Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Although several highrises dwarfed the gothic gables of Clinton Church, its brownstone cross was Matt Murdock’s favorite vantage point. He crouched at the base of the symbol of his faith, sweeping his senses across this portion of Hell’s Kitchen. The din of rush hour traffic had begun waning 20 minutes earlier, coinciding with the last of the sun’s rays he’d felt on his face. Matt savored autumn’s cooler temperatures; his carbon fiber and kevlar suit was stifling during hot weather. 

With the Port Authority bus terminal only a block away and subway lines underground, the church steeple quivered at dozens of frequencies. Between the vibrations and New Yorkers’ conversations and car horns and exhaust and the aroma of the hibachi grill down the block mixed with the brackish scent of Hudson River to the west, Matt’s senses painted an ever-changing impressionistic tapestry that compensated for his blindness. From his perch 90 feet over New York City, he combed that tapestry for anything amiss. 

Multiple shouts carried from the northwest. Matt shifted his grip on the stone cross to look and listen in that direction. The tempo of pedestrians’ footsteps had increased. Tens of people were running south, west, or east from the intersection of 9th and 42nd, a half block from Clinton Church. Curiously, no gunshots had rung out.

Since the building to the west rose ten stories higher than the church steeple, Matt quickly climbed down and hit the ground running, dodging surprised or frightened pedestrians fleeing east along 42nd Street. Nearly everyone’s heart rate was elevated, and he smelled the sharp tang of fear from some.

As he neared the intersection, two imposing figures sprinting south across 42nd grabbed Matt’s attention. Both stood well over six feet tall, had muscular physiques, and snarled at each other. Although fast, their gaits were odd. Judging from shoulder widths the person—a bodybuilder?—in the lead was male and his pursuer female. 

The large man looked over his shoulder to bark something guttural at the woman, colliding with a teenager absorbed in texting in the process. Matt heard the teen’s scream, his phone clatter to the ground, and saw the snarling man bat the kid aside like a rag doll. Then he darted off of the crowded, chaotic sidewalk into 9th Avenue’s mostly empty bike lane. The woman followed suit.

Matt veered into the stopped traffic on 42nd, jumping on to a sedan’s roof and leapfrogging across vehicles on an intercept course with the still-running, snarling people. Once on the bike path he broke into a flat-out run and started gaining on the strange bodybuilders. The SUV in the lane closest to them slowed, presumably to gawk, and the taxi behind it crashed into its rear bumper. That started a chain reaction of accidents, squealing breaks, car horns, and shouted invectives.

A new round of screams and squealing breaks carried from 100 feet ahead. Something—another tall person?—barreled down the bike lane toward the snarling people. With so much going on and Matt at a dead run it was hard to tell, but a cyclist seemed to be between the new tall person and the bodybuilders. Suddenly the newcomer was in the air, leaping superhumanly high over the cyclist and eliciting a chorus of gasps and screams. Despite his height and bulk, he landed close to silently.

Matt realized another oddity about the bodybuilders: their footfalls were quiet as well. They were barefoot like the newcomer.

Thirty feet ahead the bodybuilders slowed to a stop, as well as the acrobatic new person another twenty feet in front of them. Using his momentum, Matt jumped to catch the arm of a streetlamp, swung up, and perched atop. From there he sensed that traffic was at a standstill, pedestrians and the cyclist had fled, and the three strange, strong people only seemed interested in each other. Matt would intervene if necessary.

The bodybuilders snarled, and the newcomer, who seemed to have long, thick hair, growled. It wasn’t a human’s growl, but the deep rumble of large dog. The hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stood up as he caught the man’s scent: canine and human. The wind carried the bodybuilders’ scents as well. They smelled like pissed-off humans and nothing more.

A low, gravelly voice called out. “This does not concern you, Devil.” The words were slow and nearly slurred, as if from a speech impediment. Matt’s eyebrows shot up under his mask; perhaps the impediment was a canine snout. Although he personally hadn’t dealt with magic beyond Danny’s and that of the Hand, since the Battle of New York everyone knew monsters existed. Matt typically fought the human ones.

“Hell’s Kitchen is my concern,” Matt replied. “How about you three take your disagreement to somewhere less crowded? I count at least a dozen fender benders and one badly bruised pedestrian already.”

The female bodybuilder whirled around and shrieked at Matt as her companion rushed at the wolfman. Matt listened and watched, pulling his batons from their leg holsters.

Police sirens wailed in the distance as the wolfman drew himself up and roared at the male bodybuilder. The latter slowed, growling and grunting with his arms to his sides, hands balled into fists. Wolfman, who stood a few inches taller than his challenger, stood his ground. “Who did this to you?” he rumbled.

“No one!” the man snarled as he lunged. The wolfman swung one powerful arm down. The bodybuilder dodged, grabbed his opponent’s arm, and bit. Wolfman roared and shook the bodybuilder off of him, flinging him into a delivery van stopped at the edge of snarled traffic. The side of the van crumpled. As the bodybuilder slumped to the ground, Matt caught the coppery scent of the wolfman’s blood in the air. Police sirens grew louder.

The female bodybuilder gaped at the sight of her stunned companion, then rounded on the wolfman and charged as she snarled and cursed. To Matt’s surprise Wolfman stayed still. At the last minute he jumped up, and muscular woman rushed past him. The Wolfman twisted in the air to face the woman when he landed, wrapping one arm tight around her throat. She thrashed and growled to no avail. “Stand down,” Wolfman said. Along with her angry shouts, Matt heard the wolfman’s steady heartbeat. It was fairly slow—for a human, anyway.

Movement beside the damaged van got Matt’s attention. The male bodybuilder had gotten to his knees and was shaking his head. 

Matt jumped to the ground and sprinted to the injured bodybuilder, stowing his batons along the way. He slowed as he approached, keeping his hands up. “No one wants a fight, so let’s just—” Matt cut himself off as he got his first clear look at the bodybuilder. Although his sensory tapestry was short on details, the tall, muscular man had a brow ridge, and his face seemed unusually broad. 

Ten feet to the right Matt heard the other bodybuilder’s snarls quiet and her breaths turn to gasps. Wolfman’s heartbeat remained slow and steady. “Sleeper hold?” Matt asked while keeping most of his attention on the male bodybuilder.

“Yes,” Wolfman rasped.

The now-loud police sirens seemed stationary. Multiple footsteps approached, accompanied with shouts of “Police!”

The male bodybuilder tore his gaze from Matt and charged at Wolfman. Matt tripped him, then pinned the muscular man to the concrete sidewalk with one knee. The guy kept fighting, forcing Matt to use both hands to hold the man’s wrists behind his back. He was impressively strong.

As police officers arrived, Matt realized the wolfman’s scent had vanished. His senses detected the female bodybuilder motionless on the ground, her heart beating slowly and evenly. The wolfman was gone.

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Mahoney drawled.

Matt gave the detective sergeant a smile. “I was in the neighborhood.” The bodybuilder and possible mutant struggled anew, prompting Matt to adjust his hold on him. 

Another officer and a paramedic crouched beside the female bodybuilder. “Whoa,” one of them said.

Mahoney said, “Care to tell me why you’re pinning a barefoot roid-head in torn clothes like the Hulk with another one passed out nearby?”

“Because they won’t stop fighting. Mostly each other.”

“And the werewolf?”

Matt looked up and feigned innocence. “Werewolf?”

Mahoney waved south down Ninth Avenue. “Folks back there said a werewolf was in this mess too.”

“I don’t see a werewolf,” Matt stated.

Mahoney loosed a sigh. “Yeah. Me neither.” He looked to the south where more emergency vehicles were arriving and shouted, “Gonna need a sedative here!” Then he turned back to Matt. “Any chance you’ll come with and give a statement?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” Mahoney chuckled. “Amazing how you manage to slip through my fingers after stuff like this.”

Matt smiled genuinely. “Isn’t it, though?”

Chapter Text

Scott Hayden, Emily Huang, and twenty more N train passengers moved toward the back of the subway car to make room for a dozen people embarking from the Canal Street platform. Despite being about only five miles as the crow flies, traveling from the part of Brooklyn they called home to midtown Manhattan was a 45-minute subway ride. Nevertheless it was usually faster than trying to drive, not that either of them owned a car. Why bother with the expense and headache of one when mass transit existed and they knew sorcerers who traveled by magical portal on a regular basis? 

Petite Emily leaned her back against her much taller husband Scott, who held the nearest grab bar and curled his free arm around her waist. While keeping an eye on the others in the crowded car, Scott extended his mind to check his wife’s physical well-being. With so much of them touching he didn’t need his sphere—one of the inch-wide silvery balls his father had created when he’d first visited Earth decades ago—to assist. It remained in the front pocket of his jeans, as usual. 

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Although Emily’s blood pressure and cortisol levels were up, he didn’t sense any pain. Her love, amusement, and a hint of impatience came through loud and clear. Qīn ài de, I’ve got this, she thought to him. I’ve been practicing shielding my mind for six months.

Emily squeezed his hand with one of hers, and Scott smiled. I know. It’s just that we’re not normally shoulder-to-shoulder with a bunch of people.

She chuckled. We’re not, but I am more often than you are. I’m glad that Carla introduced us to that new club. Dancing is fun!

I’m glad that you’re good with me going with you all once every month or so. Fun or not, that’s as much of that scene as I can take.

Nerd, Emily teased.

Scott grinned back, Extroverted nerd.

Touché. Emily tilted her head back, and they indulged in a quick kiss.

Twenty minutes later the couple climbed the stairs of the Times Square Metro station into a sun-drenched late morning buzzing with activity. Locals and tourists enjoyed the nice weather, walking or driving to various destinations as huge video screens advertised products and Broadway shows.

Scott and Emily walked briskly west on 42nd Street. Their volunteer shift at a pop-up vaccination clinic in neighboring Hell’s Kitchen would start soon, and they didn’t want to be late. The sight of Wilson Fisk’s face on a dozen TV screens in a storefront display brought their progress to a halt. 

“Ugh. What’s he done now?” Emily muttered. She and Scott moved close to the storefront window to hear the audio over the city’s din.

The screens cut to a Black, female newscaster that Scott recognized from one of the local channels. “—press conference earlier this morning. Big Apple Health Initiatives is a sponsor of WNYC 7 News.” The scene shifted to a recording of the press conference. Bald, sixty-something Fisk was a brick wall of a man in a well-tailored white suit over a black shirt. A striking brunette about the same age stood beside him, alternating between smiling at Fisk and the cameras. 

“Fellow New Yorkers,” Fisk began. Not for the first time Scott wondered how the somewhat awkward man managed to be charismatic. “Our city—indeed the world—continues to recover from the devastating blow dealt by Thanos’ snap. Vanessa—” he smiled at the woman with his heart in his eyes “—and I have increased our funding of Big Apple Health Initiatives to do our parts. Recently we launched a city-wide vaccination drive. Free flu shots are available to everyone, regardless of insurance coverage or immigration status.”

Scott and Emily exchanged a look. He was sure that her thoughts echoed his: That’s great, but what’s in it for you, Fisk?

Fisk stepped to one side to allow his wife access to the mic. “Wilson and I encourage everyone older than six months to get a free flu vaccine. Injections and the nasal spray are available. Please consult with your doctor if you have any concerns about how the vaccine may affect current medical conditions. If you need a doctor, one of our free clinics may be able to help. Visit bigapplehealth.org to learn more.”

Mrs. Fisk stepped aside, and Wilson returned to the podium. “Thank you, Vanessa,” he smiled at her. To the camera he said, “Let’s work together to make this year’s flu season as mild as possible. For a list of free vaccination sites, visit bigapplehealth.org/flu.” Then Fisk slid a meaty arm around Vanessa’s waist. “We’ll get our shots at the midtown site after we return from Davos. Contagious disease prevention is one of the topics on the agenda.” He smiled—seemingly genuinely—at the camera. “Be well, New York.” The show cut back to the newscaster, who repeated the website for the vaccine clinic locations. 

Scott and Emily strode away, resuming their prior pace. Emily stated, I didn’t realize that the vaccination drive is city-wide!

Me neither, Scott said. It’s no wonder Patrice and James asked us to volunteer, and why we’re all the way up here. 

Emily nodded. Yeah, and it’ll be good to see them again. We’re all so busy now and going in different directions.

They couldn’t have missed the vaccination site if they’d tried. White canopies with red capital letters spelling “Big Apple Health” took up half of the sidewalk space in front of a gothic revival church on 42nd between 7th and 8th avenues. As they approached Scott observed New Yorkers in short lines talking to volunteers behind folding tables. Judging from their clothes, most were lower class and many were people of color. Although Fisk was questionable at best, providing free vaccinations was a good thing.

“NATO X-Files represent!” a male voice shouted.

Emily laughed and waved at their friend James, who waved back from under the canopy closest to them. Scott waved as well, trying to ignore a surge of self-consciousness and mild paranoia. His wife squeezed his hand. It’s okay. No one other than Patrice has a clue what he’s referring to. If any of the volunteers ask, say it’s an inside joke. She giggled and added, Which it is.

After spending two-thirds of his life laying low to avoid the U.S. government’s notice thanks to a xenophobic federal agent who’d decided that Scott and his father were a menace to society, Scott still had trouble believing that he and Emily now worked for the British government doing X-Files-like work. That was the last thing he’d expected from his and Emily’s trip to London in February. Somehow it had worked out and continued to do so.

As they stepped into the shade under the canopy Patrice, a heavyset Black woman in her early sixties, looked up from the form she was filling out. “Hey, guys! Long time, no see.”

Scott laughed. “It’s been two weeks since we all had dinner with you and Simon.”

James, who also was African American and nearly 40 years younger than Patrice, said, “That’s a long time after seeing each other just about every day at the clinic.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe they fired you.”

Scott shrugged. “I like this new gig better.”

“Me too,” Emily agreed.

After Patrice and James had finished paperwork and vaccinated the people in line at their table, they stepped away to show Emily and Scott where all of the supplies were and the protocol to follow. It was all standard stuff they’d done when they’d worked at the Sunset Park Free Clinic.

As the church bell began chiming 12:00, Patrice motioned at the table beside theirs. “You guys will take over for Brian and Shannon.” 

Emily and Scott headed in that direction only to be stopped by James. “But first!”

Scott turned around to find a small, gold object flying toward him and James grinning like a loon. Scott caught it and was surprised by its weight. A glance at the object revealed why: it was a sorcerer’s sling ring made of solid gold.

“Already?!?” Emily said loudly, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

James smirked. Tugging at his T-shirt as if he had imaginary lapels, he stated, “I am told I have great aptitude.”

“So that ‘internship’ is going well,” Scott grinned. Then he turned his attention to the ornate, two-finger ring. Although he’d seen the power sorcerers had when wielding the magical object, Scott sensed no energy in it. As far as he was concerned, the ring was a gaudy lump of gold. 

Emily had leaned in and was inspecting the sling ring as well. She motioned for it, and Scott handed it over.

