I reached the Los Angeles consulate office below the B.A.D. Bookstore at ten minutes before ten. Jeremy was scrolling through his cellphone when I entered and told me to take a seat. The Los Angeles consul, Gideon Brent, hadn’t arrived yet, so I was forced to wait.

My eyes kept gravitating to the framed picture of the crow flying through the full moon, with the Latin phrase in calligraphy along the bottom.

A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow.

We were supposed to be loyal to our kind above all else, but I knew as well as anyone that it was never the case.

I heard the rumbling of the bookcases overhead and knew Gideon was on his way. The thumping of his heavy footsteps down the stairs was even louder. His large frame took up the entire staircase, practically forcing him to squeeze out of it and spill into the waiting room. He was carrying a briefcase in one hand and a large coffee in the other.

“Mr. Mercer!” he boomed, his shark-tooth grin widely stretching across his face. “You are prompt.”

“I make it a point to be,” I said, rising from the sagging couch.

He clapped a hand on my back. “Come to my office. We have important matters to discuss.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said, following him in, closing the door, and claiming the chair I’d sat in the last time.

“Please close the—oh, you already did.” Gideon hung his suit coat on a wall hook, then fell into his leather desk chair, rocking back and noisily straining the mechanical components fighting to hold it together.

“So, what has the Order decided?” I asked.

“Not one for small talk, are you?” Gideon said, then took a sip from his coffee. “Sorry, I didn’t bring an extra one.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” I said, flatly.

“Neither do I,” he responded with a wink. “Okay, okay. Down to business. I presented your case to the Order like I said I would. And again like I said, they were intrigued to learn about your connection with the True North Society—a founding member at that. I think they were impressed—though they wouldn’t explicitly say such a thing.” He took another sip of what I now suspected to be blood in the paper coffee cup. “The Order is willing to make you a proposal.”

“Okay. Great. What is it?”

“That’s the thing—it’s not for me to propose,” Gideon said, sitting up straighter in his chair, keeping it from rocking so far back. “You have been invited to Noctem City.” Gideon reached into a desk drawer and revealed a golden coin about the size of a silver dollar. He flipped it across the desk, expecting me to snatch it out of the air. “You will have the opportunity to stand before the Order, at which time they will present their proposal.”

The glistening coin had a profile of a royal face on the front, with a curved Latin inscription along the bottom: “Imperium in imperio.”

An empire within an empire.

The back of the coin had a picture of what looked to be a European castle in the clouds. I’d heard of Noctem City—the legendary Vampire Order capital—but never been there. I’d never even seen a picture of it other than artist interpretations. It was as elusive as the Society’s headquarters, which had been part of my inspiration.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked, flipping the coin between my fingers.

“Present it to your driver,” Gideon said, taking another sip from his cup, then opening his laptop. “I will give you an address, with a date and time, and you will give it to your driver.”

“How will I recognize him?”

“You won’t. He—or she—will recognize you.” He wrote the information onto an orange Post-it, then handed it to me.

“Leadville, Colorado?” I asked, scanning the information.

“It’s only the gateway to Noctem City. Can I assume this is your first time?”

I nodded, stuffing the paper and coin into my pocket.

“Very exciting,” Gideon chuckled. “You should be happy, Mr. Mercer. This is a good news day. The Order is eager to meet you.”