Mark of the Harbinger (Book 1)

9 - A Coffee and a Gilded Glass

The waterfront during the day was a complete departure from its nightly incarnation.

Most of the cadre-owned shops, boutiques, and clubs were closed until sunset, including Emial's Fiume di Sangue. The traffic was nonexistent along its road, and the neon signs were all dead and listless.

During the night, the area resonated with the voices of tourists and a mixture of fast, rhythmic music cranked so loud it vibrated through the earth. Fiume always reminded me of a red-rimmed gate leading straight into the depths of hell—but, in the daylight, it was just a building. No vamp groupies flocked to its doors, no music blared, and no hungry creatures of the night lingered in the shadows.

With the quiet slosh of rippling water hitting the embankment, it was almost quaint.

I drove along the waterfront and ignored the uninhabited clubs. My destination was located farther along the street, nearer the city's edge and one of the broken bridges leading across the aqueduct. The three-story building was made entirely of a sleek, dark stone material with slim, specially tinted windows inset at even intervals along its straight walls. A painted soffit overhang provided shelter to the black door, while the frieze and facia were both coated in an elegant gold color. 

The address and the name—The Gilded Glass—were engraved on a solid bit of stained oak that hung over the walk on an iron rod and a chain. 

It wasn't an odd-looking place, but the mesh of modern and Old World aesthetics was eye-catching. It dominated its corner as the very last—or the very first, depending on your perspective—cadre-owned establishment on the street, and unlike the nightclubs or the bars, The Gilded Glass was open for business during the day.

Years ago, I'd sworn I'd never go inside that place. The café was operated by the Havik cadre and owned by Aurel himself, so it'd been an easy promise to make for myself, seeing as I didn't want to go inside. I wasn't left with much of a choice, however, because I needed to give the vampire what scraps of information I'd gotten from Nera Court and I didn't have a number to call him on.

As I parked in the lot below the shade of an evergreen pine tree, I stared through the windshield at the quiet café and tried to muster the courage to get out of the car. I knew I wouldn't have to actually see the vampire if I went now. The lunar magic and revolutions that animated vampires became thin during daylight hours, which made the fanged creatures drowsy and sent them to sleep. Aurel and his cadre wouldn't be here.

I kept telling myself that, but it wasn't helping matters. 

"Dammit," I whispered as I clutched the steering wheel with both hands and resisted the urge to bang my head against it. I was alone in the small parking lot—well, alone aside from a few employee vehicles left in their designated areas. Closer to the building was a line of vacant spots all labeled with plaques meant for the cadre members themselves. The one that read "Reserved for A. Havik" was definitely empty.

Blowing air through my lips, I snatched hold of my purse and all but threw myself from my car before I could change my mind. The air was cold but refreshing, laced with the smells of running water and brewing coffee. I breathed it in and tried to stop my heart from slamming into my ribcage as I headed inside. 

The collision of modern minimalism and medieval embellishment continued in the café's interior. The floors were comprised of pricey black quartz while the walls were all rustic, exposed brick. The pendant light fixtures were silver and would've blended in well in any generic coffee shop, but there was also a beastly fireplace in the far corner decorated with wax candles and a hand-carved mantel. Two high-backed winged armchairs faced the hearth with a small table and tray situated between them.