Patrice pointedly cleared her through. “Ix-nay on the ing-ray,” she stage whispered. “There’s a policy!”

“On using it or stuff like it during work hours,” James said, keeping his voice down. He stepped up to Emily and reached for his ring, which she returned. He stowed the bulky piece of jewelry in the front pocket of his cargo pants.

“Congrats, James,” Emily said, giving her friend a quick hug. Then she looked to the table with the volunteers they were to relieve, then at Scott. “Let’s get to work.”

***

Thanks to the acute sense of smell of his hybrid form, forty-one-year-old, Mexican-American Jack Russell knew exactly where the man and woman who’d transformed into Neanderthal-like versions of themselves lived: a middle-class highrise apartment building on 9th Avenue between 44th and 45th streets.

After leaving the faux Neanderthals to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the police the previous evening, Jack had sprinted to the alley where he’d hidden a bag with tennis shoes, a plain hoodie, and track pants and returned to his human form. Since night had fallen he didn’t bother with concealer to hide the white facial tattoos the damned Left Hand Path cultists had left him with a few years ago. He’d killed several of them as he’d escaped their temple in Los Angeles and had no regrets. Satanists—the kind that dabbled in dark magic, not atheists who thumbed their noses at Christians—were stupid and dangerous. 

Despite hiring best-in-the-business plastic surgeons, the tattoos remained on Jack’s face due to some sort of magic mumbo-jumbo. Magic undoubtedly existed—his father’s messing with the Darkhold decades ago had re-awoken the family’s then-dormant werewolf curse—but Jack wouldn’t touch it himself. The curse had activated on the full moon after Jack’s eighteenth birthday. For the ensuing two decades, the magic behind the curse had ruled his life. Thank the gods for the trust fund his father had left him; there was no way he could hold a normal job.

Since the trail had been fresh, human Jack caught the Neanderthals’ scent and followed it north up 9th Avenue to the apartment building. Five minutes later he’d flirted with and fast-talked a female resident into letting him in so he could “check on a friend’s dog.” 

Figuring out the Neanderthal’s floor had taken a while. It’s impossible to discreetly sniff an elevator’s control panel to narrow down the number of floors to check for a scent trail. As luck would have it, the elevator he’d initially chosen had been the one the Neanderthals had last used. Their trail led to apartment 10C. Since closed-circuit cameras were everywhere, Jack had kept walking, made his way outside, and called an Uber.

Jack had plenty of time during the traffic-choked trip from Hell’s Kitchen to the Jackson Heights section of Queens to ponder what, if anything, to do next. If the Neanderthals he’d encountered were representative of the “beast-man attacks,” as some of the supernatural junkies online were calling them, lycanthropy was not involved. Yet the first attacks had occurred on the night of the full moon two days earlier. Was it just coincidence, or was this a new sort of lycanthropy?

Since there was plenty to do in New York City and his niece Nina’s apartment had a soundproofed room with a werewolf containment cage, Jack decided to stay a while longer and investigate. With any luck he’d have the beast-man/Neanderthal situation sorted out well before the next full moon. If not, Nina planned to be away for weeks, so Jack could stay at her place and lock himself away.

The following day had been mostly waiting while Jack kept his virtual assistant Pedro busy. He paid the hardworking young man well to make sure his unusual and sometimes illegal requests were answered quickly and discreetly.

Pedro’s answers had trickled in as Jack, wearing well-fitting, brand name, casual clothes and tennis shoes, and concealer covering the facial tattoos he despised, killed time in Hell’s Kitchen near 9th Avenue. The Neanderthals, whose names were Kanan and Naya Patel, were being treated at the Columbia University Medical Center. No new coverage of yesterday’s events nor a new incident had been reported. As the sun dipped toward the western horizon, Jack told Pedro via text to monitor the 15th Precinct’s scanner for anything that might be related to a Neanderthal attack.

At 5:53 PM Jack’s phone chimed. Pedro texted, “Incident in progress near W 42nd & 8th” along with a long Google Maps link. After replying with a thumbs up emoji and tapping the link, Jack sprinted east down 45th Street, stopping long enough to stow his daypack with a change of clothes in an alley behind a dumpster.

He stopped at the corner of 42nd and 8th to look and listen for the incident. A familiar snarl carried from the south, as well as the scents of multiple humans and a good amount of fear. Jack looked in that direction as a Black family rushed by with each parent carrying a child. 

Fifty feet down the sidewalk a large, loose circle of people surrounded a snarling Neanderthal. Although sirens wailed faintly from the west and north, no cops were in sight. Jack sprinted to the circle, hoping he wouldn’t need to adopt his hybrid form.

The tan-skinned, black-haired, male Neanderthal in a shredded T-shirt and shorts stood at least six inches taller than everyone nearby, including a slender white man positioned between him and two others near the bus terminal’s exterior glass wall. Jack smelled human blood before he found its source: an overweight, dark-skinned man slumped against the glass wall. Blood smeared the glass, and the injured man blearily looked at the petite Asian woman crouched at his side.

The tall, thin white guy defending the two near the wall had salt and pepper hair and a short beard. His defensive stance indicated some sort of martial training, and his right hand was balled into a fist. “Okay,” he said with a generic American accent. “Let’s calm down. No one’s going to hurt—”

The overly muscular man spread his arms wide and growled. Jack noticed the white guy gulp, but stand his ground. He looked over his shoulder at the Asian woman, then back to the Neanderthal. “¿Hablas español? ¿Me entiendes?”

The Neanderthal blinked at the white man. “Sí,” he grunted.

While keeping a wary eye on the two men in the middle of the circle, a young Black woman hurried to the Asian woman and injured man. She kneeled, then handed the other woman folded-up fabric. The petite woman nodded a thank you, then pressed the fabric to the back of the injured man’s head.

Police sirens screamed around a corner a few blocks to the north. The Neanderthal startled, then charged in the opposite direction. The middle-aged Latina in his path stood frozen in wide-eyed fear.

Jack shoved his way through the crowd toward the terrified woman, keeping the Neanderthal in his peripheral vision. Then a hum came from close by, the Neanderthal slowed and stopped, and Jack skidded to a halt so he didn’t collide with the frightened Latina.

In Spanish the white man said, “I know it’s loud, and you’re scared. Your head hurts, right?” 

Jack looked in his direction and watched the Neanderthal nod miserably. His shoulders slumped as he looked down at the white man, whose still-balled right hand seemed to glow from within. He looked over his shoulder to meet the Asian woman’s eyes again, then north toward the approaching police cars, and grimaced.

Jack nearly walked toward the white man, but thought better of it. Instead he called in Spanish, “What do you need?”

A moment later a tall white man with dark hair and glasses moved to the edge of the circle of onlookers from the north. He wore a suit with no tie and held a long white cane in front of him. The blind man faced the general direction of the two in the center of the circle, then turned to the women crouched beside the injured man against the wall. “How can I help?” he asked in English.

Glowing-hand white man glanced at the Asian woman again, then faced Jack. “Tell the police to stay back for a little while. I’ve got this,” he said in Spanish. He continued in English, “I don’t know what happened to this guy, but he’s in pain and scared. I can help him, but I need time.” As they’d talked the Asian woman and blind man had their own conversation. Jack caught something about a skull fracture and paramedics.

“You stay,” the Latina Jack had started to rescue told him in Spanish. “I’ll talk to the cops.”

The short, heavyset Latina standing beside her nodded. “We’ll both go.” She nodded at the white guy. “Help him.”

“Gracias,” Jack said. The women hurried off.

The hum coming from the white man grew louder as cops arrived a block to the north. He spoke softly in Spanish to the brow-ridged, muscular man and slowly reached his free hand forward. 

The Neanderthal nodded, then sat down. White guy laid his left hand on the other man’s meaty shoulder. The muscular man visibly relaxed.

“Better?” the white guy asked in Spanish. The Neanderthal smiled slightly and nodded, and the white man’s hand stopped glowing. The hum ceased as well.

After moving something small from his right hand to his left, the white man said, “I’m Scott.” He offered his right hand to the Neanderthal. “What’s your name?”

“Hiram,” the muscular man said as his huge hand enveloped Scott’s. He cocked his head, then asked, “What was sound and light?”

Scott’s left hand closed tighter around whatever he was holding. “It’s a tool that helps me heal people.”

Hiram nodded. He extended his arms forward, looked at them, then down at the ruined clothes covering his bodybuilder-like form. “This not me. Not normal.”

“It’s new?” Scott asked. Hiram nodded, looking guiltily at where paramedics were attending to the injured Black man. “When did it start? Do you know what caused it?”

Hiram shook his head. “Not long ago. Angry at Marcus. Hurt him.”

Scott caught Jack’s eye, then cant his head toward the paramedics. Jack nodded and made his way to them to relay the information. Behind him the quiet conversation in Spanish continued.

“You fix me?” Jack overheard.

“If I can, I will, Hiram,” Scott replied as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged across from the huge man. “For now let’s sit and talk.”

Chapter Text

Matt had never been so glad he’d stopped by his church for confession on his way home from work. Not that he’d made it to church. The commotion near the bus terminal had piqued his curiosity, then drawn him in.

The woman attending to the injured man, who’d introduced herself as Emily, said she’d been a nurse and told him what to tell the paramedics. The man on the ground had at least a skull fracture and a concussion, and she’d guessed at the brow-ridged bodybuilder’s weight in case he needed to be sedated. 

When Matt returned to the ring of onlookers, Emily’s partner? husband? was sitting on the sidewalk with the bodybuilder chatting in Spanish. The hum and energy that had been radiating from his right hand was gone. Superficially it reminded him of Danny, but felt wholly different.

Mahoney and several officers arrived and began quietly clearing the area. Matt obediently moved back, but didn’t leave despite a few of the cops placing temporary barricades around the scene. 

The short, Spanish-speaking man who’d offered to help was hanging around as well, if on the other side of the barricades. Matt divided his attention between him, the bodybuilder, the tall man who’d calmed him, and Emily, who was conversing with a paramedic.

Fifteen minutes later the now-groggy bodybuilder climbed into the back of an ambulance with two paramedics and a cop. Although Matt didn’t know enough Spanish to understand all of their conversation, what little he did plus tone of voice told him that Not-Iron-Fist had convinced the bodybuilder to accept a sedative, and that the paramedics would help him.

He hoped Not-Iron-Fist was right. Two cases of roided-out, brow-ridged people in two days was far from normal and didn’t bode well.

Matt’s stomach rumbled as he waited for Mahoney’s men to finish getting statements from Emily Huang and Scott Hayden, as they’d told the cops. Even with thirty feet between them, Matt heard Hayden’s elevated heart rate. Emily, who stood close beside Hayden, was much calmer. 

Twilight had deepened by the time the police officers strode away from the couple. Matt sensed artificial light from street lamps and portable lights carried by news crews, who’d joined the crowds gathered on either side of the barricaded part of 8th Avenue. Oddly, the couple hadn’t moved from the spot of the sidewalk where they’d given their statement and hadn’t said a word. Although it was hard to tell due to the limitations of Matt’s pseudo-vision, he suspected that they were eyeing the crowds and camera crews.

Matt donned a friendly smile as he approached, sweeping his cane in front of him. “Emily!” he called. “Looking for a way out?”

“Actually, yes,” she replied. Matt heard the smile in her voice, and Hayden’s heart rate slowed a bit.

Matt nodded toward the bus terminal’s wide entrance ahead and to their right. “Let’s try the terminal. There will be gawkers, but fewer than out here, I think.”

He sensed Emily’s nod. “Mr. Murdock—” His eyebrows raised, and the woman chuckled. “Yes, I know who you are. I remember you from the Frank Castle trial.”

“Frank Castle?” Hayden echoed.

Emily looked up at her partner. “That was before you moved here. Like, just before. Mr. Murdock was one of Castle’s defense lawyers.”

“Ah,” the bearded man said, his voice subdued.

“Well,” Matt said to Emily, “it’s good to properly meet you. Call me Matt, please.”

Emily nodded, then glanced at Hayden. “Matt, this is my husband Scott.”

Scott extended one hand, then fidgeted a bit. “I, um…”

Matt reached forward as if he didn’t know exactly where the man’s proffered hand was. Scott shifted and took it. His heartbeat slowed, then increased slightly as Matt sensed a sort of subtle energy from the touch. Curious. 

The pause in conversation had gone on too long, so Matt ended it. “Pleasure to meet you. And yes, I’m blind, so sometimes things are awkward. Don’t worry about it.”

Scott laughed, then said, “Okay. Thanks, Matt.”

Matt headed for the bus terminal entrance with Emily beside him and Scott on her other side. People were everywhere, but parted to let the blind man and his companions through. “I’m pretty sure there are exits to 40th, 9th, and 42nd through here somewhere. You’re not from Hell’s Kitchen or Manhattan, right?”

“Brooklyn,” Emily replied. “Sunset Park.”

“Nice area,” Matt commented.

Matt sensed motion from Scott—probably a nod. “Yeah, we like it a lot.”

Matt stopped, prompting the couple to halt as well. Others in the bus terminal flowed around them. With a slight grin he said, “I’ll stop dancing around it. I want to ask you about the man you’d helped.”

“Hiram,” Scott interjected.

“Hiram,” Matt repeated with a smile. This wasn’t his and his wife’s neighborhood, yet they cared about the overly muscular man who’d frightened most everyone. “Something similar happened last night a few blocks from here.” The couple reacted, and Matt continued. “To a man and a woman. Some good Samaritans subdued them until the cops could get them sedated.”

Emily and Scott exchanged a look but said nothing. They turned back to Matt, and Emily said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Know of anyplace quiet where we can get dinner and talk?”

Matt smiled. “Several. Mexican, Indian, Chinese—”

“Oh god, no Chinese,” Emily blurted. 

Matt frowned, and Scott chuckled. “Emily’s Chinese-American. Her family is from Hong Kong originally.”

“I’m picky about ‘Chinese’ food,” she said, putting air quotes around “Chinese.” “Just not in the mood for American-style Chinese food, is all.”

“I see,” Matt said, amused. “Indian, then?”

The couple nodded, then stumbled over themselves to agree verbally. 

Chuckling, Matt turned west and took a step in that direction. “We need the 40th Street exit then.”

“Okay,” Scott said.

As they wove their way around rows of chairs for bus passengers, Emily looked over her shoulder a few times. Matt payed attention to the couple as they did their staring and not talking thing again. Then Emily said, “Think we should invite Gucci with a backpack to dinner as well?”

Matt blinked. “Gucci— what?”

Scott chuckled and kept his voice low. “The Latino guy who offered to help with Hiram has been following us. Ms. Fashionista here says he’s wearing designer clothes. They just look like a short-sleeved shirt and jeans to me. Anyway, neither of us remember him carrying a backpack before, but he is now. He’s doing a pretty good job staying out of sight.”

“But you noticed him?” Matt asked, chagrinned that he hadn’t picked up on their tail.

She smiled broadly. “I’m very observant, and Scott’s kinda paranoid.” 

