrow exists on paper, but he needs depth. History. The kind of background that survives professional scrutiny."
"How long?"
"Few weeks. Maybe a month." I paused at my door. "The coalition can function without me for that time. You and Edgar can handle operational decisions."
Jenny absorbed this. The bond between us carried her processing—concern mixed with confidence, the complex emotions of someone who'd learned to trust leadership she didn't fully understand.
"Be careful," she said finally. "New York isn't our territory."
"I'm always careful."
"You're always calculated. That's not the same thing."
Fair point. I'd taken risks that careful people would have avoided—the Malcolm hunt, the demon encounter, the entire project of building a monster coalition in territory where Winchesters might eventually operate.
But calculation had kept me alive. Calculation had built the coalition. Calculation would carry me through New York and whatever Bela Talbot represented.
"I'll be back," I said. "With new revenue streams or information about why they're impossible. Either way, we'll know."
Jenny nodded and walked away. The bond hummed with her presence—distant but constant, the awareness that came from blood shared between species.
In my quarters, I spread the Talbot dossier across my desk and began planning.
Sebastian Morrow would need a wardrobe upgrade. Business cards. Hotel reservations that matched his supposed wealth. The kind of details that separated convincing covers from obvious fabrications.
The artifact trade awaited. Revenue problems had solutions. The coalition would continue growing.
One step at a time. One deal at a time. One predator at a time.
The System hummed approval at the edge of my consciousness.
For once, we were in complete agreement.
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