Hunters in the Night

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Real
magic can only be done in the dark.

That’s
the first thing they teach you. I learned that lesson some years ago, when I
was young and ambitious. My teacher was a charismatic man — handsome,
confident, and brilliant. He was also extremely manipulative, but most good
teachers are in some way. Headstrong boys often have to be manipulated to learn
life’s most important lessons.

My
teacher taught me magic, but not the kind that entertainers in Vegas peddle to
fat tourists. I’m talking about the real stuff. It’s the kind of magic that
makes something out of nothing — the magic of legend and myth. I learned it
well until I cracked.

I’m
not ashamed to admit that I failed as a nightcrafter. In fact, I’m proud to say
I got as far as I did. Not many people would last long knowing the kinds of
things that I knew, seeing the things I’ve seen, and doing the things that I’ve
done. My teacher didn’t mind that I washed out. The graduation rate had never
been high. Failure was always the more probable outcome. But he tried his best
anyway. I loved him for that even after
he kicked me out. He was just doing what he was supposed to do . . . mostly. He
was
supposed
to wipe my
memory clean of all the things I’d learned in the dark. But he didn’t, and his
motivations have been a frustrating mystery since the last time I saw him.
Maybe it just slipped his mind. Maybe he took pity on me and hoped that one day
I’d return and be able to complete my training.

Maybe
he just didn’t want me to forget him.

His
lessons made me the person I am today. Most people spend their teenage years
afraid of the darkness they saw in the world, but he taught me to embrace it.
But the most important lesson that I learned from all that time in the dark was
this: the nightcraft is dangerous and it needs to be brought to an end.

There
are . . .
things
in the dark.
They are horrible, unspeakable things. The nightcrafter magic attracts them,
and leads them out of their natural habitat like bloody bait tempting a shark.
These creatures aren’t really a threat to the nightcrafters themselves, but
they’re a big problem for everyone else. Innocent people become collateral
damage.

When
I was a student of the craft, I didn’t care about the repercussions. I didn’t
care about putting other people in danger. I just wanted the power. But, when
my mentor left me alone and abandoned, I had some time to reflect on it all
objectively. A few days back in the sun reset my moral compass to true north. I
knew what I had been learning was dangerous, and I knew the magic had gotten
innocent people killed.

I
had a new mission in life after that. I made a vow that one day I was going to
stop the nightcrafters from putting innocent lives at risk. One day, I was
going to expose the things that went on in the dark.

How?
I had no idea. But nothing would stop me. For whatever reason I’d been given a
chance that no one else had. I’d seen the world behind the veil and come back
with the knowledge intact. I didn’t have the details of a plan figured out, but
I knew the gist of what I had to do.

Sometimes
shining a light on something is the best way to make it disappear.

* * *

I
got a new job some months after my career in magic ended. It was a remarkable
opportunity, and if I hadn’t just spent years learning magic I might have
considered it a dream job.

The
interview process for my new career started on a wintry night in New York City.
At the time, I was already working as a night watchman at a warehouse. It was a
mindless job, but it afforded me lots of time alone and in the dark. In my
solitude I practiced a few of the lessons I was able to master before my
budding career as a nightcrafter came to an end, so I was able to keep my
meager skills honed. But I never used the more powerful spells at work. Bad
things can happen when you draw too much from the Rift. I understood that fact,
and I acted with appropriate responsibility. But the vast majority of
nightcrafters didn’t give a damn, and a lot of those assholes lived in New
York.

On
this particular night it was snowing hard; the kind of snowfall that looks like
white ash pouring from the sky. The snow and the biting cold meant that the
usually busy New York streets were vacant. There was a foot of snow and slush
outside, and the plows hadn’t even made a dent in it yet. I wasn’t looking
forward to my trip home.

My
shift ended at five in the morning and thankfully Bob, the morning guard, lived
close and was able to get to work on time. When I left the warehouse, the skies
were still murky and full of flurries. The blanketing snow cast thick shadows
against the limelight from the streetlamps.

Dark
mornings always make my skin tingle. The sensation is like an electric
excitement that gradually grows stronger as the sun’s time to shine approaches.
It felt like something wild was about to happen.

It was freezing outside. I had a very warm
knit cap, but I hated wearing it. I’d just gotten a buzz cut because I feel
like a bum when it gets long, but I’ve got disobedient wiry Asian hair so when
it gets short it juts out at 90 degrees instead of lying flat against my scalp.
That makes the knit cap uncomfortable to wear. But it’s not as uncomfortable as
having my body heat sucked away by cruel winter air, so I put the damn thing
on.

I
trudged through the fresh, untouched snow as quickly as I could until I got
tired of doing it the normal way. After I took a quick look around and saw that
no one was watching, I cast a little spell to help me out. Although there was
weak light from the streetlamps, the darkness was deep enough to let me conjure
up a featherweight effect. Soon, my footsteps barely made a mark in the snow
and I walked along at a brisk pace.

