Strangers in the Night

by E M. Jeanmougin

  “Uh, I don’t think so, man.” Offending him didn’t feel smart, but neither did following him to a second location, where he might or might not inject him with a venom that would liquefy his internal organs in mere minutes.

  “So you’re just gonna stand here and wait for the cops to show, then?”

  As if on cue, the sounds of sirens grew in the distance, screaming towards them. The demon’s revolver must have woken damn near everyone in the borough. “C’mon.” The demon grinned around the filter of his cigarette. His voice was different than it had been before, still heavy in Brooklynese, but softer, lighter. “It’ll be fun.”

  Jasper hesitated only a beat. Then red and blue lights flashed in his peripherals, and running became the only option.

  Chapter Two

  —

  Strangers in the Night

  The demon was fast and Jasper had to sprint full out to even keep him in his sights. More than once, he thought about turning aside, maybe even just stopping and making a call back to the agency. Yet he found himself running on.

  A werespider.

  He could hardly believe it.

  Up ahead, the demon reined to a halt under a striped overhang, and Jasper stopped beside him, trying to soften his labored breathing before it could become too obvious. The neon sign above the door glowed eerily in the thin fog, bleeding red into the night. The sign read Rascal’s. The glowing R was beset with pointy devil’s horns, and the long snakelike tail on the s ended in a triangular point, the sort an uninspired cartoon artist might use in their depiction of Satan.

  Typical.

  “You’re pretty quick,” commented the werespider, holding the door open and leaning in towards him with a fascinated smile, all straight white teeth and soft brown lips. Demons had no right being so good looking. “I’ve never met a demon with eyes that glow white before. You got territory around here or…?”

  “I’m not a demon,” mumbled Jasper, putting as much space as possible between them as he dipped into the seedy little bar. The place was a low-lit dive, complete with ragged pool tables and an out-of-date jukebox, the yellow-orange glass light fixtures hanging over each booth giving the sparse room a sad sort of ambience. The stale stench of beer hit him as soon as he stepped inside, and he wrinkled his nose.

  This was bad. He shouldn’t be here (and with a werespider, no less), but he wasn’t sure how to get out of it without arousing the other’s suspicions. Outing himself as a Hunter would be as good as signing his own death warrant, and explaining how he had let a rare, dangerous werespider slip away right out from underneath his nose would be beyond humiliating. If he had to play along for now, so be it.

  “Course you are.” The werespider hopped onto a raggedy red barstool and rapped his knuckles against the stained and scratched counter.

  It was near closing and the place was practically empty. The bartender was a young tatted-up blonde woman, light complected and dressed in a strappy black camisole with the bar’s logo plastered over the front. She was already on her way towards him. “Hey, Chris. Let me guess, tequila?”

  “She knows me so well.” The demon grinned. “Nikki, I want you to meet my friend. This is, uhhh…” He paused, considering. “Sorry, handsome, I think I missed your name.”

  “It’s Jasper,” said Jasper, and immediately wondered why he hadn’t made a different name up. His head still ached and he felt vague. Scattered. The twinkling lights behind the bar hurt his eyes, and the crackle of music from the ancient speakers overhead throbbed in the back of his skull, making Sublime sound anything but.

  “You look a little dazed,” said the demon.

  The woman poured two shots, filling them all the way to the rim.

  The demon knocked back the first and offered the second to Jasper, who turned it away. With a shrug, the demon drank it as well. “Does your kind get concussions? Cuz your pupils are huge.”

  A… concussion? He’d had them before, but usually they didn’t linger like this. Like his glowing white eyes and ability to sense demons, that was just part of the way he was. He felt delicately along the back of his head, flinching a little at the sting. “I’m fine. What did you say your name was? Chris?”

  “Uh…” A third shot was already halfway to the demon’s lips. He glanced at the bartender, who offered him the bottle with a roll of her eyes and walked to the other end to check on another of the patrons. The demon spun back towards Jasper. “Sure. Chris. Christopher Redd.” He made as if to shake.

  Jasper looked at the proffered hand, with its smooth lifeline-free palms and printless tips, an oblong of dark blood still smeared on the heel, then squinted at the werespider suspiciously. “That’s not really your name, is it?”

  Chris shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He slid the two empty glasses together and balanced the third between them, making a small pyramid. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Which one?” Jasper felt like he’d done nothing but answer questions.

  “Do you have territory around here?” It was a little more pointed now, an undercurrent in his tone.

  “You mean do I live around here?” Jasper grasped for a lie. “Sort of.”

  “I was just curious,” said Chris. “I mean, what a person does on his or her own turf is his or her own business, but you were killing vampires on mine, so I think I gotta ask…?”

  Alarm cut through the ache in his skull. He told himself not to look directly at the EXIT sign in the corner. “I was hired.” This part wasn’t completely untrue. “Private sector.” But that part was.

  The werespider leaned on the bar, casually sipping directly from the clear bottle.

  Too casually?

  Jasper blinked the thought away. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “You sure avoid answering a lot of them.” Chris took another sip. “Do you wanna play a game?”

  “Uh… I really think I ought to be heading out.”

