“This creature is called a grendel,” Vivienne Sagadraco said. “It was named after two of its ancestors featured in the epic poem, Beowulf. Their present-day habitat is the mountains and caves of Norway and Sweden near the Arctic Circle. As with many supernatural hunters, the encroachment of modern man has forced many away from their preferred habitats. When Beowulf was written approximately twelve hundred years ago, grendels lived as far south as the marshlands of Denmark. As the human population spread, they moved northward and adapted to colder climates. From what details I could give him, Director Anderssen believes that we have a male and female.”
“Shit,” drawled one of the commanders, a Louisianan named Roy Benoit. “Grendel and his momma.”
A couple of chuckles made their way around the table.
Roy had grown up in the swamps of southern Louisiana in a long and proud line of gator hunters. He’d done a stint in the army, become a ranger, then done a longer stint in Iraq. He saw things over there that convinced him that humans weren’t the only alpha predators walking on two legs on this green earth. He’d come straight from Iraq to SPI NY, and was a natural as a unit commander.
“If I recall correctly,” Benoit continued, “the monster in Beowulf liked it quiet. Loud, drunken partiers—whether Vikings or Times Square tourists—really piss it off.”
“I believe they were selected for precisely that reason,” Sagadraco said. “According to Director Anderssen, while they can and do hunt alone, grendels prefer to hunt in pairs or small groups. They display a keen intelligence and tactical precision in pursuit of their prey. Our adversary—at least for now—is somehow able to influence the grendels’ aggression, or at least direct it. For those of you unfamiliar with the poem, after Beowulf killed Grendel by tearing off his arm, Grendel’s mother attacked Heorot Hall to retrieve her dead son’s arm and exact vengeance. Beowulf tracked Grendel’s mother to her lair, killed her, retrieved the arm, and decapitated the dead Grendel.”
She aimed the remote at the grendel hologram, clicked a button, and it vanished. If only the real thing could be dispatched as easily.
“The events of the past forty-eight hours,” Sagadraco said, “imply that their descendants have a desire for vengeance of the eye-for-an-eye variety. They are now in our city committing murder, and taking heads and arms as trophies. We can theorize that the mummified body parts were intended as payment or a reward of some sort for the grendels that were brought here. However, we lack proof for that hypothesis; so for now, it remains a theory.” She paused meaningfully. “Director Anderssen insists that these are primitive creatures that would not have the ability to veil themselves from sight and sound. This means that our adversary must somehow be providing them with the means to do so.”
“The last thing we need is a pair of independent, strategic-thinking monsters prowling the city hunting for their ancestor’s missing body parts.” The speaker was Sandra Niles, another team commander, who’d come to New York by way of Jamaica.
“Do we have any leads as to who’s behind this?” Ian asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Sagadraco said. “The team of ghouls who took the arm and Mr. Barrington-Smythe could be working either for our adversary or for an as of yet unknown party.”
Sagadraco aimed and clicked the remote again. Where the grendel had stood was now a holographic map of the lower half of Manhattan.
“The first murder—that we can directly attribute to our subjects—was in Chinatown,” she continued. “The second was in SoHo. That doesn’t mean that the monsters and their controller are in Lower Manhattan, but Times Square is close enough that we can safely narrow our search parameters.”
Red dots appeared at each of the three locations then a glowing blue line linked the dots to form a triangle.
“If the grendels choose to hunt on the surface tonight, there will be more killings, and more risk of additional exposure,” she added. “Unfortunately these creatures are not sluggish during the day.” Sagadraco turned to SPI’s resident cryptozoologist. “Dr. Milner.”
Dr. Henry Milner took the boss lady’s place at the front of the room, as well as control of the remote. Control of the room was another matter entirely. I’d met him during my first week at SPI, and knew him to be more comfortable studying creatures of the night than interacting with people during the day. He cleared his throat nervously, clicked the remote, and the map of Lower Manhattan came back, only this time it was flat like a tabletop with red, green, and blue glowing lines descending in a seemingly endless tangle below the surface.
I knew what they were. Tunnels and pipes. I felt a pair of eyes on me. Vivienne Sagadraco was regarding me with an assessing gaze.
