Hunters in the Night

by Ramsey Isler

  According to Kellar, hotspots are a mystery even to the most experienced nightcrafters. For some reason, there are rare areas where the power pouring out of the Rift is just incredible. When I connected with the Rift in the darkness of that basement, it didn’t feel like I was floating in an inky lake. It was a vast ocean, and the waves were much bigger. Kellar tasked me with controlling all that raw power. It was supposed to be a major milestone in my training as a master of the dark.

  When we arrived at the school, Kellar taught me the spells I’d need to strengthen my connection to the Rift without losing myself. Soon, I was able to attain a deeper connection with the magic. Magic was no longer just something I did — it was what I was. I felt like part of me was melting into the dark. I felt like I could do anything, know anything. For a while I felt like I never wanted to leave the dark.

  Kellar sensed the change happening in me and, as he often did, pushed me to the breaking point. The final step in this training exercise involved controlling a pack of nachtjäger. Kellar summoned them and they appeared almost instantly. The creatures coalesced out of the dark like a gas quickly transforming into a solid. They were shadows given form and they were just as terrifying as they’d always been, even with my newly strengthened connection to the Rift. Up until that point, I’d spent my short nightcrafting career avoiding nachtjäger or trying to throw them off my trail. But that night was different. That night, I became their master.

  I’m not sure exactly how it happened. It was like a switch went on inside me and there was no more fear. With that confidence came a new surge of strength that exuded throughout the Rift. The nachtjäger felt it immediately, and they backed off. They lowered their heads. Their fearsome jaws closed, and they were silent. They were like little puppies cowering before an angry master. For just a moment, they were afraid of me.

  It should have been thrilling. I was supposed to be ecstatic about my newfound mastery of the dark and the most dangerous creatures in it. But I didn’t feel any of that. Something was missing. Even though I got my first glimpse of the true potential of a nightcrafter, I wasn’t satisfied.

  I wasn’t happy.

  All that time in the dark had drained me of happiness. Even the thing that I worked so hard for didn’t bring me joy. All I felt was a sterile sense of accomplishment. It was power for power’s sake, and it left me feeling hollow inside. It’s terrifying to get the thing you desperately wanted for so long, and then realize you don’t want it anymore. In an instant, I was lost.

  I lost my focus, and I lost my control of the magic. The nachtjäger could feel my despair. They sniffed it out like fresh blood, and I could feel their hunger and excitement grow. They were no longer afraid of me. I was prey now. But I didn’t care. Nothing mattered.

  Just as the nachtjäger were closing in, Kellar brought up an incredible wave of force that knocked them back. Fear found them again, and they disappeared back through the Rift. I must have fainted after that, or Kellar put me to sleep. When I awoke I was in my bed back home — he had brought me back to my parent’s place. I’ll never forget his expression. He looked like a man who had just lost his best friend.

  He left after that and I didn’t see him again. My parents were overjoyed to see me — I’d been missing for months. But I had changed. I wasn’t their little boy anymore, and things between us were never the same.

  I never got over Kellar leaving me. That image of his face, shrouded in the deepest kind of disappointment, was burned into my mind. Dominique would probably say that I have issues with failure, but that’s not it. I don’t feel like I failed. I didn’t quit. I didn’t screw up any spells. In fact, I was doing pretty well. The end of my magic career had nothing to do with ability. I just simply and suddenly came to the realization that the nightcraft would require me to sacrifice something I would not give up — my happiness. I refused to become a man who would sacrifice genuine joy for the thrill of power.

  So I didn’t care about not being a member of the special nightcrafter club. I just wanted to know why Kellar left me with all that knowledge intact. Nightcrafter protocol demanded that he void my memory after I washed out. But why didn’t he? The question nagged at me for years, and for a long time I wasn’t sure exactly why I cared. Then one day, I had an epiphany.

  I cared because I loved him. I really did. He was the closest thing to an older brother that I’d ever had, and if he saw something special in me — something worth breaking the rules for — that would mean the world to me. Even now, after all this time, I secretly desire his approval, even though I know I will never choose the path he did.

  * * *

  I think two more days passed before anyone else came to check on me. I can’t be totally sure because there was no daylight to mark the passage of time. But the scraggly, uneven stubble on my face provided enough info for a guess. I was starting to wonder how long it would take for me starve to death when Kellar’s presence appeared in the cell again.

  “We’re sending you home,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Mater wanted to keep you here, of course. She believes you kidnapped Madison for some reason. But I don’t believe that.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “I believe you bested Madison and she’s embarrassed enough to go into hiding for a while,” Kellar said. “She is a very proud girl, after all. She’ll show up again after she’s done licking her wounds.”

  “So you’re just going to send me back home?”

  “Yes,” Kellar said. “But stay out of nightcrafter business. Even my influence has its limits, and I won’t be able to get you out of trouble again.”

  “But—”

  I never got to finish the sentence. I felt the sensation of being bent backwards again, and the world swirled away. I heard Kellar laugh one more time before my body was shoved through the Rift.

  * * *

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see the New York skyline.