  “It won’t take long,” said the demon. “Humor me.”

  Jasper frowned. How long did he need to stay to assure himself that the werespider wouldn’t tail him back to the agency? It already felt like an unbearable amount of time. “What sort of game?”

  “Quid pro quo. Y’know, sorta like Silence of the Lambs? I ask a question. You ask a question. I ask a question. Back and forth until one of us is too drunk.”

  “One of us meaning… you?” This was the last thing Jasper wanted to do, but he could see the benefit. It wasn’t every day one ran across a werespider, after all, and they usually weren’t so friendly-sharey. “Alright. Fine. Who goes first?”

  “Hmm… Well, I’m a little ahead. So, let’s say you.”

  “Okay. Why did you help me back there?”

  “I didn’t help you. You helped me. Ella and her pack of cronies were a godsdamned blight. Killin’ every night, runnin’ a-fuckin’-muck. I didn’t need them drawing the attention of every Hunter in the city, especially not when I live right next door.” He unstacked his makeshift pyramid and filled the glasses one after another with surprising precision. “Besides, I was curious.”

  “About what?”

  “Nope. See, it’s my turn now.”

  “Alright, fine. What’s your question?”

  The werespider slid a shot glass in front of him, grinning. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Jasper slid it back, forcibly enough to slosh the tequila onto the back of his hand. “No.”

  “I guess that makes it your turn.”

  Jasper simmered. Something about the demon set him on edge in more than the usual way. “So, what are you expecting me to believe here?” Even to his own ears, Jasper’s forced casualness sounded more forced than casual. “That you’re a… good werespider?”

  The werespider was midway to taking another shot of tequila but drew it away from his lips at the last second, sparing himself the minor tragedy of coughing it up in the sudden burst of laughter that erupted from him. He had the sort of laugh that could fill a whole
room, loud and pleasant and a great deal less nasal than his heavy accent might have entailed.

  “Good? Nah, man. Nah.” He composed himself long enough to throw back the shot and clap the empty glass down on the counter. “I’mma great werespider. Best in Brooklyn. New York. Whole state, even.” He laughed again, but Jasper wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was just drunk.

  “That doesn’t really answer my question.” Though by now he was certain he knew the answer.

  “Maybe you shoulda worded it better,” said the demon. “My turn. What’re you?”

  “I’m a mercenary.” This lie had already been established and it wasn’t really what the werespider was asking. He knew what the werespider was asking. Just as he knew he was (and always had been) different. Most demons just didn’t notice nearly as quickly as this one had. The thing was, he didn’t know why he was different, and even if he did, he considered the whole matter very private.

  “No-no,” slurred the werespider. “I mean, like, what’s with the eyes? And your scent. You smell weird. I mean, there’s definitely human in there, but what’s the rest of it?”

  Jasper’s blood boiled. He bit back a string of nasty retorts, all of them involving the demon’s own disgusting heritage, and instead replied in a cold, biting tone, “Maybe you should have worded your question better.”

  The werespider blinked, swaying a little on his barstool. Slowly, a crooked grin spread across his face. “Oh, I like you. You’re fun.” With that and no other forewarning, he slid off the stool, landing in an educated, well-practiced stagger and almost taking a waitress down with him.

  The woman threw him an angry, venomous glare. “Chris, you’re drunk. Go home.”

  “Pfhhtt… you,” said Chris, but she was already walking away, her fists bunched angrily at her sides as she shouted for the manager.

  Chris wheeled back around to Jasper, grinning his big, stupid, too-handsome grin. “Alright, man, I gotta go home and pass out ’fore I fall down.” As if this had been his own idea. “You want me to wait for you to, uh… call a taxi or somethin’? Notta great neighborhood t’be walkin’ alone in the dark, if ya know what I mean.”

  “I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Or I could walk you home.” He slid closer, head tilted, coy expression reminding Jasper suddenly and powerfully of the vampiress he’d slain just an hour earlier. “Unless you’d rather stay the rest of the night at my place.”

  Jasper was up and off the stool so quickly he actually did knock it over. “No, I don’t think so, man. It’s basically morning now anyway, and I got a pretty bad headache.”

  “Alright.” Chris shrugged. “Suit yourself. Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

  “Oh yeah, for sure,” replied Jasper. He made a mental note to avoid this place at all costs.

  He followed Chris out to the street.

  The werespider loitered near the adjacent alley, struggling to find first his cigarettes and then his lighter, then dropping the lighter almost as soon as he removed it from his jacket. Then he dropped the cigarettes.

  Jasper watched this, thinking with growing wonder that this dipshit had killed nearly half a dozen vampires, presumably for no better reason than that they’d been wandering at the edge of his territory.

  Chris finally got the cigarette lit. He glanced Jasper’s way and threw him a crooked mock salute. That was probably meant to pass as a goodbye, and he supposed he should offer one of his own, but felt silly waving at him like he were just an ordinary person.

  Jasper went left.

  The werespider, shrugging his jacket further up on his shoulders and turning his collar against the wind, went right.