Scott’s shoulders drew up and back. “Not that much now.”

“Mm-hmm,” Emily hummed ironically, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “It’s useful sometimes.” 

Matt observed the exchange with amusement. The petite woman reminded him of Foggy in some ways.

Scott sighed and shook his head. “Go ahead,” he told his wife. “I know you want to.”

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Emily turned around and shouted, “¡Hola, Gucci! ¡Ven únete a nosotros!”

“Ven y únete a nosotros,” Scott corrected softly, emphasizing the “y.”

Emily repeated, “¡Ven y únete a nosotros!” 

Matt faced the direction his companions were. Forty feet away dozens of people of all shapes and sizes moved around a short-statured man with a bag slung over one shoulder. The man’s arm moved, presumably in a “Who, me?” gesture.

“¡Sí tú!” Emily called.

The man shrugged, then walked straight toward them. Matt listened to his heartbeat as he approached: slow and even. He extended his hand toward Emily and Scott, saying in English, “I prefer Jack over Gucci.” Matt heard the smile in his voice, as well as a light Latino accent.

The couple shook Jack’s hand and introduced themselves. Again Scott’s heart rate changed as he touched the newcomer. Matt wondered if he possessed magic or a mutant power. “Very observant” Emily likely had an unusual ability as well.

“Thanks for helping earlier, Jack,” Scott said. “Meet Matt, the other good Samaritan who knows all of the good restaurants in the area.”

Matt extended his hand to make the “meet the blind man” thing less awkward. Jack had a firm grip, and his scent seemed familiar. Since he couldn’t put his finger on it and conversation was in progress, he filed the notion away for later. 

“Nice to meet you, Matt Murdock,” Jack said. “Considering the types of clients your firm represents, I’m not too surprised you offered to help Hiram and his friend.” Based on the man’s tone and body language, it was a simple, direct statement.

Scott looked from Jack, to Emily, to Matt, then back to Emily. “Am I the only person who doesn’t know Matt?”

Emily giggled. “Looks like.” Matt chuckled as Scott shook his head.

“Do you keep up with the news?” Jack asked.

“Not really.”

Jack grinned, “That’ll do it.”

Loudspeakers blared a Brooklyn-accented woman’s voice announcing the departure of a few buses. A press of people moved around the group.

Scott motioned to the west. “I see the exit. Let’s get out of here.”

“Indian food okay?” Matt asked Jack.

The shorter man nodded, then said “Yes.”

Scott took the lead, and Matt fell into step beside him. Emily and Jack followed close behind, with the former transitioning to cheerful small talk. “So, Oscar de la Renta, right?”

Matt heard the smile in the soft-spoken man’s voice again. “Yes. The cut of their clothes fits me well. Not everyone’s lanky like your husband.”

Emily laughed. “Tell me about it!”

***

Sitting in a booth in an Indian restaurant, Jack fought to keep his amusement from showing. He sat beside the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who, astoundingly, was the visually impaired and somewhat high-profile lawyer Matt Murdock. Had Jack not smelled the Devil’s scent the previous night in his hybrid form, he’d have doubted what his human nose told him now. But he had, and there was no doubt. 

The Dev—Matt didn’t seem to recognize Jack, which was for the best. His hybrid form scared most people, and he preferred to avoid the topic altogether. But if Matt or Emily or Scott learned of his curse, he’d handle it. As long as he wasn’t captured, Jack had the resources to run and relocate somewhere else. Money made complicated situations manageable.

The four of them had kept small talk light and normal through placing their dinner orders. Scott and Emily were from Brooklyn, and Matt from Hell’s Kitchen, of course. Jack told them that he was in the city on business and staying with family, which largely was the truth. They didn’t need to know that his vampire/werewolf niece was in Norway hunting literal trolls.

As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Emily met Jack’s eyes and cocked her head. “Why’d you follow us? Could’ve introduced yourself. I mean, you helped earlier, after all.”

Despite being taken aback by the woman’s bluntness, Jack appreciated the neutrality of her statements. He detected no judgment. After taking a moment to decide on a reply, he said, “Force of habit, I suppose. I usually work alone.” 

He felt the others’ eyes on him as he sipped at his glass of beer. “I’d ask if you’re a spy ‘cause you’re good at tailing people,” Emily grinned, “but you wouldn’t be able to answer if you were.”

Matt chuckled. “Fair point.”

Jack looked at each of his companions in turn. “You want to know what I do, and why I got involved.”

They nodded.

He pursed his lips and glanced around the nearly full dining room. Most of the patrons were white, Black, or Indian. Then Jack turned to Matt. “Do you speak Spanish, Matt?”

“Some,” he replied. “I’m not fluent, but go ahead. You can catch me up later if I miss too much.”

“Okay.” Keeping his voice down, Jack switched to his native Spanish, which he used primarily with his mother’s side of the family. “I hunt monsters.” Emily and Scott reacted, albeit not as much as most people would. Matt frowned at him. “Not-humans,” Jack tried to clarify. 

Matt nodded. “Entiendo.”

“What kind of monsters?” Scott asked in Spanish. 

Jack tried to keep his vocabulary simple for Matt’s sake. “Bad ones. Ones that hurt people.” He smiled at all of them, including Matt who surely “saw” in some fashion. Jack didn’t see how the man could move and fight like he did without some sort of vision. “Hiram is not a bad one. I want to know what happened to him and the others.”

Emily, who sat across from Matt, leaned forward. “Others?” In slow, mostly correct Spanish she said, “Matt told us that there were two last night.”

Matt turned to Jack and asked in English, “Do you know of more?”

“Yes. One more,” Jack replied in English. “Three days ago near the docks. A woman who fits that, ah, profile—” He dropped his voice to a near whisper and continued in English. “—was killed by police that night.” Emily gasped, Scott’s face creased with anger, and Matt didn’t react. At a conversational volume he hurried to add, “From what I’ve read, it was justified self-defense from their point of view. My assistant sent me all of the news coverage he could find and the official report.”

Emily blinked a few times. “The official police report?” she asked in Spanish.

“The most recent draft.” Jack allowed himself a smirk, then said in English, “My assistant is well-funded and tenacious.” Had Jack not known that the lawyer sitting beside him moonlighted as a vigilante, he wouldn’t have volunteered those details.

Matt’s head tilted as he took a swig of his beer. “Did anything—”

The waitress arrived balancing a large serving platter with their food. After she’d given them their dishes— palak paneer, biryani, chicken tikka masala, beef vindaloo, and a huge bowl of jasmine rice—Matt spoke again. “Three days ago. I can’t think of anything significant that happened then.”

The four went quiet as they thought and dug into their meals. Then Scott paused with a fork full of vindaloo halfway to his mouth. “The full moon.” He and his wife looked silently at each other for a few moments.

Jack unabashedly studied them as the couple did their not-talking thing. “You keep track of the moon’s phase, and do…” He waved the hand holding his fork between the two of them, making sure none of his rice dish was on it. “…whatever that is.”

Scott squirmed in his seat while Emily looked innocently at him. “Whatever what is?”

“Is it the not-talking thing?” Matt asked with a grin. “I think they’re looking at each other when they do it.”

“W-what?” Scott sputtered.

Jack laughed loudly. In Spanish he said, “My blind friend here noticed it!” Careful to keep his tone light, he continued, “I’m sure you’re not spies. You’re not as stealthy as you think you are!”

Scott tensed as a smile spread across Emily’s face. She turned her whole body to face her husband and laid her hand over his on the table. 

“What are they doing now?” Matt asked in halting Spanish.

Jack chuckled before swallowing a bite of biryani. “That thing again. I think they need a minute.”

It was Emily’s turn to laugh, and even Scott seemed a little amused. In slow Spanish she said, “This ‘thing’ is a work in progress. I’ve only been telepathic for six months.” To Matt she whispered in English, “Telepático means ‘telepathic.’”

Even though Jack half expected to hear an explanation along those lines, the notion of someone snooping in his head gave him pause. He noticed that Matt had gone still and was studying his chicken tikka masala.

In Spanish Scott said, “She doesn’t poke around uninvited, if you’re worried about that.”

Emily nodded, setting her fork alongside her plate of palak paneer. With a bit of assistance from Scott she said in Spanish, “Not only is that wrong, but trust me, you don’t want to know what others are thinking. Some of what I accidentally overheard when this started was disturbing.”

Matt poked at his meal with his fork, then looked in Emily’s direction. Keeping his voice down, he said in English, “I think you said, more or less, that you respect people’s privacy.”

“I did,” Emily confirmed.

The lawyer nodded and relaxed a little. “I believe you.” 

Emily smiled, and Jack managed to not smirk because he knew the secret Matt was desperate to keep. Since Jack had no desire to out anyone’s secrets, he turned to Scott. In Spanish he stated, “She’s a telepath, and you’re a healer.” He’d told Hiram the latter a few hours earlier.

“That’s right,” the bearded man confirmed. “I’m also empathic, which is what helped the most with Hiram.” After exchanging a look with Emily he said, “Seeing how there have been three instances of, well, Hirams, in about as many days, we want to investigate further.” After widening his gaze to include Matt he switched to English. “This is the kind of work we do. Investigate unusual… things. Occurrences.”

“You’re cazadores de monstruos, too,” Jack chuckled.

Scott and Emily laughed. “More like investigadores de monstruos, though we can hold our own in a fight.”

“Within reason,” Emily added. 

Scott agreed with a nod. “Hiram I—” he smiled at Emily “—we could handle. More than one? No. That’s when we’d call for backup.”

“So you have backup,” Matt observed.

Emily and Scott exchanged another look. “For official duties, yes,” Emily explained. “This is outside of our employer’s purview.”

“And your employer is…?” Jack fished.

Emily grinned. “Classified.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Matt chuckled. 

Scott caught Jack’s eye. “And your employer?”

“Me,” he grinned.

The tall man smiled. “Nice.”

Jack leaned forward, encouraged. “So we’re working together on this, these… Hirams, yes?” The others agreed with grins and chuckles. 

Emily’s expression sobered somewhat. “We need a better name for what these poor people are going through.”

“Yes, of course,” Jack agreed. “I have more information to share. Matt, can you suggest somewhere we can talk in private?”

Matt smiled. “I know just the place.”

Chapter Text

The nearly full moon was an orange disk behind the entrance to the 45th Street Metro station in Brooklyn. Something about the sight struck Emily as odd, but she shrugged it off and slipped her hand into Scott’s. His hand curled around hers, warming her cold fingers. Indian summer was slipping away; she should have worn a heavier coat for their trek to see Wicked on Broadway.

“You’ve lived here for how long and haven’t seen a play?” Emily teased.

Scott shrugged. “Have you seen the price of tickets?”

“Yes,” Emily chuckled, “because I bought ours.”

He squeezed her hand, and she felt his love and happiness. “We can afford ‘em, so here we are.” Scott checked his watch as they approached the top of the stairs. “What time—”

A snarl and dozens of rushing footsteps carried up the stairs. The couple jumped aside just before a crowd of frightened New Yorkers sprinted toward them. A few of the slower individuals lagged behind, eyes wide and looking over their shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Scott shouted at the mob. 

No one stopped to reply.

A Indian woman in a sari walking with a limp climbed the last stair to the sidewalk. “What is it?!” Emily asked her.

Although Emily didn’t understand the woman’s reply, her meaning was clear: something unknown and frightening. The woman waved frantically at her and Scott, shooing them away, then hurried off herself.

An eerie quiet had replaced the earlier din. Normally the city was wall-to-wall noise, but now everything was still except for the rumble of trains underground.

Scott put a protective arm around Emily’s shoulders as they peered down the empty stairwell. She heard his sphere humming in his right hand and saw the faint red glow of its light shining through flesh. Anything? she asked.

Something’s coming, he said. The hum of the metal ball faded away as quiet, unhurried footsteps approached the foot of the stairs. A humanoid figure cloaked in shadows began making its way toward them.

Yellow-orange moonlight reflecting off of glass-walled buildings gradually illuminated the figure. It—he—was human, with short, graying, dark hair and a black suit over his average build. Pale, downward-pointing chevrons decorated his tie. The silent man seemed familiar even as he grew larger with each step. He kept his head down as the fine fabric of his suit grew taut, then strained to cover his widening shoulders and chest. His pant legs rose up as his legs lengthened and thighs and calves muscled. The sounds of tearing fabric broke the quiet as the now-hulking man stopped on the second to top stair and tilted his head toward them.

Jack.

Coal-black eyes in a parody of Jack’s face gazed at them. His formerly handsome features were now too wide, his brow formed a noticeable ridge, and his nose had flattened. Yet the feature that scared Emily the most was his face paint: a linework version of a Day of the Dead calavera. With the rising moon behind him, Jack was primal and predatory.

He raised one clawed foot to set on the top stair, and the world shook.

Emily! Scott thought and said aloud.

She gasped awake; Scott’s hand gently shook her leg. Emily vaguely remembered growing sleepy in the warmth of the reception area of the Matt’s law firm. Comfortable on the faux leather couch, she’d leaned against Scott and presumably had dozed off. 

As she blinked her eyes into focusing, Emily recognized the professional yet welcoming decor. The gibbous moon on the far side of floor-to-ceiling windows couldn’t compete with the office’s fluorescent lights.

You’re safe, qīn ài de, Scott thought as he poured calm and reassurance into her. We’re safe.

Matt, sitting in the armchair across from her and Scott, leaned forward and seemed to look right at her. That was odd, but the concern on his face, the lower half dark with five o’clock shadow, reassuring. He smiled gently. “You nodded off as we were talking. Scott said you needed the rest, so we let you sleep as we strategized.”

Emily smiled, chagrinned, as she lifted her head from Scott’s shoulder and straightened. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour,” a Latino-accented man’s voice replied.

Emily’s breath caught as she turned to face the soft-spoken man seated in the armchair angled 90 degrees from Matt’s. To her relief, Jack appeared to be normal. His forearms—toned, but not absurdly muscular—rested on his knees as he frowned at her. “What is it, my friend?” His head tilted with the question, and the pale light overhead showed a faint white line on one cheekbone. Emily bit her lip to not gasp; it had just been a dream.

“Hey,” Scott said as he shifted one arm to rub her back. “You’re okay.” Worry joined the reassurance flowing through his touch. What’s going on?

Emily broke eye contact with Jack as she replied to her husband. I dreamed about Jack being a Neanderthal. The transformed people were more like hulks than Neanderthals, but the latter word seemed to fit better than the former.

Ah, Scott said. Her peripheral vision saw his head turn toward Jack. “One moment.” To Emily he thought, Like I said earlier, I sensed something different about him, but it’s subtle. Nothing like Hiram. 

She nodded. 

Although Emily felt foolish from being spooked, the white line on Jack’s face matching one of those in her dream nagged at her. She sat up straight and met Jack’s eyes. Now that she was looking for it, she noticed white lines faintly showing through what she presumed was foundation above his right eyebrow and on his chin. “Jack, do you have, um, face paint or something on?” She gestured at her own eyebrow, cheekbone, and chin.