  Kellar’s spell had dumped me into a dark, vacant alley right in the middle of Times Square — the last place I would have expected. This was one of the few areas in the city that was so bright that even nighttime nightcrafting was nearly impossible. I’d never been able to do any magic here. But once I got over my initial shock, relief and excitement hit me. I was free.

  I reflexively reached for my cell phone and remembered that it was gone. I hated that. Like most people, I’d stopped committing most phone numbers to memory long ago and relied on my phone’s contact database. But NATO training had drilled exactly two phone numbers into my head. One of them happened to be a special toll-free number that redirected straight to Dominique’s phone. I had to call her first. There was no doubt she was freaking out about my sudden disappearance, and I expected the Boys in Black to come pick me up soon.

  I looked for one of those rare things that hardly anyone thinks about these days — a pay phone. I had to scan the bright Times Square streets for a good fifteen minutes before I found one. It looked like it had a decade worth of grime, sweat, and spittle on it. But it was my only choice at the moment.

  I picked up the sticky pay phone receiver and punched in some numbers on the stubborn keypad. My finger was about two millimeters from the last number when I realized how ridiculously stupid I was.

  This was exactly what Kellar wanted.

  The nightcrafters were pulling a very old trick, one I’d learned about in one of my haphazard NATO training courses. Let your captive go free and see who they run to. They had dropped me off at Times Square because it wreaked havoc with my nightcrafting abilities. I could have been surrounded by nightcrafters and not even know it because the lights totally threw me off. Kellar and his friends were probably just waiting for me to run back to my team so they could figure out who I was working for. All that time they kept me in the dark was just meant to mess with my head and make me more eager to get back to base. They were hoping I wouldn’t be thinking straight.

  Fortun
ately I wasn’t quite dumb enough to prove them right.

  So, instead of dialing Dominique, I dialed the second number that NATO training had burned into my memory. NATO had a phone system set up for field operatives. All I had to do was dial a number that was ostensibly for an information service. It had an automated voice response system with recordings from a cheery gal, and to the outside world it was listed as a simple information service that would actually help you out if you asked normal questions. But one of its secret features was a system used to send emergency codes to a NATO routing system. I was sure the nightcrafters wouldn’t know about it. Only a handful of people in the whole world did, and all of them worked for Dominique.

  The line rang twice. Once I heard the bubbly, recorded voice of the receptionist asking what I needed help with, I dialed in a four digit code that indicated I was being tailed and I needed covert extraction. The message would be routed through the NATO alert system straight to Dominique, and then Newton. I hoped that they’d come up with some clever idea to get me out of this without revealing NATO’s involvement to the nightcrafters. If Kellar and his buddies found out who I was working for, the operation would be shut down in a matter of hours, and we’d probably all end up with voided memories.

  So I decided to chill out in Times Square for a while, and watch the pretty lights until somebody came to save me.

  * * *

  I wanted to shop.

  It was an odd compulsion. I had just been freed from days of captivity, and most likely being watched by nightcrafters waiting to capture me again along with my friends. But the hours I spent staring at the huge, bright digital signs in Times Square still made me want to spend money like a billionaire’s wife. I guess all that advertising works.

  I resisted the urge to go window shopping, and settled on a trip to McDonald’s instead. I’d left my wallet on my dining room table before the nightcrafters nabbed me, but I was lucky to have a spare five dollar bill in a small side pocket in my jeans. I ordered some cheap crap off of the value menu and a small drink. I hadn’t eaten much in the past three days, and that Coke tasted like the nectar of the gods.

  I nervously watched the hours pass, and there was no sign of my cavalry. I considered leaving Times Square, but that seemed too dangerous. This place was nice and public, and the light from the bright signs would hinder the other nightcrafters just as much as it would limit my magic. Staying here was my best chance at staying alive.

  After a while, my patience ran out and I started to wonder if my message even got through. I stepped outside the McDonald’s for some fresh air to clear my head, and immediately encountered a haggard homeless fellow. He was dressed in dirty rags, and he had a beard littered with various things I didn’t care to identify — especially right after I’d eaten.

  “Got any change, bro?” the derelict said to me.

  “Nope,” I said. It was true. I’d spent all my money on my value meal feast. “I thought the city got rid of all the homeless people in this area.”

  “They did,” the bum said. Then he winked at me.

  For a moment I wondered if my life was deteriorating so badly that a vagrant hitting on me would be the highlight of my day. Then I realized this man’s voice sounded familiar.

  “That’s all right, man,” he said. “I hear the best spot to find what I’m looking for is in front of the Italian restaurant down there.” He winked at me again, and this time I noticed something familiar in his clear blue eyes.

  That’s when the light bulb went off in my head. This wasn’t some random bum.

  This was Newton.

  I had no idea what the hell Newton was up to, or what convinced him to try the disguise, but I could tell by the twinkle in his eye and the giggle in his voice that he enjoyed it. I, however, was not so happy about the situation. It must have taken him quite some time to create a disguise that convincing. That was time that could have been used to figure a way to get my ass out of my current predicament.

