Page 1 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

Chapter One

Amalie - Prague, Present Day

The Hawk had always considered himself something of a badass. At least, that was what Amalie had heard.

He swept into Prague a few years ago, buying up properties in Old Town while his entourage of flunkies followed him like a pack of lovesick puppies. The shopkeepers and restauranteurs whispered amongst themselves, wondering what The Hawk could be up to. Would he open a gallery, or perhaps a bistro? An elegant clothier, perhaps?

None of those things happened. Instead of doing something useful or beautiful with the many properties he’d acquired, The Hawk opened the loudest, most garish nightclub Prague had ever seen—and in a city with a nightlife as rich and vibrant as Prague’s, that was saying something. And then he opened another, and another. Soon enough, The Hawk’s clubs were everywhere. Then the worst happened, and The Hawk purchased the vacant warehouse next to Amalie’s shop. This latest endeavor created such a cacophony at night it was nearly unbearable, the neon signs were dazzling yet tasteless, but the worst part about the club was its name: The Moravian Ballroom.

“How pretentious,” Amalie had said when she first heard what the club was called.

“Yes, it’s not nearly as elegant as Bohemian Delights,” her assistant, Iveta, deadpanned, referencing the name of Amalie’s glassware shop.

Amalie sniffed, and looked toward the Moravian Ballroom’s enormous sign. The colors and neon lights were so far out of place among Old Town’s Gothic architecture it might as well have been an alien spaceship. “Still, what a waste of the property,” she said. “This club is nothing but an eyesore, surely.”

“You don’t want to dance the night away among the sweaty, half-naked bodies?” Iveta teased.

“I don’t dance.”

Iveta linked her arm with Amalie’s. “I remember one time.”

Amalie smiled and leaned her head against Iveta’s shoulder. Even though Iveta was the taller of the two, and outwardly fiercer, it was Amalie who would burn the world down to keep them safe. She almost had, once. “Yes. That was a good day.”

“You even sang.”

Amalie nestled closer to her friend. Her voice was so clear and true she’d been named The Nightingale when she was still young, and the name had stuck. That voice had gotten her into a lot of trouble over the years, but she regretted nothing. Regret was as useless an emotion as worry. “Perhaps I’ll sing at this new club?”

Iveta laughed. “As if they could hear you over the speakers.”

Amalie glanced at the club’s sign again. “Anything is possible.”

At first, Amalie tried to pay little to no attention to The Hawk or his new nightclubs. Instead of spending time in nightclubs she preferred the calm interior of her shop, where she sold vintage crystal vases and glass sculptures created by local artisans. She’d always gone out of her way to support all manner of artists, and as a result her shop was filled with many colorful and unique baubles that caught the light, even on overcast days. No matter what else happened in the city, her shop was a haven of peace and solitude.

Or at least it was, until The Hawk extended the Moravian Ballroom’s interior all the way to the building adjacent to her shop. Amalie did her best to ignore the construction work that went on ’round the clock, blocking the narrow streets with their deliveries and making her business all but inaccessible to customers. Then the new addition’s opening night came, and she realized just how much The Hawk had outdone himself with a state-of-the-art sound system. The music was so loud many of her glass sculptures vibrated off the shelves and smashed onto the floor.

“What a mess,” Amalie lamented, when she arrived at the shop the next day.

“We should send that brute a bill for damages,” Iveta grumbled, as she swept up the shards.

“No, no,” Amalie said. “We don’t want to attract his notice.”

“Why not?” Iveta demanded. “If we don’t at least tell him what happened, he will continue playing that boorish thumping idiotic bass music, and we will continue losing products and profits.”

“And what will we accomplish by attracting the notice of the mysterious and wealthy man who only comes out at night?” Amalie countered. “Nothing good, that’s what. Trust me, Iveta. This is for the best.”

Iveta sniffed. “We’ll just see about that.”

Two days after Amalie lost almost half of her inventory, she arrived at her shop and found a customer waiting for her. He had his back to the door, so all she saw was a tall man with a mane of sandy blond hair, wearing a black cape and black leather gloves and boots. Amalie glanced around the shop until she found Iveta, who was doing her best to shrink behind the cash register.

“Who is this jackass?” Amalie whispered, for certainly only a jackass would wander around Prague in a black cape and boots at the height of summer. Who did he think he was, Dracula?

Iveta swallowed. “He is The Hawk.”

Amalie glanced at the man, then she refocused on Iveta. “And why is The Hawk in my shop?”

“I may have gathered up all of the broken glassware, put it in a box, and sent it to him,” Iveta replied. “With a bill for damages.”

Amalie blew out a breath. She understood that Iveta was only trying to help, and recoup money for the business. Still, the last thing either of them needed was someone like The Hawk frequenting her shop. “Go to the back,” Amalie said. “I will handle this.”

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