Jack blinked at her like deer in headlights, half-smiled, then looked down. “Tattoos,” he told the section of carpet right in front of him.

Emily felt Scott’s curiosity and surprise as he looked from Jack to her and back. 

“Tattoos?” Matt echoed.

Jack frowned at the other man briefly, then chuckled. “Yes. I forget that you’re blind sometimes.”

Matt chuckled as well. “It happens.”

“You don’t have to—” Scott began.

“It’s all right,” Jack interrupted. His gaze included all three of them. “You know that magic exists, yes?”

Matt was quiet as Emily and Scott chuckled. “If you’d asked me that a year ago,” Scott replied, “the answer would have been no. Then things got interesting.”

“To say the least,” Emily added, grinning.

“It exists,” Matt agreed. He didn’t seem very happy about it.

Jack nodded. “A few years ago one of my hunts went very, very wrong. The satanic cult I was after captured me. I—”

“Whoa, wait,” Scott said. “A satanic cult? So Satan is real?”

Jack fixed an incredulous look on Scott. “Yes, of course.” Matt nodded agreement as well.

“At least some of the Egyptian gods exist, so why not Lucifer?” Emily stated. Matt and Jack stared at her, and Scott chuckled nervously. “Like he said, things got interesting.”

Matt smiled her. “This is a story I’d like to hear sometime. But Jack, you were saying?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Scott said.

Jack nodded. “No hay problema.” With a rueful grin he explained, “I escaped, but not before they’d tattooed me for a ritual.” 

Emily put one hand over her mouth. “Oh my god!” She felt Scott’s surprise and outrage, and noticed Matt’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Man,” Scott commiserated. “Can you get them removed?”

Jack sighed. “I’ve tried, but they’re magical. Best I can do is cover them up.”

“Prayer might help,” Matt said quietly. Emily felt Scott tense, but remain quiet. Jack looked at the blind man thoughtfully. Matt continued, “Our new acquaintances say Egyptian gods exist. I believe God and the Devil exist.” Matt gave him a kind smile. “Can’t hurt to pray to Him.”

Jack nodded. “Can’t hurt.” Then he chuckled self-consciously. “In the meantime, I can put on concealer in my sleep.”

***

Scott stifled a yawn as he shivered on the sidewalk in front of the highrise housing the Nelson, Murdock, and Page offices. He and Emily hadn’t brought coats since they hadn’t expected to be out late with a lawyer and face-tattooed monster hunter. The just-past-full moon, neon signs, and streetlights lit this block of West 49th Street as they waited for their Uber. Taking the metro was faster than traveling by car, but neither Scott, Emily, nor Jack wanted to chance being trapped in a subway car with a frightened or angry Neanderthal. Matt waited with them, enjoying casual small talk with the three visitors.

Jack’s phone must have vibrated again, because the Latino shifted his daypack,  fished the device from his back pocket, glanced at the screen. His eyes widened as he stood up straight. “Reports of multiple disturbances.” The news thoroughly woke up Scott, and perked up Emily as well.

“Where?” Matt asked. His fingers had a death grip on his cane; the man looked ready to wield it like a staff.

Jack swiped and tapped at his phone. “The closest is… corner of 11th and 47th.” He pointed west. “That way, then south two blocks.”

“Let’s go,” Scott said, taking a step in that direction.

Emily’s hand on his arm stopped him. She nodded at Matt, who looked ready to sprint with his cane tucked under one arm. 

“Matt, my friend,” Jack said. “I’ll be direct. Can you run with us?”

The lawyer’s grin held a hint of mischief. “You lead. I’ll follow. I’m pretty dextrous for a blind man.”

Jack grinned from ear to ear, and Scott exchanged a puzzled look with Emily. He felt like he was missing a joke. “Very well,” Jack said, and faced west.

“East will be faster,” Matt said. He pointed across the street fifty feet to the south. “There’s an alley, then another one between 48th and 47th further west.”

Jack chuckled, seeming even more amused. “Buena onda.” 

The hell? Emily asked.

No idea, Scott replied, then started jogging east. “Come on!” Jack quickly caught up with him. A break in traffic allowed them to jaywalk across 49th Street with Emily and Matt close behind. 

Most of the pedestrians on the sidewalk on the south side of the street parted to let them through. After dodging a young woman focused on her phone, Scott glanced back at Matt and Emily. “You good?” 

“Yes,” they said in unison. 

“Okay,” Scott replied, and turned right into the alley. Between dumpsters, trash cans, and corded-up bundles of cardboard, it was a veritable obstacle course. He and Jack wove around the objects in their path. To Scott’s surprise, Matt and Emily sounded close behind.

Matt can see or something, Emily told Scott. I don’t know how, but he’s fine. 

Huh, Scott replied as he and Jack neared two dumpsters, each against opposite alley walls. Since the space between was barely enough for two people, Scott slowed to let Jack through first. To his surprise, Jack swerved to the right, jumped up, and kicked off of the graffiti-covered brick wall to land on top of the dumpster. 

“Whoa!” Emily exclaimed from behind.

Jack hopped to the ground and fell into step beside Scott as he cleared the narrow passage. Scott smiled at him. “Damn, Jack!” 

The Latino grinned in reply. 

They turned right on to 48th Street, weaving through people on the thankfully not-crowded sidewalk, and jaywalked again. Scott heard and sensed Emily falling behind as they neared the next alley. Thanks to her petite stature, she’d been at a full run.

“You guys keep going. I’ll catch up,” she called. “Won’t be far behind.”

“Okay,” Scott said aloud, then glanced over his shoulder at her. Be careful, qīn ài de.

He felt a pulse of love as she slowed to a jog. You too!

Scott caught Jack’s eye, then looked at Matt. “Faster?”

“Sí.”

“Yes,” Matt replied, grinning. His white cane was a blur from the hand holding it pumping as he ran.

After turning into the next alley Scott poured on speed. This passage was more cluttered, prompting him to jump over boxes and other trash. Jack leaped and dodged much like Marc and Jake did, albeit without their elaborate armor. Matt somehow stayed close behind. Scott heard his uneven footfalls and he jumped over obstacles as well.

Scott couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Was an obstacle course part of the bar, Matt?”

“Not for the main law license,” he quipped, not sounding winded. “Part of an advanced credential.”

Jack laughed wholeheartedly. He wasn’t out of breath, either. Apparently all three of them liked to run, or had to do it often for some reason.

A few minutes later they neared the disturbance: a cluster of people on the east sidewalk of 11th Avenue. Two male Neanderthals—one bald and light-skinned, the other brown-skinned with close-cropped hair—stood at least six inches taller than the onlookers. Several people hung back, holding their phones up to record the large men snarling and circling each other. Although he couldn’t see her, Scott heard a woman’s voice yelling and sobbing.

No police had yet arrived. Judging from the wails of sirens far and near, they were pretty busy.

Scott called to his wife as they closed the distance on the group. Em, we’re nearly on them. There are two. Are you okay?

Yes. I’m almost at the end of the second alley. Be careful, love!

I will, Scott assured her, then slowed to a walk. Since he’d been in the lead, Jack stepped up on his left and Matt on his right. He did a double take upon seeing the dark scarf now covering the lawyer’s face from his nose up. “You do this a lot?” Scott asked.

Matt grinned. “Now and then.” 

Scott heard Jack’s chuckle several feet behind him. He turned to find the other man tossing his backpack on top of the long metal awning shading plate glass storefronts on the ground floor of the highrise building. He presumed Jack’s phone was in the backpack now; it wasn’t in either of his back pockets. 

As Jack jogged back to Scott and Matt, one of the enormous men grunted something like “She’s mine!” Sounds of a scuffle accompanied it.

“Scott,” Jack said over onlookers’ cries, “you’ll do your thing?”

He nodded, his sphere already in his hand. Scott looked at the small silvery orb and connected with his mind. It glowed pale blue and hummed, filling him cool energy. He was vaguely aware of Matt’s and Jack’s wonder, and the varying reactions of the New Yorkers who’d turned to watch the three of them. Normally Scott preferred to obscure the light and sound of his sphere with his closed fist, but now they were an asset. He wanted to draw the Neanderthals’ attention. 

Ever since the Battle of New York, most people reacted to the sight of his active sphere with wary curiosity. It was a welcome change to the fear that had been normal previously.

The loose ring of onlookers parted as Scott strode toward the Neanderthals, who’d stopped shoving each other to frown at him and the sphere glowing in his right hand. “Guys,” Scott said, projecting calm and confidence. “There’s no need to fight.” In the corner of his eye he noticed a young Latina woman, her face streaked with tears, slowly moving around the inside edge of the crowd toward him.

The huge white man growled at Scott, then glared at the other Neanderthal. “Jasmine mine!”

The hulk-like Black man shoved his companion, snarling “MINE!” 

As the white Neanderthal toppled over, nearly landing on a middle-aged Asian man gaping at them, the Latina shouted, “I’m not either of yours, you—” Scott struggled to divide his attention between her and the Neanderthals while continuing to empathically project calm to everyone. The woman—Jasmine—winced, shook her head, and hunched over. “You idiots!” Her voice had deepened as she grew taller and broader.

Between Jasmine transforming and the Neanderthals’ renewed anger, Scott’s concentration broke. His sphere winked out as he scrambled backwards to put more distance between himself and the newest Neanderthal. He backed into someone as Emily caught up to him, wide-eyed and panting. 

“I got you,” Matt said, steading Scott with one hand.

Emily looked from the Neanderthals to partially-masked Matt to Scott. “You said there were two!”

“There were!” Scott retorted.

 Jasmine, now resembling a tan-skinned female hulk, charged barefoot at her paramours in shredded clothes. The white Neanderthal, now on his feet but leaning forward with his weight on his knuckles, tucked his head and stood his ground. The huge Black man stayed still as well, swinging one meaty arm at Jasmine once she’d drawn near. The melee turned into a knot of roided-out, brow-ridged people tumbling across the sidewalk, snarling and striking each other.

Everyone except the most dedicated onlookers fled. Scott and Emily jumped back, but Matt leaped into the fray, whipping the backs of the Neanderthals’ legs with his cane. Each roared as a strike landed, and they rounded on him. Matt danced around them, batting attempted punches away with his arms and legs. “Get their names and do something!” he shouted, briefly looking straight at Scott and Emily.

Matt’s scolding snapped Scott out of his amazed staring. Taking a few more steps back and tugging Emily along with him, Scott connected again with his sphere. Its light cast shadows on his wife’s still-gaping face. The Devil! she exclaimed.

What? Scott said distractedly as he watched the superhuman brawl in progress. Calm wasn’t working, so now what?

Jasmine shook off the Neanderthals fighting over her and rounded on Matt. Again she charged with her impossibly muscular arms extended. Matt vaulted off of her forearms, somersaulting up and over before hooking his right arm around the Black Neanderthal’s neck. Matt’s cane clattered to the ground as he clung to the huge man’s back with his legs, using his left arm to pull his right tighter around his opponent’s neck.

He’s— Emily began.

The nearly-trampled Asian man sprinted up to Scott and Emily with his phone pointed at Matt. He twisted to get Emily and him in frame, calling, “Are you guys Avengers?”

“No!” Matt, Emily, and Scott shot back. On impulse Scott sent a burst of energy to the man’s phone. The man frowned, lowering his arm and smacking his phone with his free hand. 

“Get out of here!” Scott barked at him. The man finally scurried away. 

Suddenly Scott realized he hadn’t seen or heard from Jack since Jasmine had transformed. He looked around; no Jack. “Jack?” he shouted. Then a flurry of motion from the melee drew his attention.

The Neanderthal being choked by Matt stumbled backwards, clawing at the lawyer-ninja’s arms. He grimaced as the man’s nails shredded his suit coat and blood began to stain it, but held on. 

Scott’s sphere grew brighter as he drew more energy from it and focused on Matt’s assailant.

Help Matt! Emily said. I’ll get their names. Maybe that’ll help us get through to them.

Scott telekinetically pulled the huge Black man’s hands away from Matt’s arms. He gaped at the amount of force required; the Neanderthal was immensely strong. Thanks to Matt’s efforts, the brow-ridged man gasped and panted, falling to one knee. 

“Kevin!” Emily exclaimed, earning the white Neanderthal’s attention from where he and Jasmine had been exchanging blows. Emily yelped and ducked behind Scott. From there she shouted, “The other man’s Rashon!”

Soft footfalls accompanied by gentle clicks sounded from just above Rashon and Matt. While keeping most of his attention on keeping Rashon’s powerful hands at bay, Scott looked up to find an imposing, hairy figure approaching the edge of the metal awning. He shouted from shock and surprise, and the monster locked eyes with him, its eyeshine golden yellow. 

What?! Emily cried mentally and aloud.

The creature’s lips drew back, exposing sharp white teeth. Motion was all around, but Scott was rooted to the spot, his blood turned to ice. Under the awning Rashon slumped and Matt sprung away while Jasmine rushed to Rashon and Kevin thundered toward Scott and Emily.

Scott couldn’t think enough to use his sphere, now palmed in one hand, but he managed to extend his arms toward the charging Neanderthal, telekinetically pushing at him as hard as he could. It slowed Kevin, but didn’t stop him.

Emily must have peeked around him because she screamed, then started laughing somewhat hysterically. “Jack!”

Perched at the end of the awning, the monster rumbled “Kevin!” in a low, gravelly voice.

Kevin stopped and rounded on the monster, snarling. The beast growled as well, leaping from the awning at the enormous man with clawed hands and feet at the fore.

Matt and Jasmine tumbled into view. The transformed woman briefly pinned the lawyer. He managed to get one foot between them and kicked her off, grunting from the effort. Then Matt kip-up jumped to his feet, tossing over his shoulder “A little help here!” before launching into the air again and slamming one foot into the woman’s head.

With Kevin occupied by the growling monster, Scott focused on Jasmine. His sphere shone and hummed as Matt parried her punches and kicks. Since her physiology was still human, he quickly found her carotid artery and telekinetically pinched it. Jasmine screamed, grew woozy, and slumped to the ground.

After glancing at Rashon, who was still out cold, Matt limped over to Scott and Emily, retrieving his white cane along the way. The couple stood gaping at the wolfman—that was the best description of the monster—who was even taller than transformed Kevin. The wolfman had one knee on the Neanderthal’s chest, the other on his pelvis, and somehow was keeping the man’s legs pinned with his. The monster’s clawed left hand held Kevin’s right arm on the sidewalk, while his right arm pressed into the large man’s throat. Kevin gasped, grunted, and repeatedly raked the wolfman’s hairy back with his free hand. Despite the blood glistening in the coarse hair covering his back, the wolfman didn’t flinch.

Scott wanted to knock out Kevin as well, but hesitated. Who would the monster go after once his current foe was incapacitated? Would he kill and eat him?

A few drops of the wolfman’s blood dripped from his back to his jeans—

His jeans.

Scott squinted at the now blood-spattered label: Oscar de la Renta.

