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Something harsh tugs at Asha's lips. "We're not. Whatever he tells us will be spun in a way that makes Loreley look innocent and helpful. Which would be totally unhelpful if she were a part of the murder spree, so no, thanks. We'll do our reconnaissance and then see what the envoy says. If it matches, we know where we stand. If it doesn't..." She trails off and smiles glumly.

Yeah. If it doesn't, Loreley will be the first to bleed.

THE CITY DISTRICT of Cat’s Cradle Penninsula is a quirky place. Half of it dangles precariously over the Bracket river, trying its best to imitate all the bad parts of Venice. The other part humps the seashore like it’s determined to beget a baby version of Greece. The entire district is shaped like a finger, pointing out at the sea and telling modern society where to shove it. Hipster central is real. God, I already love it.

Most of the houses are Victorian, but a poor man’s version of them. Stucco and wooden veneers, complete with peeling paint and old granite blocks that have gone black from decades of car fumes. Little cafés rub shoulders with artsy home decor shops, secondhand clothing venues, and what few businesses have found their way into the heart of the hipster generation.

And amidst all that chaos sits the grandiose debacle that is The Midnight Café. Wooden Greek pillars, a wooden pediment shaped like a mini roof, big three-wing-windows, and playful metal security fencing stare out at the street, because even in Cat’s Cradle, people would rob their neighbors blind at the first chance. The building is pale blue, the wooden trimmings white, and the fence black, because of course it is black; it’s metal. If I didn’t know there’s a bunch of supes lurking behind the glass-and-wood swing doors, I would have pegged it for a swishy French Cafe.

And it’s only when I step inside that I feel the sharp prickle of a magic veil creeping against my face. The brush brings me to a sudden stop, heart racing. It’s just this side of painful, a crawl of static that tugs on the skin, but it doesn’t do any harm yet. A normal human would run the other way at the first touch of the veil, but hunters learn to tolerate magic like this in training, build up an immunity against curses and harmful spells. If a normie, a normal mortal, were forced to cross the boundary, their mind would be wiped, both on the way in and the way out. Nifty little gimmick, that.

Even before I step forward, the veil sucks at my brain in a prickling rush, and I hope I won’t go off my rocker today. A little bell jingles as I move into the stuffy coolness that is regurgitated AC air. Asha follows at my heels, fiddling around with her mobile phone as if we weren’t about to saunter into the belly of the beast. As if she doesn’t feel the veil’s grasp. And maybe she doesn’t. Who knows how many times she’s had to force her way through magic like this? If she has done it often enough, she might well be on her way to immunity, which would be very cool. Though there is a slight chance that she’s just that hardcore and doesn’t feel the need to flinch at something mundane like almost-pain anymore.

When I’m able to pay attention to my surroundings again, I am met with a lot of glares and as much hostility. The place isn’t stuffed, but it’s nowhere near empty. And every single patron has looked up at our arrival, scowling at our presence. I can’t blame them, but I’m not used to being this unpopular. A handful of them get up and walk towards the back exit that most likely leads down into the sewers, or maybe the subway tunnels, but most of them stay put and keep watching us. Some people turn back to what they were doing, be it reading, working, chatting, very civilized and low-key, and if it weren’t for the suffocating smell of fur and a whiff of blood, I wouldn’t think twice about being at a supe hideout. Asha told me not to expect too much, that a supe café was just a café with slightly more exotic drink choices, but I’m still a little disappointed. Or maybe relieved. I’m so nervous that I can’t be sure about what I’m feeling right now.

We make our way towards the counter unhindered, which disappoints me a little. Either word has gotten around that Hunters are on the prowl, or they simply sense danger better than others. Or maybe Asha is carrying some heavy-duty magic that I wasn’t aware of. I am not high up enough on the food chain to own any charms, wards, or talismans, but I bet she has at least one.

Asha grabs my shoulder to slow me down and leans towards me. “Remember: no touching, no staring, no accepting favors. Food and drink are okay this time.”

I turn towards her, huffing exasperated at her patronizing tone, brushing my shoulder against another patron as I face her. As I do that, I get a glimpse of a young, surfer-looking guy out of the corner of my eye, a flash off the egg-yolk-yellow polo shirt he’s wearing, perfectly underlining his tanned skin. And then I’ve suddenly got his hand right in my face, his claws in my upper arm, and we’re falling as his breath tickles my neck. All the training goes out the window.

Asha yells a “whoa,” but as teeth jab my neck, her presence loses its meaning. I can’t even scream; I just gasp. The scientist in me expected that this would hurt, but holy shit, this isn’t pain. This is agony, and it crawls through my whole body, lighting up with each drag the vampire takes from my neck. It freezes me, stops my breath, paralyzes my vocal cords, and no matter how much I grasp for a thought, for an idea of what is happening, nothing comes to mind. Just white-hot pain, the incredible stench of blood, and that burning scent of expensive cologne my attacker is drenched in. His shirt is so soft beneath my clawing fingers… My eyes roll back, and I finally suck in air, but I don’t get to the screaming part.

