Clifford Engram arrives in New York City, meets the local operative, Manny, and remembers their first meeting.

“Was it a big beast? With sharp, cruel fangs?”
— Gaston, Beauty and the Beast

I drove into New York and parked at the Waldorf Astoria.

I had a standing arrangement with the management. They watched my car, kept a room on standby for me, and I always hoped I might actually sleep there.

It hadn’t happened yet.

The Agency paid for it whether I stayed or not. This time, I hoped I could enjoy the five-hundred-thread-count sheets the place was known for.

New York hadn’t changed much since my last trip. The lights were a bit brighter, the streets a bit cleaner, but I could still feel the city’s innate hostility, especially at night. Everyone moved with their mental and emotional armor up, ready for whatever. Yet people laughed, talked, and walked the streets at ten in the evening like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their energy was infectious. I found myself floating along the undertow of the city.

Park Avenue was quieter than I remembered. Taxis waited patiently at lights without blaring their horns. I’d heard there was a kindness campaign a few years back; maybe the lessons stuck. Even without the horns, it was still loud, the streets buzzing with energy. I could see the living, the dead, the near-living, and the mostly-dead mingling, often knowingly, headed to Broadway, Times Square, or 42nd Street.

New York was truly the ultimate melting pot. People from all over the world found their way here, fighting, loving, hating it, but never leaving for long. The citizens of the Second World felt the same. Drawn by unknown magic, they came here seeking their fortune, no matter which shard realm they hailed from. New York was a cynosure, a realm unto itself, where no one magic held sway, so everyone had an equal shot at being all they could be.

Strangely, this made for a relatively peaceful city, as you never knew who anyone was or what they could do. That was fine by me—everyone was potentially armed and unfailingly polite. I called Manny as soon as I got in and told him to meet me at the Waldorf.

He showed up as I was handing my keys to the valet.

His private taxi pulled up just as the young valet, acne still scarring his face, roared off in the black Corvette assigned to me by the Agency. If it had been my car, I might have been annoyed, but after the last few weeks, I found myself more laissez-faire, even able to appreciate the kid’s joy behind the wheel of a classic.

As I slipped a fifty into the valet captain’s hand, I reminded him of our standard arrangement and suggested he have that kid deliver the car to me if I called for it. He smiled and said it would be done.

“Cliff!” came the familiar voice of my brother from another mother, Manny. Tall and strong, with well-kept dreads falling over his left eye, his brown face lit up with a bright smile, nearly perfect teeth gleaming. A simple, barely noticeable eye patch hid beneath his locks. He was dressed to work: chauffeur’s uniform, black gloves, snug jacket, rubber-soled shoes. All of it neat and professional.

He acted as my guide, ally, and occasional lifesaver whenever I visited the Big Apple. I used to try and drive in New York myself, but without a native’s instincts, I spent more time sitting in traffic than investigating anything.

“Manny, good to see you. Did you get my texts?”

Irrepressible, even in the face of looming disaster, he laughed. “Yeah, the usual end-of-the-world stuff. But we still gotta grab a bite before heading downtown.”

“Not that place you took me last time?” I knew Manny had peculiar tastes in restaurants—especially Second World dives.

“What’s wrong with the Palace?” He looked a little hurt.

Nothing, if you didn’t mind vampires staring at you while you ate. “You caused a scene, picked a fight, and almost got us killed by hostile vampire thralls. Other than that, the food was great. Maybe this time we could find a place where the diners aren’t eyeing us like we’re on the menu?”

“You have no appreciation for good food. A meal worth fighting for is worth eating.”

Manny opened the trunk and helped me with my bags. As expected, his trunk was an arsenal of Second World death-dealing tools. He always came prepared, and tonight was no exception. We’d been working together for over a decade, though sometimes it was hard to keep track.

He threw my bags in, hugged me, and offered me a choice of weapons. I waved him off with my cane. His knowing glance told me he understood—it wasn’t time for that yet. But the night was young.

Heading into traffic, Manny focused on the road while I noticed how much he’d aged since I last saw him. I visited two or three times a year, but it had been a while since I was here. As we drove, my thoughts drifted back to our first meeting.

We’d met during an operation when Manny, just a kid, was set to become food for a rogue group of vampires.

He must’ve been about fifteen then, his entire family already lost to the vamps. The Red Watch, the primary master vampires in the New World, didn’t take kindly to renegades and hired me to find and expose their location. They were dangerous, plotting a local coup. But due to certain arrangements with other Second World groups, the Red Watch couldn’t openly attack them. So, they sent me in to locate the rebels, and once I did, a covert strike team would be dispatched.

Their leader, Jericho Privitee, was a former member of the Red Watch Council. With funding from Old World families, he had plans to blackmail the leaders of the Watch with damning evidence of their indiscretions. As I later learned, the local Red Watch aimed to control all Second World groups under their banner. Unprecedented power would follow if they succeeded.

The Agency didn’t want that. I wasn’t just sent to take down Privitee—I was there to prevent the consolidation altogether. Only Privitee’s death would send the right message.