The
funny thing about nightcrafting is that you don’t need to do it in
complete
darkness. Sure, it helps a
lot if you can kill every single bit of light around you, but your average
nighttime scene is plenty to do some nifty stuff with. But you’ve got to make
extra sure to avoid direct streams of light. It has to do with something about
the frequencies of visible light weakening the forces that make the magic work.
I have a rudimentary understanding of it, but that’s about it. I’m like a
schoolboy trying to wrap his brain around quantum dynamics with only freshman
physics as a reference point.

I
headed towards the nearest subway station to get my cold, skinny ass back to
the Bronx and in a warm bed. I turned a corner and found a black Lincoln sedan
stuck in the snow. The car had diplomatic plates. That’s not an uncommon sight
in this city, but it was odd to see one of them alone in this neighborhood and
at this hour.

Next
to the car, a stocky man in a black trench coat dumped kitty litter into the
street for traction. The poor guy didn’t look happy about his situation. He
reached into his pocket to fish out a cell phone. I didn’t make much of it and kept
walking. I was halfway to the car when I realized I still had my featherweight
spell on.

God dammit.

I
could have just walked past the guy and hope he didn’t notice that I was
prancing on top of a foot of snow, but that would’ve been risky. I’ve seen my
fair share of ex-military grunts who went into the security business, and this
guy fit the profile exactly. There was no way I’d escape his notice. There was
a remote possibility that he might just scratch his head and figure his eyes
were playing tricks on him, but I didn’t feel like taking that chance. I
couldn’t afford stories about me getting spread out here. There were still
unpleasant people looking for me.

So
I canceled the spell and sank halfway up to my knees in cold, cloying snow.

Son
of a bitch.

I
grit my teeth and grumbled as I kept plodding through the wet, white mess. In
about two minutes, my quads started to get sore. As I got closer to Mr. Black
Trench, he gave me an icy stare. I gave him one back.

Don’t ask me to help you, goddammit.

He
didn’t.

I
kept walking. I minded my own business and wondered if I would have the chance
to bring up another featherweight spell once I passed this guy. Then that
tingling feeling came back. It was stronger this time, and it was immediately
followed by a sick feeling in my gut.

Then
the streetlights went out.

“Oh
hell,” Mr. Black Trench groaned. “What is this shit?”

“Just
a power outage,” I said as my vision struggled to discern shapes in nothing but
the dim moonlight filtering through the clouds and snow. “The storm must have
knocked down some lines.”

“Wonderful,”
Mr. Black Trench said. Then he rapped a knuckle on the tinted rear window of
the car. “Ma’am, we’ve got another problem.”

At
that point, I realized two things. One, there was someone else in the car.
Two, there was something else with us in the street.

It
was something . . . nasty.

That
sick feeling in my stomach grew to an almost overwhelming nausea. The tingling
on my skin became a fierce burning. I couldn’t see the black-furred,
four-legged creature that I knew had just arrived, but I didn’t need to. I was
sure what it was.
Nachtjäger
.

“You
need to get out of here, now!” I yelled to Mr. Black Trench.

“What
are you talking about, man? Are you looking for some trouble?” I could see him
reaching inside his trench, and then there was a glint of metal in the
moonlight. A gun wouldn’t help him and he’d be too stubborn to listen to me. He
would be dead in a few seconds. The best I could do was try to help the person
in the car.

I
focused my mind and let the shadows envelop me. I disappeared fully into the
night, confusing Mr. Black Trench. He drew his gun and he reached for a small
flashlight on his keychain. That wasn’t a bad idea, but he’d need a lot more
light than that. The nachtjäger was closing in. It growled — a deep, gurgling
rumble that would fill any sane man with fear. Mr. Black Trench turned his
little light towards the sound, but the rays weren’t bright enough to penetrate
more than a few feet of the darkness.

He
was distracted now, which gave me the opportunity to approach the black
Lincoln. I quietly lifted the door handle on the rear passenger door furthest
from Mr. Black Trench. It was locked. That usually wouldn’t be a problem for
me, but as I looked at the car doors I noticed this was a fancy new model and
there were no key holes.
That
was a problem. I’d have to try something
else. I placed a hand against the cold glass of the left rear window and
whispered a spell I hadn’t cast in ages.

“Rock
to sand, sand to glass, glass to air. Sand blowing in the wind. Not solid at
all. Glass to air. Not solid at all.”

The
glass dissolved into nothingness. I reached inside the car, unlocked the door,
and went inside.

The
car’s sole occupant stared outside the other window, and she didn’t notice me
slip in. That was probably a good thing since she most likely would’ve freaked
out if she
had
seen me pull
that little stunt with the window. Luckily for me, the whole process just took
a few seconds. Mr. Black Trench wasn’t having as much luck. The nachtjäger had
caught up with him. The woman in front of me jumped when she heard him scream.

“We
have to go,” I said. She spun around and gave me a shocked stare. She was a
middle-aged black woman with a short haircut and a few crow’s feet. She dressed
fairly fashionably, but she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her eyes were wide and
her mouth was open for a scream.

“Wait,”
I said. I put my hands up defensively. “I’m here to help. Your bodyguard is
being eaten by a very big, very hungry creature. You’re not safe in this car.
We need to get out of here.”

She
blinked. “What the h—”

“There’s no time for argument. If you stay
here, you’re going to die. If you go with me, at least you’ll have a chance.
Decide fast. I’m not hanging around for long.”