He laughed, sounding half-hysterical as Emily had. Matt, standing to his left, chuckled as well.

“We’ve been hanging out with a werewolf,” Scott said very quietly.

Matt nodded as Emily said, “In designer clothes.”

“You have,” Jack’s low, distorted voice confirmed. Although Kevin’s hand had slowed, he was now trying to punch Jack. After dodging another attempt, the werewolf said, “Could use some help. This isn’t fun.”

Scott blinked rapidly as reality seemed to return. One set of police sirens was growing louder, and new rubberneckers had joined the crowd surrounding them. Even more phones were pointed at them. Although Scott despised being filmed and having the footage all over the Internet and Emily wasn’t thrilled with it herself, it surely wasn’t good for Matt or Jack. They needed to get out of there.

“Coming,” Scott called, loping up to Jack and his quarry. Keeping his sphere enclosed in his fist, he summoned its energy as he kneeled by the Neanderthal’s leg. After laying one hand on it, making the transformed man sleep was easy. He was out in seconds.

Scott was frowning at the gashes on Jack’s back when the wolfman twisted around to face him. He flinched from Jack’s now-predatory face, made all the more eerie by his pale tattoos. Jack’s eyes, not currently shining yellow, were human and sad. “I won’t hurt you,” he rumbled. In a near whisper he added, “Not tonight.”

Scott nodded. “The full moon.”

“Yes,” Jack said, the word heavy with regret. He stood and stepped away from the unconscious Neanderthal.

Scott got to his feet as well. He reached his left hand up and out, pausing near Jack’s hairy arm. In his current form Jack stood a foot taller than Scott. Jack nodded, and Scott touched his arm. He kept his voice low due to all of the onlookers and their phones. “I’m not afraid of you.” Then he smiled ironically. “Not tonight.” Jack smiled as well, and Scott saw the man he’d met despite his current sharp teeth and long canines. “You’re hurt. I can heal you.”

Jack made a noise akin to a growl, which Scott realized was a chuckle. “No need. Perk of being what I am.” He nodded ahead and to his right. “Our friend can use it, I’m sure.”

Scott withdrew his hand and followed Jack’s line of sight. Matt squatted beside Rashon, intently examining something in his hands. He drew back, cocked his head, then shoved the something—probably the guy’s wallet—back into what remained of his pants.

“Holy shit!” Emily exclaimed in Cantonese. Alarmed, Scott looked for her and found her under the awning, kneeling with a woman’s purse in front of her. She gaped at whatever she’d found inside, then rushed over to Jasmine’s motionless form. Emily stared at the Neanderthal’s left upper arm, then sprinted to Rashon and did the same.

“What?” asked Scott and Matt, who still stood near Rashon. Jack had rumbled something as well.

Check Kevin for a band-aid, Emily told Scott. From an injection. His breath caught as he realized her implication. Aloud she said, “I’ll fill you in later.”

Scott could see Kevin’s left upper arm, not covered due to his torn, too-small clothing, from where he stood. No band-aid. He moved to the Neanderthal’s other side. His right arm was bare and band-aidless as well. Just to be sure, Scott crouched, laid one hand on the man’s arm, and sensed for any broken skin. Kevin had plenty of abrasions and lacerations from the fight, as well as a tiny puncture in his right upper arm. The tissue around it was inflamed as well. Him too, Scott told his wife. He prayed that Fisk’s vaccination drive—which he and Emily were part of!—wasn’t related, and not only because they’d gotten jabbed themselves.

Matt and Emily jogged up to Jack and Scott as two police cars screeched to a halt on the far side of the crowd. “Text me,” Jack rumbled before leaping up to the metal awning. He sprinted toward where he’d left his backpack, donned it, then used fire escapes to scale up and around the corner of the tall brick building. 

By the time Scott and Emily had stopped staring after Jack, Matt was gone as well. The couple exchanged a look, then shoved their way through the curious onlookers and away from the police.

Scott? Emily prompted, already breathing hard as they ran down the alley between 47th and 48th Streets.

He jumped a knocked-over garbage can, feeling giddy from the night’s events. Yes?

We befriended a werewolf. Her amusement came through loud and clear.

Scott laughed aloud. And a blind ninja-lawyer.

It was Emily’s turn to laugh. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!

They turned on to 48th, slowing their pace slightly. Who? Scott asked.

Have you seriously not heard of The Devil?

No?

Good lord, Emily moaned. Affection accompanied the thought.

Chapter Text

Despite having eaten a triple cheeseburger on his way to the diner where he’d caught up with Emily and Scott and inhaling the largest steak on the diner’s menu, Jack still was hungry. His stomach rumbled again, prompting chuckles from Scott and Emily, his companions in the back seat of the Uber. Jack was mortified and fought to hide it. His new friends wouldn’t be so amused if they’d known how often he ate raw meat after a transformation. 

Depending on his location, sometimes Jack hunted and ate animals before changing back. If his human side were in control enough, he’d seek out old, injured, or sick ones. If his inner wolf were in charge, all bets were off. That part of him savored the chase, the adrenaline, the kill. The wolf relished his prey’s death throes as it struggled to escape his jaws. With each twitch more of its blood seeped hot and metallic into his mouth. If he could move his tongue enough to swallow, he would. The wolf inside wanted every last drop.

Being in the middle of New York City meant a stop at one of Brooklyn’s Whole Foods grocery stores. Jack had insisted on going in alone. That way only staff and the handful of people shopping at midnight saw him buy out their stock of organic, preservative-free, low-sodium jerky. He’d likely eat the contents of one of the three grocery bags packed with dried meat overnight. Considering the reports of “disturbances” that continued to trickle in via text, he’d need the rest of his rations sooner rather than later.

Emily, despite the fatigue showing around her eyes, kept up pleasant small talk in Spanish—she wanted to practice, she’d said—during the ride to her and Scott’s  building, then the short walk and elevator ride to their apartment. Her husband had been fairly quiet, keeping watch on their surroundings. All of them were relieved to not encounter more Neanderthals along the way.

Upon entering the tastefully decorated, middle-class apartment, Scott took Jack’s coat while Emily flopped dramatically on the couch. “It’s so quiet!” she sighed.

Scott chuckled as Jack listened more intently. Even allowing for his more sensitive hearing, the space seemed as quiet as one could hope for in a densely populated city. He heard nearby traffic and the muffled sounds of neighbors. 

“She means telepathically,” Scott explained. He then gestured around the tidy apartment, pointing out the entrance to the kitchen and down the short hall were the bathroom was on the right.

Jack smiled, bemused. He moved to the off-white microvelvet couch, set his backpack on the floor, and sat on the end opposite from Emily’s sprawled form. “How do you make a place quiet telepathically?”

“Distance from others helps a lot,” Emily replied, then looked to Scott.

“That, plus a Faraday cage.”

The kind of cage Jack spent three nights out of every month in sprang to mind. Surely he didn’t mean that. “Which is…?” he prompted.

Scott grinned. “Do you want the layman’s answer, or full-on science?”

“Layman’s, please.”

“Good choice,” Emily quipped. 

After shooting a faux annoyed look at his wife, Scott said, “It’s an enclosure that blocks electromagnetic fields. Usually it’s a thin metal box, like the one built into microwave ovens. I’ve been tinkering with alternatives that block only thought waves.”

Jack blinked, impressed.

“Tinkering and succeeding,” Emily said with a proud smile. “Scott’s great with electronics.”

“Impressive,” Jack said, ignoring his stomach’s latest rumble. He widened his gaze to include them both. “It must help with your work.”

“Sometimes,” Emily said, then covered a huge yawn as she sat up. “I’m not going to last much longer. Today was exhausting.” She waved in the direction of the kitchen. “Help yourself to whatever. Scott and I were guessing that you need something like 10,000 calories to change forms.”

“Unless magic handles a lot of it,” Scott added. “Magic seems to have rules, but little of it makes sense to me.”

Jack smiled at them, bemused. “I’ve never had anyone aware of my curse calculate calories before. Most people run away.”

“We’re not most people,” Emily grinned, then stood and turned to her husband. “Is your stuff all over the guest bed again?”

Scott nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Em. Get some rest.”

“Thanks, love.” The petite woman leaned up to give him a brief kiss, then turned to Jack. “Buenas noches, Jack. See you in the morning.” He bid her good night, and she retreated down the hall.

Scott caught Jack’s eye, then nodded after her. “This way.” After picking up his backpack, Jack followed the tall man to a room that was more of a small computer workshop than guest bedroom. As Emily had guessed, some of the electronics paraphernalia had spread from the workbench taking up one wall to the neatly made twin bed. “Matt texted,” Scott said as he moved wires and circuit boards off the comforter. “He got home—which I presume is in Hell’s Kitchen—and is resting. I hope he’s not badly hurt.”

“I have a feeling that our spry, blind friend has ways of coping with injuries,” Jack said.

Scott straightened and grinned. “You figured out who he is sometime this afternoon, didn’t you?”

Jack tapped the tip of his nose. “Yes. We met last night when two Neanderthals were causing havoc on 9th Avenue. He was in his suit, and I was…” He smiled self-consciously and pantomimed a growling monster bearing its claws.

Scott chuckled. “I see. And I’m really curious about your forms, but don’t want to be pushy.”

“I appreciate that,” Jack said, still self-conscious. “I’m curious about you and your wife as well. But that can wait. For now, catch me up on what you three learned about the Neanderthals. I’m behind on texts, and my assistant may be able to get more information for us overnight.”

Scott motioned toward the hallway. Jack exited the room and headed for the living room with Scott on his heels. “Does she sleep? Your assistant?”

Jack turned into the kitchen—small and efficient, typical for a city apartment—and heard Scott following. “He,” Jack corrected. “Pedro’s the best virtual assistant I’ve had yet. I think he’s perfected the art of napping. I pay him well even for America, so he’s living like a king in Mexico.” Spotting a few glasses upside-down in the dish strainer beside the sink, Jack grabbed one and helped himself to tap water. 

He heard Scott open the fridge behind him. “We’ve got juice, beer, and milk, too.”

“Water for now,” Jack told him. Scott unscrewed the cap off of a bottle of Modela and tossed it into the trash can against the opposite wall. “I’ve embraced the wolf two nights in a row.” His host listened as if Jack were discussing the weather. Despite Scott’s acceptance, Jack looked away. “Gotta do this right so I stay in control, especially in a city.”

“Yeah,” Scott said as he exited the kitchen. Jack followed and found the tall man taking a seat at the small, glass-topped dining table on the side of the living area closest to the kitchen. After making a detour to grab a pack of jerky, Jack joined him. Scott continued, “Sounds stressful. And painful?”

In his 41 years Jack had only had this sort of conversation a handful of times, and mostly with family members. The last time was when his niece Nina’s curse activated on her eighteenth birthday. Jack was sure to be there to help her through—as best he could while staving off his inner wolf as long as possible—and prevent her from harming others. His late mother had tried to do the same for him. His father, the fool who’d reactivated the family curse, had been long gone and long dead then. Jack had helped his sister as well.

“Changing, you mean?” Jack asked.

Scott nodded.

“Definitely stressful.” He studied the older man for a long moment. Scott seemed curious and unafraid. “It’s mostly… uncomfortable. Painful at times. Sharp, shooting pains, but they’re over quickly.”

His host nodded again. “While I’m sorry for what you go through each time, I have to admit that I’m fascinated by the physiology of it. Since I can heal people—and animals for that matter—I’ve studied physiology and genetics. Em and I met at the free clinic on the other side of town. I worked as a nurse practitioner there, and she has nursing experience, too.”

Jack chuckled. “That explains the calories thing.”

“Yes,” Scott laughed, then took a swig of beer.

Jack took a few swallows of water as well, then busied himself by opening the package of jerky. The meat, even dried, smelled so good that it made his mouth water. Before indulging he met Scott’s eyes again. “I’ve searched for years to end this curse. It started generations ago on my father’s side of the family. A few times I thought I was close, but it didn’t work.” Unable to resist the smell of food any longer, he broke eye contact and tore into a piece of jerky. It was gone quickly, barely chewed. 

He looked back to Scott, expecting to find revulsion. Although the bearded man’s eyes had widened, his expression was largely the same. “Lo siento,” Jack mumbled.

“You’re hungry,” Scott said with a shrug. “Eat.”

Jack smiled, briefly placing one hand on the other man’s arm. “Thank you, my friend.” After inhaling another piece of jerky, Jack prompted, “Now, what did you learn about Kevin, Jasmine, and Rashon? Emily seemed shocked.”

Scott tugged on his beer as he pulled his phone from his back pocket with his free hand. “All three got Fisk’s flu vaccine today.” He set the beer bottle down and tapped on his phone.

“Oh!” Fisk was behind the Neanderthals? That seemed unwise, even for a man as amoral as Fisk.

After skimming some texts, Scott continued, “Matt found a vaccination card in Rashon’s wallet.” He looked up at Jack. “Em found one in Jasmine’s purse, and saw the band-aids we’d been putting on folks we’d vaccinated on her and Rashon.”

Jack blinked in surprise. “You’re helping Fisk?”

Scott shook his head vehemently. “Not on purpose. He has his fingers in a lot of stuff in the city. The group of clinics Emily and used to work for has the Fisks on the board. For a long time I thought he was just a philanthropist. Em, and the news,” he chuckled, “clued me in.” Then he raised the left sleeve of his T-shirt, exposing a band-aid with a stylized red apple on it. “She and I got the jab, too. I can heal people, but I can’t prevent us from getting the flu.”

Jack stared at the band-aid. He’d never felt a sense of foreboding from a small bandage before. “Are you okay? Both of you?”

“We’re fine,” Scott assured him. “Once we’d gotten away from the cops and somewhere private, I checked us thoroughly. I didn’t sense anything unusual. Just the normal mild inflammation and immune reaction from a flu shot. Kevin didn’t have a band-aid, but he’d been injected on his arm with something recently. I found acute inflammation at the site. Didn’t have time to look further.”

Jack frowned thoughtfully. “Why are you two okay, but not the other three?”

“That,” Scott said, leaning his forearms on the table, “is the question.”

After eating another strip of jerky, Jack pulled his phone from his pocket. “What information do you need? I don’t know anything about vaccines.”

“Earlier Em texted with our friends who still work at the clinic. They’d asked us to volunteer today. She asked them to get info on the type of vaccines used, serial numbers, production dates, the whole nine yards. All of that is documented. They’ll get that information to us as soon as they can. I mean, they were pretty wigged out since we’d all been at the vaccine clinic today, and they know the kind of work that Em and I do.”

Jack grinned. “You two ran to check out the disturbance that turned out to be Hiram?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed. “Ditched the end of our volunteer shift, actually.” 

“Did your friends get the flu shot as well?”

“Yes, and they’re fine.” Scott gestured at Jack’s phone. “Could you ask Pedro to look into Castillo Pharmaceuticals? That’s the vaccine manufacturer. I’ve heard of them. I think they’re a big corporation.”