What no one anticipated was just how charismatic Privitee was. He’d rallied a surprising number of unaffiliated vampires to his cause. In a city the size of New York, keeping tabs on every vampire was nearly impossible, and his army had grown much larger than expected. Worse, he’d allied with other Second World creatures: the vicious, diminutive Redcaps, flesh-rending ghouls from the sewers, and rakshasas—demons who had broken ties with their own clans, eager for the chance to feast on souls.

Working with such a diverse group had its pitfalls, though. They left a trail that led me straight to their base, hidden in an abandoned section of the subway. They used the sewers as their operational freeway.

Luck, or maybe fate, guided me to their pantry before I encountered too many of them. I freed their captives and was trying to lead them out when the Red Watch sprung their trap.

The battle was fierce but brief. Privitee met his end at the hands of Albrecht, an ambitious young vampire no more than two hundred years old. Albrecht had waited for his chance to rise through the ranks, and Privitee’s death presented that opportunity.

I had no choice but to fight alongside the escapees, arming them with weapons I scavenged from the dead. We fought our way through the conflict, aiming to reach the surface. Young Manny, eager to avenge his family, grabbed a shotgun loaded with vampire-killing rounds and carved a path through the thralls with such ferocity that even the Red Watch was taken aback. Once the rebels were dealt with, the Red Watch closed in, their assault team—decked out in red leather—surrounding us as we reached the final subway junction.

Albrecht appeared, his vampiric smile lit only by the pale, flickering lights of the tunnel.

“Agent Engram, we appreciate your assistance in this matter. The traitor and his scion have been put to death,” he began, sounding pleasant enough. Then he added, “However, the remaining humans could reveal our existence. We cannot allow them to live.”

I could see the bloodlust in his eyes, though he spoke calmly, as if the decision was already made.

“They don’t know anything,” I replied. “You could glamour them—make them forget. I know what you’re capable of.”

“Glamours can be undone,” Albrecht said. “Magic can penetrate our obfuscations. There is only one way to be certain.”

The thirty remaining humans, freed from Privitee’s lair, were now surrounded by the Red Watch. Albrecht raised his hand, and without hesitation, they fed upon the very people I’d rescued, those I’d assured would return to their lives.

Then he turned his gaze to Manny.

Manny, showing more guts than most adults, tried to fire at Albrecht, but the shotgun clicked, empty. I stepped in front of him, waiting for Albrecht to make his move. My reputation as one of the Agency’s top operatives was enough to give him pause. “Step away from the boy,” I said, my voice steady. “We’re leaving here, and you will never come after him again. Are we clear?”

Albrecht sneered. “You are human. Do you truly believe you can stand against the might of the Red Watch? We control the Vatican itself.”

I was done with his posturing. “Have you heard of the Accursed, Albrecht?”

At the mention of the Accursed, every vampire in the tunnel froze. Blood dripped from their mouths, their victims still twitching behind them.

“A myth,” Albrecht said, though I could hear the fear creeping into his voice. “A tale to frighten children.”

I turned to Manny. “Put the shotgun down. Don’t pick it up again. Close your eyes, and don’t open them, no matter what you hear. Understand?” I kissed his forehead. Manny obeyed, placing the shotgun on the ground. The vampires moved closer, sensing the shift in the air.

“Anyone who doesn’t want to die should leave now.” Two of the vampires dropped their prey and vanished into the shadows.

I rolled up my sleeve, exposing the glowing blue marks that bound Fenrir to me. The vampires didn’t flee.

“Manny,” I said quietly, “keep your eyes closed. This will be over soon.”

Albrecht drew his sword and charged, blurring with vampiric speed. I raised my hand, the runes on my flesh springing to life. My shirt and jacket exploded, the sigils and markings lighting up across my body.

He drove his blade through my hand, stopping just shy of my throat. Not that it mattered—I wasn’t alone.

“All that looks upon thee is thine, Fenrir, Wolf of Legend. Feast upon the souls of the dead,” I intoned, feeling Fenrir’s rage build. Albrecht tried to pull his sword free, but I gripped the hilt, my strength amplified by the wolf’s power. A dark wind erupted from me, consuming the souls of every vampire in the room except for Albrecht and Manny.

The vampires screamed as Fenrir devoured them, their souls serving as fuel for his insatiable hunger. It was over in minutes.

When the room grew silent, only Albrecht, Manny, and I remained. The blue-black light of my arm dimmed as I pulled the sword from my flesh. The wound closed behind it, though the claw and bite marks from the other vampires didn’t heal.

I glanced at Manny. Blood trickled from one of his eyes—he’d peeked. I pressed my fingertip to his leaking socket, and he screamed before falling into a deep sleep.

Albrecht trembled, clearly shaken. “That is the nature of the Accursed,” I said. “You live only because your father hired me. Tell him the rebels, having fed, were more dangerous than anticipated. Your cabal was destroyed, and only with my help did you escape.”

Albrecht nodded, his gaze darting between the smoking remains of his former comrades. I handed him his sword and looked down at Manny. His eye would never heal, but I’d left him something to remember this night.

A hard lesson.

Albrecht slunk away into the shadows, and I carried Manny to the street, my body trembling from the effort of forcing Fenrir back into his cage.

Fenrir, demon wolf, killer of gods, sated for now, howled from within the black sigils on my flesh.

I sat on the steps of the subway, holding the unconscious boy, counting stars until the trembling stopped.

Jump to Motus Vita, chapter 4