  Once I got over my irritation, I realized two things. One, the cavalry was near. Two, Newton had given me a clue. So I headed to the Italian restaurant a couple blocks down.

  The digital signage in Times Square told me it was just past midnight on a Saturday, and the area was full of locals and tourists enjoying their weekends. I tried to use my eyes to pick out possible nightcrafters in the crowd, but I wasn’t having any luck. I made an attempt to access the Rift but, as expected, had no luck.

  I made it to the spot that Newton mentioned, and found nothing out of place. I didn’t even see Newton. My casual calm was starting to wear off. I had a feeling something big was about to happen, but I had no clues and no magic to help me. While I was figuring out what to do next, the shit hit the fan.

  First, I heard the sirens. They seemed to come from everywhere at once, assaulting the ears of everyone on the street. A few seconds later, a cacophony of tire screeches joined the sirens as speeding police vehicles came to a grinding halt. Cops flooded into the area. Behind me, a fire truck’s horn blasted a deep note. The scene was filled with ear-splitting noise and frantic energy.

  A pale, pot-bellied police officer popped out of his squad car and shouted, “We need everybody outta here, now!”

  “What’s going on?” a frightened woman in the crowd asked.

  The cop didn’t even look at her as he pushed her forward. “No time for questions,” he said. “Just move! Go go go!” The officer was abrasive, to say the least. But I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t being a dick because he was mad. He was terrified.

  I gave the group of policemen a thorough visual analysis. Most of them looked like old NYPD vets who had seen plenty of crowd control situations. They reacted with practiced precision, despite their obvious nervousness. But a jittery, fresh-faced young man to my left had a demeanor that practically screamed, “I’m a rookie!”

  I instantly came up with a nickname for him: Mr. Green.

  As more cops entered the area and ushered people away, the older officers motioned for Mr. Green to stay behind them. He stood near the open driver’s side door of his squad car as the others formed a line. The people in the street were understandably confused and angered at the rude intrusion of the police, and classic New York tempers were starting to show. As the yelling started, the sound of the police radio chatter was mostly drowned out. But, apparently, Mr. Green was still able to hear a message from dispatch on his dashboard radio. He cupped his hands to his mouth, and started to shout.

  “Hey Al, the bomb squad’s—”

  Mr. Green stopped in mid-sentence and his eyes widened. I was sure he just realized he’d spilled the beans. The word “bomb” drew everyone’s attention, despite the noise. Those within earshot reflexively repeated the word, then people near them did the same, until the frightened mutterings passed over the entire crowd in a wave.

  Then everybody scattered like roaches when the lights turn on.

  I’ve often seen video of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, where hordes of people run like hell to keep a stampede of huge bulls from trampling or goring them. Now I found myself in front of a similar crazed mob looking to escape. But there was no massive angry bull driving these people. Instead, it was the fear of death and mutilation in a fiery explosion.

  I had about two seconds to make a decision. I could stay, and hope that Newton and the team would extract me eventually, or I could run for my life. I was just about to turn and run like I stole something when somebody grabbed me.

  I turned to see who it was and got a face full of some kind of spray. The next few seconds were a blur of images. I was dragged through some sort of building with old and dirty floor tiles. Then I was in a kitchen. Then I was in an alley, next to a large gray van. My brain was hardly working at that point, but I knew I didn’t want to be in that van. I fought my captors, but they were strong, and the substance they sprayed in my face had my head spinning. I saw the van’s rear doors open, then I blacked out.

  When I wo
ke up, I found that I’d been cuffed, blindfolded, and gagged. I raised my head.

  “You’re safe here,” an unfamiliar male voice said. “Just chill out and wait.”

  So I’ve been kidnapped . . . again.

  I put my head back down and did my best to assess the situation. I couldn’t see, and I couldn’t talk, but I could still hear and feel. The ambient sounds and occasional bumps told me I was in a moving vehicle on a paved road.

  The ride stopped. I felt two pairs of strong hands grab me by the arms and pull me up. My captors led me out of what I guessed to be the same cargo van I’d seen earlier. I heard the rear doors open, and heat from above warmed my forehead. A clean, natural breeze caressed my face. I was outdoors, and it was daytime. For a moment I felt safe.

  But it didn’t last long. The guys gripping my arms pushed me forward and the sun and wind were quickly replaced by the buzz of fluorescent lighting and the stagnant air of a stuffy building. My burly companions marched me down a winding corridor for a while before I heard a door click open and I was led inside. Someone pushed me down into a surprisingly comfortable chair and then started asking questions.

  “Did they feed you anything?” Voice #1 said.

  I shook my head.

  “Did they mark you in any way?” Voice #2 said.

  I shook my head again.

  “Did you tell them any sensitive information?”

  This was starting to get annoying. I wanted to tell these punks off, but I still had a gag in my mouth. I mumbled something and shook my head around. My captors got the point and removed the gag.

  “You have something to say?” Voice #1 said.

  “Two things, actually,” I said. “First, you guys really could use some hospitality lessons. Second, I didn’t say anything to them and I really don’t have anything to say to you.”