Jack nodded. “Absolutely.” He composed and sent a text with the request to his assistant, then paused to think for a moment. “We also need a map showing the dates and locations of all Neanderthal sightings.” His thumbs flew over his phone’s display.

“Good idea.” Scott covered a yawn, stood, and picked up his half-full beer bottle. “I gotta get some sleep. Em and I had the day off, but have work to do at some point tomorrow.”

“Just let me know when I should be out,” Jack said. “I’m grateful for your hospitality.”

The tall man waved dismissively with one hand. “We work from home when we’re not on site, so there’s no rush. Get some rest.”

Jack sat back and took another swallow of water. “Thank you, my friend.”

“You’re welcome. Good night, Jack.”

After Scott retreated down the hallway, Jack tore into the jerky with gusto. Finally his appetite was waning. Changing two times in as many days was taxing.

Thanks to his keen ears, Jack heard the mundane sounds of Scott on the other side of the apartment brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. It was so normal and domestic, something largely lacking in Jack’s life. Most of the time Jack traveled, tracking down monsters in between locking himself up at one of his crash pads with a soundproofed, werewolf-proofed room. 

The closest thing Jack had recently experienced to the life Emily and Scott seemed to have was visiting Ted in whatever remote location his mostly-plant friend called home. While they both were monsters, Jack passed for human most of the time. Ted didn’t have that luxury. They visited each other a few times each year out in the wild, or when one of them got into trouble and needed rescuing.

After eating his fill of jerky and drinking more water, Jack brought his phone to the guest room/electronics lab. He found a towel and change of clothes—presumably some of Scott’s—on the bed. After running around Hell’s Kitchen all day, transforming, getting lightly injured in a scuffle, and changing back, he needed to wash the day and some dried blood off of him. He did so, then donned the T-shirt and lounge pants Emily or Scott had set out. The shirt fit decently, but the pants were comically too long. Jack chuckled to himself as he brushed his teeth with the toothbrush he kept in his backpack.

Safe, clean, and sated, Jack slipped into bed. He was asleep in seconds.

Chapter Text

Matt knew there’d be a reckoning after the encounter with the Neanderthals where his only disguise had been a scarf over most of his face. It came in the form of a string of texts from Foggy and Karen.

He'd put off reading the texts, which he could “see” by jacking up the contrast and font size on his phone, until after he’d gotten home. He took the time to throw out his ruined suit jacket, shower, and bandage his wounds. After settling on the couch with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, Matt tapped the text app. It showed four new texts from Emily, five from Karen, and 12 from Foggy.

“Shit,” he sighed.

At least his phone wasn’t blowing up at the moment.

Emily’s messages were benign. She’d reported that she, Scott, and Jack—an actual werewolf!—had arrived safely at her apartment in Brooklyn. She also relayed that she’d found a vaccination card in Jasmine’s purse documenting the flu shot she’d received earlier that day. She and Scott had found physical evidence that all three of the transformed people had gotten jabbed. 

Learning that Emily and her husband had been part of the vaccine drive was a surprise, as well as the fact that they’d both received the shot. Scott was sure that there was no sign of anything amiss in either of them. That was a relief, but begged the question as to why they hadn’t turned into Neanderthals when Jasmine, Rashon, and Kevin had. 

Earlier in the day Fisk and his wife had gone on TV to urge all New Yorkers to get a flu shot from one of their free clinics. Matt had been expecting something like this ever since the criminal mastermind had gotten out of jail. Fisk wouldn’t be content with getting rich off of real estate. The man had a cruel streak and enjoyed wielding power. Perhaps tainted flu vaccines were part of a larger plan to take down a rival businessperson. That didn’t add up, though. Matt needed more information.

Whatever Fisk was up to, Matt was grateful that the career criminal had kept his word. In 2018, after Matt finally had Fisk prone after a brutal, hand-to-hand fight, Fisk had told Matt to kill him.

Matt had wanted to.

He’d refused. 

Matt wouldn’t allow Fisk to take what little integrity he had left. What sort of Catholic enjoyed the violence Matt doled out? Matt wanted revenge for all of the injustice he, his father, his friends, and so many others suffered. Surely God understood that; he prayed for His understanding, guidance, and forgiveness daily. Matt worked within the law when he could, and took to the streets as the Devil when necessary. He refused to stand by while bad people took advantage of others. Long ago he’d vowed to do what he could, knowing it would never be enough.

In return for Matt’s mercy and his promise to keep Vanessa Fisk’s involvement in the murder of FBI agent Nadeem secret, Fisk vowed to keep Matt’s identity secret and stop pursuing Karen and Foggy. Both men had kept their ends of the bargain.

Bargain or not, Matt would not allow Fisk to harm innocents in Hell’s Kitchen and the rest of the city with the supposedly charitable flu vaccination drive. He was tempted to put his armored suit on and stake out Fisk’s luxury highrise right now. But Matt knew that would be foolish; he was tired, injured, and upset and wasn’t thinking clearly. He’d ponder next steps in the morning.

His phone beeped, announcing a thirteenth text from Foggy.

After loosing another sigh, Matt tapped the huge letters spelling his best friend’s nickname and faced the music.

Foggy
I thought of a new angle on the Dewala case. Call me
6:09 PM

Buddy? Where r u?
7:14 PM

ur out doing ur thing aren’t u?
8:33 PM

yeah u must be. Time to check the news
9:29 PM

apparently there r small hulks running around the city. R u looking into that?
9:45 PM

omg, u r
10:02 PM

DUDE WHY ARE YOU NOT IN UR SUIT???
10:31 PM

there r multiple vids online of u, a guy with a glowing marble, a short Asian lady, and an old-school werewolf fighting hulks. wtf??? Glad ur ok, at least in the vids
10:40 PM

pro tip: to hide ur identity, do not fight with ur cane. I mean, really
10:42 PM

this is a nightmare. you’ll end up on the front page of the Daily News from these videos
10:51 PM

Karen’s telling me to chill, that this isn’t the end of our firm. I’m trying to believe her
10:59 PM

Karen and I called in some favors. Daily News is putting a still from one of the vids with u mostly obscured on the front page. Ur welcome
11:22 PM

Call me. Worried about u
11:34 PM

Matt turned on the speech to text function and replied to Foggy and Karen in a group text.

I’m okay. Lightly injured, but will heal quickly. It was worth it to help those people. We think Fisk’s flu vaccines are turning some people into those “hulks”.
11:46 PM

We = me and new friends. We met helping the hulks. We either pin them or knock them out until the police and paramedics arrive to sedate them.
11:47 PM

Things will get worse before they get better. I probably won’t be in the office much. I’ll be patrolling. Glad we don’t have any court dates coming up soon.
11:51 PM

I’ll send the revised Fuentes brief in the morning. Send me the work you need from me and I’ll get it done ASAP.
11:53 PM

By the time he’d sent the last text to his friends, Matt had finished his beer. Although sleep beckoned, he managed a few texts to Emily before crashing on the couch.

Got home safely. I’m bandaged up and resting.
11:55 PM

I’m sure you all figured out who I am. Please don’t tell anyone. It would hurt my law partners, our clients, and me.
11:57 PM

Let’s regroup sometime tomorrow. We’ve got our work cut out for us.
11:58 PM

Chapter Text

Jack stepped off the subway car to the platform in time to hear the MTA announcement for the twentieth time since he’d gotten on the train in Queens. A gruff, Bronx-accented man’s voice stated, “Due to the State of Emergency, non-essential travel is banned from 7 PM through 5 AM. Please proceed to your destination. For updates, please visit…” The din of hundreds of New Yorkers talking, embarking and disembarking from trains, and making their way to and from the stairs leading up to Brooklyn’s 53rd Street drown out the rest of the announcement. 

Jack moved with the current of people toward the exit with his heavier than usual daypack facing forward. Pickpockets were everywhere, and he didn’t want a petty criminal getting into the tools he carried or what was left of his supply of organic beef jerky. He’d need to buy out another Whole Foods store’s stock soon.

When Jack and the others had regrouped two days earlier, Matt had said that things would get worse before they got better. The blind man’s words were prescient, Jack thought as he emerged into the last gasps of sunset near the corner of Fourth Avenue and 53rd. After shifting his daypack to his back, Jack checked the time on his phone. Forty-five minutes should be more than enough time to get to Emily’s and Scott’s apartment before the curfew. With the number of proto-hulks—the media’s name for the transformed, brow-ridged people—rising daily, he’d planned accordingly.

Jack strode north up the northwest side of Fourth Avenue, discreetly staying aware of his surroundings. Dozens of other pedestrians, many carrying grocery bags, did the same. Although New Yorkers typically walked fast, an undercurrent of urgency pushed them faster than usual. 

Two older women walking hand in hand looked warily to the west, where the setting sun had dipped below the skyline. The blanket of clouds that had hidden the sky all day seemed likely to continue into the night. Nevertheless Jack knew that the waning gibbous moon was already high in the sky. The wolf inside felt its muted light in the eastern sky halfway to its zenith. Thank the gods the wolf wouldn’t come to the fore for another three weeks.

He was nearly at his new friends’ building when muffled shouts and the sound of dozens of footsteps carried from behind him. Jack didn’t wait to hear the Neanderthal’s snarls to step out of the flow of traffic and shrug off his daypack. He and Matt—sometimes working together—had intervened in tens of these encounters over the past two days. The encounters had similar hallmarks, and this one fit the bill.

Jack pulled the two-foot-long blowgun from his backpack and tucked the slender tube under one arm. One dart bearing a powerful sedative was already loaded. Several darts remained in the plastic box Emily had given him the other day. He’d reload if necessary.

After donning the backpack, Jack sprinted to the corner and turned west on to 51st Street. The initial rush of people had passed, giving Jack a clear view of a pale-skinned, female Neanderthal in a shredded blouse and the remains of a skirt smashing a storefront halfway down the block with her bare hands. As usual, several men and women stood a short distance away gaping, recording with their phones, or both.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief as he continued toward the infuriated, muscular woman. She was alone and not threatening anyone else. This encounter should be straightforward.

Grateful for the twilight, Jack continued to the storefront twenty feet from the Neanderthal, who’d moved on to snapping a mannequin into pieces. He ducked into the recessed doorway and looked around. No cameras were in sight, so Jack peeked around the corner and took aim with the blowgun. He inhaled deeply, waited for a clear shot, and fired.

The enormous woman broke the mannequin’s remaining leg over her knee, apparently unaware of the dart protruding from her thigh. Jack could barely make out the dart’s half-inch diameter orange tail in the deepening shadows. 

Holding the blowgun close to his body, Jack started counting. Uno, dos… 

The Neanderthal tossed the halves of the artificial leg aside, then leaned into the shattered glass of the storefront.

…tres, cuatro…

Brightly colored clothing fluttered to the sidewalk on either side of the furious woman.

…cinco, seis…

The woman leaned back holding a male mannequin by the head. She twisted its head off, tossed it over her shoulder, then staggered.

Jack grinned. The sedative typically took effect within ten seconds, so she was right on schedule. 

The onlookers exclaimed in surprised as the muscular woman wobbled, then slumped to the sidewalk. A few intrepid rubberneckers moved closer to record the Neanderthal passed out on strewn fabric and mannequin pieces.

Jack ducked back into the recessed entryway and returned the blowgun to his daypack. The police and paramedics would arrive as soon as they could to collect the unconscious, transformed woman. He hoped Pedro would find some record of the first responders’ reaction to his and Matt’s efforts. They likely were grateful, if baffled.

Five minutes later Jack knocked on Scott’s and Emily’s door. It opened, and Emily, in stocking feet and wearing jeans and a pastel blouse, stood in the doorway. “Hi, Jack!” she grinned as she ushered him inside. 

“Buenas noches,” he told Emily and the others in the combined living room/dining area. 

Scott, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, sat on the couch beside a young Black man who surely was James. Both looked up from the phone in James’s hand. Jack was mildly surprised to see the sorcerer in the navy and maroon tunic, trousers, and boots that he likely wore in the New York Sanctum. Scott had said that his friend was enthusiastic about his recent studies. Perhaps that’s why he’d worn his sorcerer garb to his friends’ apartment.

Seeing the costumed Devil of Hell’s Kitchen sitting in one of the chairs at the glass-topped dining table was even more jarring. Judging from mug in front of Matt and another at the seat to his left, Emily had been sitting with him. Matt asked, “How did today go, Jack?”

“Busy,” he replied, setting his backpack on the floor by the wall. “I sedated twelve today.”

Matt’s smile showed under his dark red half-mask. “Ten,” he said. “I’d say that you win, but no one’s winning here except for Fisk.”

Emily and Scott exchanged a look. “We don’t know for sure that he’s behind this,” Scott said simply.

“Yes, of course,” Matt nodded. Jack wondered how much the other man believed his own words. When they had regrouped, Matt’s contempt for the crime boss had been clear. He and Matt had been trying to minimize the damage from whatever was causing the transformations as Pedro, Emily, and Scott gathered information and analyzed it.

James cleared his throat, and Emily chuckled. “Jack, meet James—”

“The sorcerer,” James interjected, grinning.

The others laughed as Emily repeated, “The sorcerer. James, this is Jack.”

James set his phone on top of the newspaper on the coffee table, then stood and extended his right hand. Jack couldn’t have missed the sling ring on James’s left hand if he’d tried. “Hey, Jack. Good to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, James the sorcerer,” Jack chuckled. He nodded at Scott and Emily, who’d moved toward the dining table. “Even if they hadn’t told me, your outfit would have clued me in.”

“I know, right?” James said, grinning down at his ornate, vaguely Asian clothing. “I grew up hearing about the X-Men, and then Iron Man and the Avengers happened. I wanted in on that so bad. It hadn’t occurred to me to visit the sanctum until Scott suggested it earlier this year.” He smiled at his friend, who returned it.

“Glad it worked out for you, man,” Scott said. To Jack he asked, “You hungry, or want something to drink?” He stood, collecting two beer bottles from the coffee table. “Oh!” he added, shifting both bottles to his left hand and picking up the newspaper with his right. “We’re, um…” he gestured vaguely at himself, Emily, and Matt. “…famous. Yay.” The tall man seemed simultaneously amused and bothered by the notion.

Jack accepted the proffered tabloid newspaper despite having seen its cover from a distance two days earlier. It was hard to miss the front page of the New York Daily News while in the city. “Water is fine, thanks.” Then he turned his attention to the newspaper.

Enormous block letters spelled out “HELL’S KITCHEN HULK RAMPAGE!” over the less interesting parts of a black-and-white version of a screen capture from a cell phone video. In the foreground half-wolf Jack had the transformed white man mostly pinned to the ground. Focus was on the middle ground, where Matt’s business-suited arms blocked the Neanderthal woman’s punches. His back was to the camera, and the scarf Matt had tied over his face and head hid even his hair. Emily and Scott, the latter with his silver ball shining in his right hand, stood in the background with a few astonished onlookers nearby. Despite being slightly out of focus, the couple was recognizable.

