CHAPTER ONE
What’s more exciting than chasing a rabid werewolf in the middle of the night? Chasing that rabid werewolf in Downtown Manhattan in the middle of the night. The Village, as a neighborhood, was a warren of intersecting streets and dead ends. We had already been at it for thirty minutes and we were closing in.
“This is what the English did,” I said as we ran down Sixth Avenue. “Who lays out a city like this? A grid, Monty, would it have killed them to use a grid?”
“The Dutch were here first,” he said. “The English didn’t arrive until 1664. That’s how you get the name New York.”
We chased it down Minetta Lane off Sixth Avenue. The wet-dog smell punched me in the face as soon as I turned the corner.
“There’s something wrong with that smell,” I said. “God, he reeks!”
“I didn’t realize you were a werewolf scent expert,” Monty said as he caught up, his long legs making it easy.
“I’m not, but this guy smells like he hasn’t bathed in a year. And did you see his eyes?”
“I did,” Monty said. “He seems to be suffering from some kind of reaction.”
“Reaction? He tore that poor woman in half. That’s not a reaction. That’s a full-blown infection.”
“It does seem like he’s unstable,” Monty said as he looked up and down the street.
“Just a bit, yeah.”
We followed the scent to the end of Minetta and on to Macdougal Street, when a large, furry blur shot past us.
“Shoot it, Simon! Shoot!”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I said as I fired several times.
“Shoot it harder!”
We jumped behind a parked SUV. The license plate read RUFFRDR. The truck was one of those huge things that wasn’t quite a tank but could never pass for an ordinary car, either. I figured there was enough vehicle to protect us from the Were’s razor-sharp claws. That theory evaporated, though. We jumped to the side as it sliced through the metal and plastic with ease, rendering our cover useless. The SUV fell apart like blocks of LEGO and I couldn’t help thinking that RUFFRDR was going to wake up in the morning and have a very bad day.
“Really, that’s what you’re going with, Monty? ‘Shoot it harder’?”
“Strong,” rasped the creature on the other side of what used to be a perfectly functioning mode of transportation. “I’m going to rip out your intestines and eat them while you watch.”
“Wow,” Monty said. “He’s pissed. What did you do to him?”
“Now would be a good time for magic,” I said. “You know, a fireball or two? Or some Were-melting spell?”
“Can’t—he’s wearing a null proximity rune,” Monty said. “But I don’t understand why the silver ammo isn’t affecting him. You did switch out for silver ammo, right?”
“Silver…ammo? Of course I packed the silver—shit.”
I forgot to switch the ammo.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” Monty said, exasperated. “We’re out here fighting a werewolf, Simon.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s a little hard to miss.”
“I’m going to die,” he said as his voice hiked up an octave. “Out here on the filthy street, alongside you. Wonderful.”
“No, I just misplaced it,” I said with feigned indignation. “Hey, I had to pack all the bags while you did your meditation thing to charge the magic you’re currently not using.”
Monty narrowed his eyes and glared.
“Are you saying this is somehow my fault?”
“I’m just saying a little magic would make this go smoother, especially since I forgot to pack the silver ammo.”
The werewolf shoved the debris of the SUV to one side. Saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth as he snarled loudly enough to rattle some of the windows. I jerked my head to one side to let Monty know that tall, dark, and fangy was about to shred us.
“Monty? Werewolf!!” I said, pointing at the large, angry creature closing on us.
Monty turned, opened his hands, and formed two large spheres of air in his palms. They were the size of basketballs and whirled with tremendous force, kicking up the detritus around us.
He let them go and they slammed into the werewolf, smashing it into the building across the street with enough force to dislodge a wheelbarrow full of bricks. The Were bounced off the wall and fell to the street face-first, unconscious. I holstered my gun, Grim Whisper, and ran over. The Grim Whisper was a custom designed and runed M&P Shield 9mm adapted to hold ten rounds plus one in the chamber. It had enough power to stop most supernatural threats, especially with modified ammo. For everything else, I had Monty.
I put a pair of silver restraints, individual bracers designed to prevent transformation, around his front legs, and he slowly morphed back to human. Now we stood over a naked man in the middle of the street.
“Did you bring the extra set of clothes?” Monty asked as he looked around and brushed the dust off his suit. He kept his shoulder-length hair loose and moved a few strands out of his face. His eyes gave off a subtle yellow glow, which happened every time he used magic.
I reached into my pack and pulled out a pair of jeans and a large T-shirt. It was one of my old ‘I love New York’ shirts, where the ‘love’ is replaced with a large red heart.
“I hope you know this shirt is a collector’s item,” I said as I dressed the Were. “You can’t get them anymore.”
“Unless you take a stroll around Times Square,” Monty said and shook out his hands. “Hurry up, Simon.”
“I thought you couldn’t use magic on it?”
“I couldn’t, I used magic around it.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed the one number I knew would be working at this hour of the night.
“NYTF, Lieutenant Ramirez speaking,” answered the voice.
Angel Ramirez had been with the NYTF for the last five years. He was rough around the edges, tough as hell, and a loyal— if not slightly crazy—friend. The only person I trusted more was Monty.
The New York Task Force, or NYTF, was a quasi-military police force created to deal with any supernatural event occurring in New York City. They’re paid to deal with the things that can’t be explained to the general public without causing mass hysteria.
“I want my dinner at Peter Luger’s this weekend,” I said. “On you.”
“Simon, el fuerte, you got him?” Ramirez asked. “No way!”
“Of course I got him,” I said as Monty scowled and raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, Monty got him, but I tracked him.”
“Then maybe Monty should get Luger’s, not you. I’m sending a bus over. Where are you?”
“Macdougal and Minetta.”
“Is he silvered?” Ramirez asked. “Or are we walking into a shitstorm?”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if he weren’t.”
“Hang tight, they’ll be there in ten.”
I ended the call only to have my phone ring again. Santana’s “Black Magic Woman” played and I seriously considered not picking up.
“Answer it,” Monty said. “You know she’ll just show up if you don’t.”
Bracing myself, I answered the call.
“Chi, what a surprise.”
“You know I hate that name,” she said. “Where are you?”
Actually, I did know. That’s exactly why I always used it.
“I’m kind of in the middle—”
“Save it. Your office, twenty minutes,” she said and hung up.
I looked at the phone for a few seconds before dropping it in my pocket.
“I think she’s fond of you,” Monty said with a smile. “Certainly sounds like it.”
I gave him my best ‘I’ll stomp you silly’ glare.
“What’s wrong with your face?” he asked. “Are you injured, or constipated?”
“Hilarious.” I waved him away. “You going to be okay here with Scooby?”
“Who?”
“The Were,” I said, pointing. “The guy we just caught?”
“You’re the one going to meet a vampire and you’re asking me if I’m going to be okay?”
He had a point.