  Chapter Three

  —

  St. James Academy

  The sun was coming up by the time Jasper made it back to the agency, the dawn’s light turning the buildings gold. The city was waking up, although it never really slept. Businesspeople in suits walked past schoolkids with too heavy backpacks; homeless people held cardboard signs asking for change as dog walkers with a dozen leashes in each hand maneuvered their beasts down sidewalks and towards parks; and taxis honked their horns at anyone who walked in their path, which was almost everyone. Jasper slipped between them all, just another cog in the machine, liking the rhythm of the city, easily finding his place among the steel and concrete. He hadn’t been born to New York, but he couldn’t think of ever finding another place that felt so much like home.

  St. James Academy was a large building, nearly an entire city block wide, and stretched sixty-seven stories into the sky. Despite its size, it was well hidden, covered in protective wards and disillusionment spells, making it look, to the untrained eye, like a cluster of smaller, less impressive office buildings. Jasper saw through the glamor easily to the actual building underneath. Dark glass reflected the city back at him, runes and marks etched into the metal supports that ran between the panes. The doors were likewise covered in runes, made of silver and double wide, stretching twelve feet above him. They looked like it would take a cluster of bodybuilders to force them open, but with just a simple push they opened for him, leading him into a large lobby.

  Polished dark wood made up the floor; the walls that were not windows were a fresh, clean white, devoid of art or embellishments other than the large St. James crest behind the long, low white desk on the far side of the room. The crest was elaborate, showing an angel wielding twin swords, face covered by a sharp metal visor, with flames licking at its feet, the sun piercing down through smoke. Runes were strewn throughout, speaking of power and justice and victory, the entire thing crafted of many metals, iron and gold, silver and bronze, dusted through with precious gems. Jasper waved briefly to the pair of guards manning the front desk and signed in on one of the sleek silver computers at either end of the desk.

  After checking in, Jasper took the elevator up to the twenty-second floor, where the dormitories were located. He knew his adoptive father, who was also his captain, would be looking for an update on his mission, but he was tired. He was fairly used to staying out late—hunting demons sort of called for it—but all the fighting had worn him out, and he still had a headache from talking to that infuriating werespider. He’d crash for a few solid hours and then find Charlie.

  Jasper walked down the hall, slipping around other Hunters who were milling about in different stages of their day. Some were just waking, still in pajamas or casual clothes, the younger ones on their way to class. Some, like Jasper, were returning from a hunt, dressed in their traditional hunting gear of black leather. He unlocked the door to his single and went inside, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the back of his desk chair.

  His room wasn’t large, but it didn’t need to be; it had everything he needed. A built-in bookcase covered most of the left side of the room. On it was most of his possessions: dozens of schoolbooks on various demons and the best ways to slay them, even more novels shoved into the spaces the schoolbooks didn’t fill. On the top shelf he kept a short row of ratty-looking paperbacks, their spines so creased that the titles were illegible, but Jasper knew the name of every one by heart. Those had been his mother’s, and her name, Amelia Craig, was still written in her faded cursive on the inside of each cover.

  The bottom shelves held something of equally great value: his father’s records. Not Charlie’s things but David’s, a man he’d never met but could almost imagine he knew by listening to those old rock albums, tapping his toes to a beat his father had known well. There were other records too, and an admirable collection of CDs stacked next to a stereo. Jasper hit play, and the first notes to “Waiting” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers sang out.

  His small closet was filled with jeans and T-shirts as well as two identical outfits of Hunter’s gear—sturdy black clothes made of leather, reinforced Kevlar, and thick, heavy-duty canvas—and a dresser held favorite weapons in lieu of clothes. A desk was next to the bookshelves, underneath a window that looked out on the building across the street, and though
there was a laptop set up on top of it, he rarely found much use for the thing.

  Jasper unhooked his weapons and set them in a small pile on his desk, turned the volume on his stereo down low, and sat on his double bed, leaning to undo the laces on his boots and pulling them off before flopping down on the rumpled bedspread. He sighed softly to himself, running his hands through his hair, mussing it up into an even bigger mess. He felt grimy from sweat and vampire dust but was too tired to do anything about that right now. Throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the ever-rising sun, Jasper fell asleep.

  #

  An insistent knocking pulled Jasper from his slumber though he did try his best to ignore it. Letting one eye slide open, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand; it was afternoon. He’d slept for nearly five hours and felt like he could sleep five more. With a reluctant groan, Jasper pulled himself out of bed and opened the door.

  “Hey, Dad,” he said, his voice raspy with sleep.

  Charles Gosson stood on the other side of the door, looking clean and orderly in a dark gray suit and red tie. His brown-black hair was short and styled simply, the fluorescent lights catching the gray that had started to take over, making the hairs shine. Jasper was taller than him by several inches though this was a relatively new development—just over a year and a half ago, Jasper had shot up half a foot, making him taller than his adoptive father and most other adults he knew. But where Jasper was thin, covered in lean muscle, Charlie was stout, wide in the shoulders, chest, and hips. He’d grown softer than he had been when he was active in the field but was still strong. Dark hair dusted the back of his wide hands, and he looked at Jasper with steel-gray eyes from behind thin-rimmed glasses.