Jack suppressed a shudder at the sight of himself in his hybrid form. He’d rarely seen photos or video of himself like that, and never when the wolf had full control. No one had lived to share any images. Jack’s heart sank; no matter how he tried to compensate for the pain and death the wolf within had caused, he was still a monster. How could anyone stand being in the same room as him?

He took a deep breath and remembered why he was there: figure out who was behind the Neanderthal transformations and stop them. It didn’t matter if the humans liked him or not. He’d be useful, and then he’d head south to catch up with Ted.

“Here you go, Jack.”

Jack looked up from the tabloid to find Scott offering him a glass of water. He exchanged the copy of the Daily News for the water, nodding his thanks.

Scott caught his gaze and held it briefly. “You’re welcome.” His double meaning came though loud and clear. Jack allowed himself a small, grateful smile before taking several swallows of water.

While Emily made room on the dining table for a computer tablet and some printouts, James looked from Jack to Scott and Emily. “Mind if we borrow your mad scientist lab to talk magic stuff?”

Scott chuckled. “It’s not a mad scientist lab, but go ahead.”

“Mad scientist electronics lab?” James tried again.

Emily giggled, “Closer,” as Scott facetiously shook his head.

James cant his head down the hall and headed that way. Jack followed, already uneasy with the meeting that hadn’t yet started. Magic was responsible for the curse that ruled his life already.

The young man closed the door behind Jack, who suppressed a flinch. Emily and Scott trusted the sorcerer, he reminded himself. Nevertheless he stayed near the door. It was the only way out of the room unless he smashed through the wall, which he certainly could do if necessary.

James’s expression was all sympathy. “Even with just an altered image to go from, that tattoo is potent magic.”

Jack looked up at the slightly taller man and nodded acknowledgement. “Thank you for looking into it. Is there anything you can do? I can wash off the makeup, if that will help.”

“It might.” He pursed his lips. “Em and Scott told me that you were captured by a satanic cult, and that they gave you the tattoos. The only other things I know about you is that my friends trust you and you’re helping with the hulks.”

Jack nodded, waiting for the “But.”

“But I need to know—” James continued, and Jack withheld a sigh. “—for safety’s sake—yours and mine—if you’re the werewolf in the photo.”

After taking a deep breath, Jack replied, “I am.”

James nodded, unsurprised. “Okay.” He squinted at Jack’s face, as if peering through the concealer covering the tattoos. “I’ll be frank. This is above my pay grade. Would you be willing to come with me to the sanctum? The—”

“No,” Jack interrupted. It was a simple, firm statement.

Again James nodded. “That’s what I figured, but I thought I’d offer at least. I don’t know anything about werewolves other than pop culture stuff, so can you give me the gist so I don’t, like, set anything off?”

Jack frowned at the helpful young man. “The ‘gist’?”

“The ground rules. Shit gets scary when there’s a full moon, right?”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s one way to put it. I lock myself up so I don’t hurt anyone.”

James blinked at him, impressed and saddened. “That must suck.”

“It does,” Jack said. He looked away before continuing. “It’s that or people die.” He returned his gaze to the young sorcerer to find the same sympathy. After taking a moment to study him, Jack asked, “Why do you want to help me now that you know what I am?”

James frowned at him, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, you didn’t deliberately become a werewolf, right?”

Jack barked a laugh, startling his companion. “Lo siento,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “No, not deliberately. Family curse.”

“Shiiiiit,” James breathed. “So you’ve got relatives stuck with it, too?”

Jack nodded.

“Now I really want to help you. I mean, that’s freaking awful.”

Jack smiled, astounded by his good luck for once. “Thank you, my friend. It is awful. My relatives and I manage as best we can. We’ve searched for ways to remove the curse for decades. I don’t expect you, or even more experienced sorcerers, to do so overnight. Removing the tattoo would be a relief. As it is I’m always hiding part of myself.”

“Yeah,” James said as he mulled over Jack’s words. “Scott gets you.”

Jack practically did a double take. “He does?”

“To a degree,” James said with a small smile. “It’s not my story to tell.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, his curiosity piqued. “He’s not a werewolf. I’d know.”

“He’s not,” James chuckled. “Anyway, ground rules. So, outside of the full moon, you’re cool?”

“‘Cool’?”

James motioned at him. “Like this. Human.”

“Yes,” Jack affirmed. “I can assume the hybrid form—the one in the photo—when I want. But it’s taxing, and there’s a chance I might lose control.”

“Which would be bad? Like people getting hurt bad?”

Jack nodded solemnly. “The wolf does what it wants.”

A flicker of fear crossed James’s face. “Do you know when you’re losing control? You could tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” James said. He looked away and chewed his lip for a few moments. “I’d like to cast a few spells to learn more about the magic in your tattoo. That okay?”

Jack smiled. “Yes.”

“And I’d like to share some of what we discussed with Emily and Scott so they know what’s up if you, like, wolf out. I mean, I don’t think my spells will set anything off—they’re pretty basic—but just in case. They’ve got enough xylazine to knock out a herd of elephants.”

Jack was chuckling before James had even mentioned the sedative. The young man acted like he was taking a few simple, run-of-the-mill precautions. “Tell them whatever you need to. I am grateful for your help.”

“Cool,” James said, already heading for the door. He opened it, stuck his head out, and shouted, “Yo, Em! Info dump!”

“Go ahead,” he heard her return.

They were quiet for a few seconds. Then Jack heard Emily, Scott, and Matt exchange a few words. Scott called loudly, “Give us a few minutes to get things ready.”

“You got it,” James returned. “Toss me my phone, would ya?” He moved back inside already tapping at his phone, nudging the door shut with his shoulder. “It’s gotta be here somewhere,” he muttered.

Jack tilted his head, curious. “What are you looking for?”

James said a word Jack didn’t understand, then, “That translates to ‘Fingerprint.’” He glanced up and grinned. “A spell.”

“On your phone?”

“Yeah.” After swiping his finger across the screen a few times, his expression brightened. “Got it. See?” 

James held his phone up for Jack to view the screen. The Android device showed an ornate gold frame around a blank, white background. Jack frowned, “I don’t see much. Just a gold frame.”

“By design,” James grinned. “Only those with magical aptitude can see the text.”

Jack gaped at the young man and his phone. “You have an app for spells?”

“Of course!” James said. “There’s only so many spells I can keep in my head, and I’m not going to carry around scrolls and books when I can download this from the app store.”

Jack gasped, horrified. “¡Dios mío! Anyone can download an app full of sorcerers’ spells?”

“No,” James replied as he stowed his phone inside his tunic. “The app itself is enchanted. Only those authorized by the Sorcerer Supreme can see it.” The young man grinned proudly. “I got access last month. It’s amazing, and I’m only cleared for low-level spells.”

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough that people determined enough to track down old books could acquire arcane knowledge. The tattoos on his face were proof of that. The notion of spells being downloadable was downright terrifying.

James stepped closer to Jack and bounced on his toes. “Ready?” 

Jack steeled himself and nodded. 

The young man murmured unfamiliar words while tracing patterns in the air with his hands. The lines and dots on Jack’s face tingled. He held his breath, keeping close watch on the wolf sleeping inside him. Jack felt it stir and shift, then settle. He sent a prayer of thanks to whichever gods might be listening, then focused on drawing calm, even breaths. He’d stay quiet and still so James could work.

***

If anyone had told Matt a few weeks ago that he’d be in hanging out in his Devil armor with psychics in their Brooklyn apartment along with a werewolf and a sorcerer, he’d have laughed in their face. And that was omitting how he’d gotten to the apartment: via a portal the sorcerer had opened in the basement of an abandoned building in Hell’s Kitchen.

After everything that had happened with the Hand and Electra, Matt distrusted magic. Fortunately James seemed like a good man, and Matt had to admit that the fiery portals he could create were astounding and useful.

Matt tried to not fidget with the blowgun in his hand as he, Scott, and Emily waited for James to work on Jack’s tattoo. His companions were quiet and tense as well. Emily tapped at her tablet with her brow furrowed. Scott rolled something in his right hand—presumably the marble that had glowed and hummed the other day—with a plastic container bearing drugged darts nearby on the table. 

Ten minutes after Scott has tossed James’s phone to him, Matt heard Jack and James quietly conversing. “Sounds like they’re done,” he said.

The couple visibly relaxed. “Think he did it?” Emily asked.

Matt shrugged as Scott said, “Probably not since Jack isn’t celebrating.”

“Jack stayed in control, so there’s that,” Matt said. “I didn’t know magic could trigger a change.”

“Me neither,” Emily said. She looked down the hallway. “Poor Jack.”

A door opened, and Jack’s and James’s voices carried down the hall. Moments later James joined them at the dining table, and Matt heard running water in the bathroom.

“Any luck?” Scott asked James.

“Some,” James said. “First of all, no wolf. Second, I learned more about the tattoo’s magic. It’s—”

Jack appeared at the end of the hallway. Matt smelled the light fragrance of soap in addition to Jack’s usual scent, and his pseudo-vision detected moisture on his face and hands. “It’s still there, but James has more information to work with.”

Matt studied the werewolf’s face but couldn’t detect any markings. That was just as well. If he had, they’d be radiating some sort of energy.

“I gotta admit the design is kind of cool in a Día de los Muertos kind of way,” Scott said. “Though it would be better if you wanted it there.”

Jack chuckled agreement. “It does remind me—generally—of my mother’s side of the family. She was from Mexico City.”

“She’s passed?” Matt asked.

Matt saw the shorter man’s nod. He and the others murmured condolences. 

Emily and Scott exchanged a look, then the former waved dismissively. Scott sighed as his wife turned to Jack. “If you don’t mine me asking, why did you wash off the makeup? James had already done his sorcerer stuff.”

Jack smiled self-consciously. He looked absently at the tablet on the glass-topped table as he replied. “I don’t need to hide that part of me here. Parts, I suppose. The tattoo and the wolf.”

“Um,” James began. “Please continue hiding the wolf some, okay?”

Jack laughed wholeheartedly. “I will, my friend.”

One of the stories Father Lantom had told Matt came to mind. “The two dogs,” he murmured.

“Dogs?” 

Matt nodded and took a few moments to gather his thoughts. “A few years ago I lost a mentor, almost a father.” He swallowed the knot of emotions that memories of Lantom brought up. “A priest. He took my confession hundreds of times.” Noticing James’s head tilt, Matt added, “I’m Catholic.” The young man’s blinks of surprise made Matt chuckle, which he welcomed. He knew that his life bordered on absurd.

“Vigilantism doesn’t mix well with Catholicism,” Matt said dryly.

Emily chuckled, “I imagine not.”

“Father helped me reconcile the two.”

Scott did a double take. “He did?”

Matt nodded again, feeling tears well in his eyes behind his mask. “He didn’t approve of everything I do, but he understood why. He counseled me as best he could. The rest is between me and God.”

Jack said softly, “He sounds like a wise man.”

That brought a smile to Matt’s face. “He was. Now and then I think about one of the stories he told me.” Matt looked from Jack to James. “You reminded me of it.”

Everyone looked at him expectantly. “Well?” Emily prompted.

Matt chuckled, then began. “A man traveling through the mountains came upon an old mountaineer who had two dogs. Both dogs were the same size, and they fought constantly. The visitor asked the mountaineer which dog usually won. The old man considered the dogs for a moment, spat over the fence, and said, ‘The one I feed the most.’”

Matt’s companions were quiet as they pondered the story, as well as Matt as he remembered Lantom.

James broke the silence. “Jack’s got a wolf, not a dog.”

Everyone stared at him. Then Jack snorted, and the others joined him in laughter. 

“Dude,” Scott said, grinning, “even you are not that thick.”

Emily mock rolled her eyes. “It’s a metaphor, James.”

“No shit,” James laughed. “But someone had to lighten the mood!”

Chapter Text

The cinnamon and cayenne of Jack’s Mexican coffee were nearly enough to fend off the cold that had descended on the city overnight. The rest was deterred by the late morning sun and the light jacket Jack wore over a button-down shirt and jeans. He sat at a small table outside Pecoshitas on Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, sipping coffee, people watching, and fiddling with his phone as he waited for Scott and Emily to arrive. His backpack sat on the ground propped against one of the chair’s legs.

A rumble carried to Jack’s ears, and he checked the cloudless blue sky for a storm in distance. The rumble grew louder, and Jack chuckled at himself. An elevated train approached from the west. Dozens of steel girders arched over the wide avenue, allowing trains to move people through the densely populated city.

Jack gritted his teeth as the train rushed by. To his sensitive ears the din was nearly deafening. Unfortunately he was stuck there; the pair of suspects that Emily and Scott had identified were volunteering at the pop-up vaccine clinic across the street from Pecoshitas. To distract from the noise, Jack started a game of Bubble Pop on his phone. There was something cathartic about launching a brightly colored bubble at a cluster of bubbles at the top of the screen, popping a string of them, and watching the rest tumble down.

Across the street six volunteers under the shade canopy of the vaccine clinic made quick work of short lines. A few of them and those in line wore surgical masks, presumably to keep any airborne flu viruses at bay. Jack had been keeping an eye two of the volunteers: Shannon Courtenay and Brian Abbott. Both were white and in their late thirties, and seemed to be friends or a not-publicly-demonstrative couple. Jack pegged them as non-outdoorsy, white-collar workers based on their pale skin and few extra kilograms of weight they carried. Abbot had short blond hair and an average build. Courtenay stood a few inches shorter with curly red hair. 

After James had finished with his sorcerer’s inspection of Jack’s facial tattoo the previous evening, he, Jack, Matt, Emily, and Scott had poured over the data they’d gathered. James had provided scans of the vaccination clinics’ volunteer logs. Earlier that day Pedro, bless his computer-loving heart, had finished entering the date, time, location, and details of each Neanderthal incident in a “GIS app.” Jack didn’t know what that meant, nor did he care beyond tapping a link and examining the colored dots on the map displayed on his phone. Scott had semi-seriously mused about recruiting Pedro, which Jack had vehemently—if light-heartedly—protested.

To use his friends’ words, there was a strong correlation between Courtenay and Abbott volunteering at a vaccine clinic and Neanderthal transformations. Within 24 hours of the pair working at a clinic, a cluster of Neanderthals appeared mostly in a one-mile radius. The outbreaks had started in Hell’s Kitchen. Ironically, Emily and Scott had relieved the pair at one of the Hell’s Kitchen clinics four days earlier. Then the Neanderthal instances had moved to Midtown Manhattan and Brooklyn. Today was the first day Abbott and Courtenay were scheduled for a site in Queens. Nina’s apartment was a few blocks away.

Jack caught his friends’ scents on the light, chilly breeze before they’d called out hellos. Emily smelled of lavender and chamomile, and Scott of lemon, Ivory soap, and a hint of something unusual. Metallic, almost. Jack couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d wanted to ask about it, but hadn’t. How do you ask about a person’s odd scent without making things awkward?

The couple took two of the three empty chairs at Jack’s table as they exchanged good mornings. Scott wore a light coat over a hoodie and jeans. Dark gray legging and the tails of an oversized, pastel flannel shirt showed beneath the bottom of Emily’s light jacket. 

