Page 13 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

Chapter Nine

Amalie - Prague, Present Day

They ran through the narrow streets of Prague, dodging vendors as they shouted to each other and advertised their wares to the crowds. Amalie had no idea who in the city was working for Marek, which meant she assumed everyone but her and Hawk were on his payroll. Perhaps that was the wrong approach, but acting as though the entire world was against her had kept her alive this long. Hopefully it would work for a little longer.

“This way,” Hawk said, and he pulled her into Old Town Square.

“Why are we stopping here,” Amalie hissed, since they were exposed and vulnerable the center of the large courtyard. Hawk pressed a finger to his lips, and indicated the three tour groups reading pamphlets and listening as their guides regaled them with anecdotes of the city’s history. Hawk approached one of the guides, and with a smile he accepted two of the pamphlets. He handed one to Amalie, and they joined a German sightseeing group.

“We will blend in here and take a moment to catch our breath, and decide what to do next,” Hawk whispered, as the tour guide droned on about the astronomical clock. Amalie nodded, then faced the clock as it chimed the hour. The tourists oohed and aahed as the clock’s ornate figures and planetary dials lurched into motion. Even though she’d watched the clock’s show many times before, Amalie stood transfixed as the animatronic skeleton, which represented Death, struck the hour.

She wondered if this figure was a harbinger of sorts, and if Death was finally coming for her.

An explosion shook the ground. Hawk threw his arm around Amalie to steady her. “Earthquake?” he asked, as most of the crowd stumbled and fell to the ground around them.

“Look,” Amalie said, and she pointed at a plume of smoke. “It’s my shop,” she said, and took off running toward the smoke. The streets were already choked with people running toward her as they fled to safety, but Amalie ignored them as she sprinted toward the smoke. She was faster than any mortal, and while she usually attempted to blend in with the common folk, now she tapped into her full speed.

Let them recognize her as a vampire. Let them try to catch her. Marek had never caught her. She doubted any mortal could. When she saw the remains of her shop, she gasped.

Both her shop and her adjacent home had been reduced to rubble.

“Iveta,” Amalie yelled at the piles of rubble. “Iveta!”

Amalie launched herself at the remains of her livelihood, tossing aside chunks of concrete and stone and massive wooden beams as she searched for her dearest, oldest friend. On and on she dug, even as the dust caked her skin and made it difficult to breathe. Amalie had shifted most of the shop’s remains when she found Iveta lying under what was left of the storeroom, unconscious but alive.

“Iveta,” Amalie murmured, as she cradled her friend’s limp form. “I’m so sorry, darling. I will make him pay for hurting you.”

Hawk crouched beside her. “She’s alive?”

“Yes. It takes a lot to kill one of us.” Amalie was aware of the crowd of onlookers, murmuring in astonishment about how the petite shopkeeper had moved tons of rubble in under a minute. They could chalk it up to an adrenaline surge, or not for all Amalie cared. Iveta was alive, and Marek was going to pay.

Amalie heard whispers in the crowd behind her, talk of breached gas lines and faulty electrical wires having caused this disaster, but the only memories that played behind her eyes were of the time she returned to her home village and found every single home burned to the ground. Marek had burned them all because they had given him Amalie in the tithe, and after she’d betrayed him he went after everything she’d ever loved. Amalie hadn’t loved her village, or the life she led before she became a vampire, but she never wanted to see anyone hurt. Marek had slaughtered every last mortal with even the most tenuous tie to her, all because he wanted her to feel nothing but pain.

I will hurt him, again and again if I have to. I will teach him what true pain feels like.

Amalie hissed at the crowd, baring her teeth as she dared them to take a step closer. She wasn’t the scared country girl she once was. Now, she was a warlord in her own right.

“Amalie.” Hawk set his hand on her shoulder. “We need to get off the street. Let me take her.”

“I can carry her,” Amalie protested.

“A small woman carrying an adult attracts attention,” Hawk said. “The sort of attention we don’t need.”

He has a point. Amalie turned back to the crowd, saw how the women hid behind their men, and how the men frowned and clenched their fists. It was a scene she’d looked at too many times in her life, and she didn’t have time to deal with a terrified mob. She needed to get Iveta somewhere safe so she could have time to heal.

Reluctantly, she let Hawk take Iveta’s limp body. He lifted her against his shoulder, then he strode through the crowd and directly to the back door of his club, the one used for deliveries. Hawk kicked at the door, and a moment later Henri opened it.

“What the hell’s going on?” Henri demanded. “It’s like the end of the world out there.” He saw Iveta’s bloody face, and asked, “Is she going to be all right?”

“I hope so,” Hawk replied. “The infirmary is stocked?”

“Always.” Henri looked to Amalie. “Do you need anything?”

“Yes,” Amalie said. “There’s a man after us. After me. His name is Marek, and he will stop at nothing to get to me. Lock this door, and don’t open it for anyone.”

Henri glanced at Hawk, who nodded. Henri closed and locked the door, and watched as Hawk led Amalie to the club’s infirmary.

“We keep this room stocked so we can deal with most small injuries on site,” He said, as he laid Iveta on a cot pushed up against the wall. “On busy nights we employ a nurse.” He opened his mouth, closed it.

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