“The red represents subway tunnels, the green are the city sewers, and the blue are the major waterlines and storm overflow drains,” Dr. Milner was saying. “There are more than eight hundred miles of subway tracks and thousands of miles of sewer tunnels running under the city. While grendels historically preferred warm temperatures, they have adapted to colder climates, meaning they could be anywhere down there.”Ian’s expression was grim. “As are many of the city’s homeless.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Milner pressed a button on the remote and the bottom two-thirds of the hologram’s tunnels vanished, still leaving an impossible amount of real estate for our people to cover. “Based on surveys done by ourselves, the police, and the city’s social services department, many of the city’s tunnel-dwelling homeless can be found in the levels that are far enough down for concealment, yet close enough to the surface for access.” He paused uneasily. “Director Anderssen said that while grendels are carnivores and will eat any warm-blooded animal, their prey of preference is humans. Their physiology is such that they thrive in an environment where they have ready access to humans. As a result, grendels have been hunted down and rendered virtually extinct in the Scandinavian countries. Our present situation proves that there are a few remaining.”
“So how do we kill ’em?” Benoit asked.
“Due to their size and speed, not easily,” Milner replied.
“The information Director Anderssen sent says that their skin is essentially armored scales,” Sagadraco said. “Impervious to most weapons, unless the entry point is beneath one of the plates. One would have to be preternaturally skilled with a bladed weapon or lucky beyond belief with a firearm. Even if the skin is penetrated, the musculature beneath is capable of healing all but the most grievous of injuries. The only sure way of dispatching the creature is by decapitation. The grendels’ speed and strength make getting close enough to do any of the above all but impossible.” She smiled. “However, we deal with the impossible every day, and I have every confidence in your abilities.”
Benoit gave the boss a crooked grin. “Why, thank you, ma’am. We aim to kill.”
“Lars and a team of specialists are on their way now and will arrive by eleven o’clock this evening. They have had experience with grendels, and have agreed to serve as consultants on this mission.” She leveled a glance around the table. “We will give them our full cooperation.”
There were nods of agreement, some more reluctant than others. Each of our people had the highest qualifications for the job they did—and the lowest tolerance for outsiders coming in to potentially tell them how to do it. The boss knew that, hence the proactive admonition.
“However, we have two other problems that cannot be solved by accurately placed silver or steel.” She held out her hand and Moreau gave her a copy of today’s Informer. I didn’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to hold the thing any longer than I had to, either. “One of our city’s tabloids has captured a photo of one of the grendels.”
I felt an overwhelming urge to slink down in my chair. Just because I didn’t work for the Informer any longer, didn’t mean that I wasn’t still embarrassed by having once been employed by them.
“Fortunately for us,” Sagadraco added, “this tabloid does not enjoy a reputation for sterling journalism.”
“Amen,” I said.
There was light laughter around the table.
“Though, in our favor,” Sagadraco added, “the photograph is grainy, and the Informer is known to have faked or embellished photos in the past. Also to our benefit, the police believe Dr. Falke’s murder to be the work of a sickle-wielding serial killer who plagued this city several years ago.”
That was new. I glanced at Ian. He nodded once in confirmation.
“Rumors benefit us now,” the boss continued, “but in a city of this size where nearly everyone carries the means to photograph or videotape anything they see, it is only a matter of time before the grendels are a secret no longer. If this happens, supernatural beings will soon be exposed by legitimate sources that people trust and believe.” She frowned. “A copy of the letter I received is in your folders. It all but directly states that our adversary’s intent with these creatures is to release them into Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Our challenge is great. We have a little more than twenty-four hours to locate two grendels in hundreds of miles of tunnels before midnight on New Year’s Eve. If we fail, it will literally be there for the world to see. If we fail—real monsters will become known to mankind, undisputed proof that supernatural creatures exist will be provided to millions at once, inciting a worldwide panic.” Vivienne Sagadraco took a deep breath and looked in the eyes of each man and woman seated at the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, what would follow would be open season on all supernatural creatures.”
• • •
The dragon lady’s mood was grim enough after the meeting without me adding to it, but just like the vamp’s offer, ignoring this wasn’t going to make it go away.
Immediately after the meeting adjourned, Roy Benoit approached the boss, and they were now deep in discussion. Ian caught Alain Moreau’s attention. The lawyer crossed the room to us.