One moment, the fanger is on me and chewing on my neck; the next moment I feel an excruciating tug, and he disappears into the room via air travel. My mind can’t process that, but I recognize Asha’s hand when she holds it out for me. I grab it, still gasping in that first breath of air in eons, and she pulls me up. How I stay up, I have no idea. Her other hand grabs my chin to tilt my head and look at the bite wound, unusually intimate. She whistles, sounding vaguely impressed. “Nice hickey,” she says and lets go of my face. “Good news, you’ll live.”

I try to reply, but my head still doesn’t make words good, so I just blink and try not to keel over. Some part of me wants to vomit, another fights to let out the scream still echoing through my mind, and a third one tries very hard to keep me from peeing myself as I waver back and forth. My heartbeat is so deafening, I can’t hear anything beyond its wild staccato.

Faces pass by as other patrons come closer and back off rather quickly when Asha points her gun at them, but I can’t concentrate, can’t make anything of them. My scrambled mind reminds me I’m in the middle of very dangerous, probably ancient, and most likely very peckish creatures, and that I should be worried, but my body can’t make sense of it. Too many contradicting impulses. I feel something hot and thick dripping down into my collar, most likely my blood, but fuck me if I know what to do about that. As I ponder my drippy predicament, Asha holsters her gun and jabbers something, but it’s too fast for me to follow.

My brain starts working again when a bunched-up wad of kitchen paper is shoved against my neck and I have to grab it and hold it there. On the other side of that helpful hand is a worried-looking, curly-haired blondie with especially pale skin and big blue eyes. His lips move, but I still don’t understand him, as if he’s talking through cotton.

Something in my face must give away my utter blankness, because Asha curses under her breath, grabs my non-bloody-wad-holding arm and drags me off toward the back area of the café. It’s the general direction the yellow-shirt guy was thrown to, but he seems to have simpered off after chewing on me. Clever guy.

Asha shoves me onto a very cozy couch and makes me scoot into the corner, then sits down next to me. Not that sitting does me any good. As soon as my head notices that we’re not in fully upright mode anymore, my heart jolts and I break out in cold sweat. The tip of my nose goes numb, and the world gets a little darker, but my blood pressure picks up where it left off and comes back full throttle. And in its company, nausea.

A glass of water appears before me and I grab it. Asha hits my fingers when I try to lift it and shoves a pink straw in. “Drink,” she says.

I drink. When the glass is half empty, I finally feel stable enough to inspect the stranger. When he sat down across from us, I do not know, but he must have been here for a while. He looks very shaken, almost as bad as I feel, which confuses me. I got bitten, didn’t I? But then, maybe he’s hungry, because going by the way his eyes flick back and forth between my bloody neck, Asha, and her gun, I’m willing to bet my ass that blondie over there is a vampire. Makes me wonder if he was the one who saved me.

Somewhere through my pondering, Asha puts her gun on the table and turns to me. “You back yet?”

I nod, blinking. I am, how about that!

Asha raises an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Stanley here has asked—politely, I might add—that we don’t kill his charge.”

“Charge?” I rasp. Why does my throat hurt on the inside when I’ve been bitten on the outside? I take another sip of water to wash away the urge to cough and add, “You mean the neck-snacker?”

Stanley’s eyes go wide. Asha cackles into her juice. Or her bourbon, I have no idea if she’s a drinker. Everyone’s having a good time except for me. My higher brain functions come back bit by bit, and with them, a blush. Charge. Of course. I got bitten by a baby vampire like the rookie I am, and this guy was supposed to make sure stuff like that didn’t happen. One of the few shit-jobs a vampire can get—be charged with herding others’ unruly kids and lose your head if anything goes wrong. The pain in my neck drives home how wrong stuff went for this specific kid-herder.

I huff annoyed and eye Stanley. “Why shouldn’t I?” Not that I want to, but damn it if I let him know that.

“He wanted to go out so badly and I made sure he ate before we came, and I thought this café would be safe, because you know, no normies, but then you were there, and I don’t know what happened,” Stanley blubbers, close to tears. “I’m so, so, deeply sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.” His hands shake, no matter how hard he grips his glass of whatever liquid, matching his pale, panic-blotchy face. If vampires can faint, this one is about to.

I open my mouth to stop torturing him, but Asha beats me to it. “You can tell us about the recent string of murders. And don’t give me the public speech about how nobody knows anything; I already got that from Loreley. Give me something new.”

“But I don’t know anything abou—” Stanley stops himself before he can ruin his way out of this. A single, drop of sweat rolls over his temple, and his face stays white-red, but he’s thinking hard. Very hard. “I know of the deaths, but nothing about it,” he starts anew, licking his lips. “All I know is that they didn’t see you coming until yesterday. Had themselves a good fright when they realized there’d be hunters around, panic everywhere. Our lady interrogated every single elder in our kiss, and she even went to the rogues living in the veils, but nothing came of it. A few of the elders got antsy, so she had to punish them—” Stanley’s voice falters, and he goes solid, ashen white. “Please forget I said that,” he wheezes, eyes wild.

Asha sips her drink and curls her lips. “Which is why you have a charge when you obviously haven’t got a clue what to do with him,” she says, shrugging. “It’s not that uncommon. You people are the most civilized monsters around, but some things still have to be driven home with a little more… oomph. I’ll take a wild guess and say she locked them into coffins?”