She squinted at Jack’s phone.“Is that Bubble Pop?” 

Jack grinned. “It is.” 

“I love that game!” she enthused. “Have you tried Angry Birds?”

“Yes,” Jack admitted, feeling his cheeks flush. “But I had to give it up.” His new friends looked at him expectantly. “It got my, er, dog, riled up near the full moon.”

Scott and Emily pressed their lips together, clearly trying to stifle laughter. 

Jack chuckled; he had to admit it was absurdly funny. “You can laugh, my friends.”

They did, and it felt good. As much as Jack loved his friend Ted, he enjoyed the company of humans as well. Being authentic around them was a rare luxury.

After they’d settled down, Scott nodded toward the vaccine clinic. “Anyway…”

Jack surreptitiously glanced across the street in time to see Courtenay inject what he hoped was a dose of flu vaccine in an older Black woman’s upper arm. In Spanish he said, “I hope you have ideas on how to get evidence that one or both of them are up to no good. The only ones I’ve come up with are, ah, disruptive.” He grinned, adding, “But you have skills I don’t.”

The couple nodded. Emily said in Spanish, “I could just look, if you know what I mean, and see if they’re knowingly injecting people with something other than the vaccine. The dose logs from their shifts have don’t match the patient count, but that could be from human error because they got busy.”

“Or they have syringes of some other drug pre-loaded and ready to administer,” Scott stated.

Jack grimaced from the notion. If Scott’s supposition were true, someone was taking advantage of people’s trust in medicine to use them as guinea pigs.

“Yeah,” Emily said. “That would be pretty gross.” She pursed her lips and studied her clasped hands on the table top for a moment. “I can’t justify diving in and looking, but checking their emotions every few minutes?” She nodded, as if convincing herself. “That I can live with considering what’s at stake.”

Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “If they seem overly nervous, then what?”

Emily forced a smile. “Then I get in line for the jab.” Although Emily tried to put a good face on it, she didn’t seem comfortable with the plan. “I’m pretty sure I can encourage them to hand me the syringe.”

“And if you can’t?” Jack asked.

Scott laid one hand on his wife’s arm. “We’ll improvise.”

Jack gazed through gaps in traffic at the vaccine clinic, which had been steady since he’d arrived at the cafe. He turned back to his friends. “All right. What can I do?”

“Keep an eye on things from here,” Scott said. “You’re our backup.”

Jack nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Scott headed east and Emily west to cross Roosevelt Avenue at the corner crosswalks. Still at the table, Jack swiped away Bubble Pop on his phone. On a whim he created a group text with Scott and Emily. “This is almost as good as telepathy :)” he texted.

Within a minute Emily replied with a crying laughing emoji and Scott with “lol”.

A few minutes later Emily, now wearing a surgical mask, moved behind the two people in Courtenay’s line. Abbot’s line was two people deep as well. Emily texted, “Both of them are tense, but she’s nervous too.”

“OK,” Scott texted. “We’re right here”.

Jack finished the last of his coffee as he scanned the far side of the road for Scott. He found the older man with the hood of his sweatshirt up leaning against a storefront two doors east of the pop-up clinic. He seemed to be absorbed in his phone, and faced the street rather than towards his wife. Considering Emily’s telepathy, Jack presumed that Scott didn’t need to see her to keep tabs. 

Loneliness welled, which Jack stuffed down immediately. Monsters like him and Ted couldn’t have a life like his friends’. It was best to accept reality and move on.

Jack’s phone buzzed in his hand. He swiped to find a new text from Pedro. “Nothing interesting on Courtenay. Abbott’s record is clean. His mother’s isn’t, but the charges are decades old. Her name is Angela Castillo. Maiden name: Rigoletto”

Jack blinked at Pedro’s message. Rigoletto meant nothing to him, but Castillo Pharmaceuticals manufactured the flu vaccine Fisk’s clinics were using. He replied, “Is Angela connected to Castillo Pharmaceuticals?” After sending that text, he copied Pedro’s text and sent it to the group chat.

Now next in line for a flu jab, Emily looked down at her phone. Jack’s phone buzzed as multiple texts arrived. 

“Castillo, like the drug company???” Scott wrote.

Emily replied, “OMG Castillo. Don Rigoletto was a big crime boss for decades. He died a few years ago. Murdered, I think.”

Between passing cars Jack saw Emily step up to the table. Courtenay, who wasn’t wearing a mask, spoke with her. Beside them the burly Latino man standing in front of Abbott shucked off his jacket and pushed up his shirtsleeve. Abbott stood, holding a square of gauze in one hand and small syringe in the other.

Jack stood as well and donned his backpack. He put his empty coffee mug in the tub near the cafe’s door, keeping his phone in his left hand. It buzzed again. Jack swiped to read the latest text from Pedro. “Angela is married to Seth Castillo, the CEO of Castillo Pharmaceuticals”

He looked across the street to check on his friends, then stuffed his phone in his pocket. Even with cars occasionally blocking his view, Emily’s rigid body language and that of those near her said something was wrong.

Courtenay stared silently at Emily, who seemed to be looking at Abbott. The blond man stood frozen in place with the tip of his syringe inches from the Latino’s arm. Jack divided his attention between Emily and Scott, who now faced his wife with concern clear on his face. He must have pocketed his phone as well, and his right hand was a tight fist.

The Latino man ready to get his shot stepped back and bumped into the Indian woman behind him. She shouted, and the man rounded on her, irritated. 

Suddenly Emily, Abbott, and Courtenay were all moving. The latter had staggered back, wide-eyed, and tripped over her chair. The volunteer to her left caught her as she fell as Abbott handed his syringe to Emily. She took it and darted away from the clinic. Meanwhile Abbott crouched behind the table and was hidden from view by the table skirt.

Jack hesitated, unsure if he should get involved. His phone was quiet, but it wasn’t like Emily had time to text.

An orange-red glow to the east got Jack’s attention. It was Scott, who’d moved closer to the shade canopy over the clinic’s tables. His right hand was lit from within, and a surgical mask hid half of his face. The white and red vaccine clinic banner over the canopy came loose at one end, fluttered in a nonexistent breeze, then untied from the other end. The vinyl drifted on to the confused volunteers, including Abbott.

Scott sprinted behind the now-chaotic clinic tables with his hand still glowing. Without slowing he reached toward the tables with his left hand. A plastic container about the size of a shoebox flew to it. The light of his right hand winked out as he continued west with the plastic box tucked under one arm.

After untangling himself from the vinyl banner, Abbot frantically searched for something on the ground. He soon gave up and ran east.

Emily’s voice sounded in Jack’s head. Stop Abbott! Scott and I have the drug he’s dosing people with.

Jack willed himself to not cover his ears with his hands and shake his head. Hearing another person in his head was disturbing. Instead he ran on the sidewalk parallel to Abbott and jaywalked at the next break in traffic.

Abbott turned left on to 81st Street. Jack skidded around the corner after him, his daypack thumping against his back.

We’re getting lost in the crowd on 80th, Emily thought to Jack. He found her mental voice less disturbing the second time. Coming up on 37th Ave. Where are you?

Chasing Abbott up 81st. Heading north, Jack thought, presuming Emily would hear him. What are we going to do once we catch him?

Jack felt Emily’s determination. Convince him to turn himself in and not tell the cops about us. Scott and I will handle it.

So I’m just the muscle? Jack quipped.

Yes, Emily replied, amused. And a charming conversationalist.

Jack chuckled aloud as he gained on the taller man, both of them dodging around pedestrians. He could maintain this pace for blocks. Abbott, however, was breathing heavily. Jack heard him gulping for air and smelled his sweat.

A SUV pulled out of a parking garage just in front of Abbott, who collided with its side and slid to the ground. As the driver—a middle-aged woman with a short, wedged-shaped haircut—got out and started yelling, Jack caught up with Abbott. The white man stared up at him, somewhere between stunned and panicked. A few pedestrians had stopped to gawk.

“Brian!” Jack cried with feigned concern as he crouched beside him. “Are you okay? Thank god you finally stopped!” Then he thought, Got him. We’re in front of a parking garage, hoping Emily would hear him.

The driver’s high heels clicked as she walked around her vehicle and marched up to them. “What the hell is wrong with you? You ran into my car!”

Abbott gaped at the woman, then looked wide-eyed at Jack. “Who… You’re with her, aren’t you?” He reached for the still-angry woman, who’d been inspecting her SUV for dents. She took a step back. “Please help me! I’m sorry, but I have to get away from—”

Jack shushed Abbott, grasping his upper arm gently but firmly. “Brian, please. Stop this.” Over Abbott’s protests Jack told the driver and others watching, “He’s off his meds. I’ve been chasing him since Roosevelt.”

The scents of lavender and Ivory soap carried to Jack’s nose as Emily spoke in his head again. We’re almost there.

“There!” the short-haired woman shouted, pointing a shallow dent in the back door. “You dented it!”

A man’s voice sounded behind jack. “Lady, you shoulda been more careful when you pulled out. You gonna sue, buddy?” The woman took a step toward the litigious man and started yelling at him. 

“No one is suing anybody!” Jack retorted as Abbott tried to shake off Jack’s hand. He wished the guy had knocked himself out. That would have been easier to deal with.

Motion on the far side of the SUV got Jack’s attention. He looked up to find Scott striding around the rear of the vehicle. His sweatshirt’s hood partially shadowed his face, and his surgical mask was gone. 

“Thank god you found him!” Scott told Jack as he kneeled on Abbott’s other side. The blond man frowned at him in bafflement and tried to stand. Since he was still off-kilter Jack had no trouble keeping him in place. “Is he hurt?”

“A few bruises, maybe,” Jack replied.

Scott laid one hand on Abbott’s shoulder. His brow furrowed, and the younger man visibly relaxed. “C’mon, Brian. Let’s get out of here.”

Abbott smiled uncertainly, but nodded. Jack and Scott helped him up, and the SUV’s driver turner her ire on them. She demanded, “Who’s going to pay for the damage to my car?”

Scott frowned at her and said, “Hold on.” He turned to Abbott and Jack and waved north up the sidewalk. “Head that way. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Then he laid one hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack heard Scott’s voice in his mind. He’s calm right now. Don’t let him see Em. She’s close by and knows to stay back. I told her what happened here just now.

Jack nodded, keeping a steadying hand on Abbott’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said, leading the taller and heavier man around the SUV. He followed without complaint. 

As they moved further away from the thankfully minor accident, Jack caught bits of what Scott said to the angry driver. His voice was cool and calm. “…a little bruised…want to get him home…insurance will take care…”

Jack chuckled to himself. Why fight when you can talk your way out of a bad situation?

The light breeze carried Emily’s scent to Jack again. He spotted her standing out of the flow of traffic near the corner with 37th. There’s an alley ahead on your left, Emily thought to him. Scott will catch up with you there.

Okay, Jack replied. I think I’m getting used to this. It’s strange, but useful.

Emily agreed, It is!

Jack steered Abbott into the narrow, trash-strewn alley. “Where are we going?” Abbott asked.

“To wait for our friend.”

Abbott nodded as he rolled his left shoulder, wincing a little.

I didn’t know Scott can do it too, Jack thought.

Emily replied, He can with his father, but just barely with anyone else. He has to touch someone to speak to them telepathically. 

After leading Abbott twenty feet into the alley, Jack stopped. He kept an eye on both ends of the narrow passage as he thought at Emily again. Earlier I saw Scott pull a plastic box—Abbott’s, I assume—to his hand. Can you do that too?

Jack felt Emily’s amusement and fondness. Telekinesis. No, I can’t. Wish I could!

A minute later Scott turned the corner into the ally and jogged up to them with the plastic box under his left arm. He pushed the hood off of his head as he approached. 

Abbott gasped. “You’re the guy with the glowing hand on the Daily News cover!”

Scott closed his eyes and loosed an aggravated sigh as he stopped a few feet from Abbott. “Yeah,” he said wearily. “Been keeping up with news about the Nean—proto-hulks, huh, Abbott?”

“Everyone is!” he shot back, then glared at Jack. “Let go of me!”

Jack calmly met his eyes and said nothing.

“Here’s how this is going to work, Abbott,” Scott said as he crossed his arms. Jack noticed that his right hand was a loose fist; he likely had his silver ball ready. “You’re going to—”

Again Abbott tried to pull free from Jack’s grip. The man wasn’t particularly strong or skilled, so Jack held on despite their size difference. Abbott then shifted his weight to his left leg, so Jack anticipated his kick. He caught Abbott’s right foot with his free hand, yanked his leather shoe off, and smacked him upside his blond head with it. Abbott gaped and winced as Scott chuckled. 

Jack tossed the shoe aside. “Behave and do as my friend says.”

Thoroughly chastised, Abbott put his stocking foot down and warily eyed Jack and Scott.

“What’s in the syringes you’ve been bringing to the vaccination clinics?” Scott demanded.

Abbott shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Scott fixed an unamused look on the other man. “You’re shooting people up with an unknown substance?”

The blond man’s lips pursed as his eyes narrowed. He didn’t reply.

“I believe him,” Jack said. Scott looked at him, eyebrows raised. Jack added, “I can tell.”

Scott blinked at him, then nodded and turned back to Abbott. “Is the solution in the syringes causing people to turn into proto-hulks?”

Abbott pressed his lips together tighter and stayed quiet. He’d started sweating again; Jack smelled it.

“Yes,” Jack replied for him.

The blond man glared. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You don’t have to,” Jack countered with a cool smile.

Abbott’s eyes widened with fear. “Y-you’re like her, aren’t you? The Chinese woman?”

Jack’s smile grew. “Not at all.” He heard Abbott’s heart pounding in his chest.

“All right, Abbott,” Scott said, earning his attention. “You’re neck-deep in this proto-hulk mess. Who else is giving injections?”

Abbott gulped. “No one. Just me.”

Jack nodded.

“Who do you get the solution from?” Scott asked.

Abbott’s heart rate quickened even more. “There’s a drop site. I pick up a box with the syringes ready to go.”

Scott looked questioningly at Jack. 

“True,” Jack stated, “but he’s dodging your question.” 

Movement at the mouth of the alley earned Jack’s notice. A slim figure slipped into one of the narrow shadows. Figured I’d join you all, Emily said. I’ll stay back here.

Scott stepped closer to the blond man. “Who’s behind all of this, Abbott? No dodging this time. We want to know who’s responsible.”

Sweat beaded on Abbott’s forehead as his heart raced. He kept his eyes down and didn’t reply.

A hum came from Scott as his fist glowed from the shining marble held inside. Abbott nervously looked up and cringed at the sight.

“You can tell us, Abbott,” Scott said simply, “or we can pull out the answer ourselves.”

Jack felt Abbott trembling and wondered if he might have a coronary. Even though Scott’s threat wasn’t directed at him, the notion made him nervous. He tried to think at Emily, Can Scott do that? Pull information from people’s minds?

A jumble of emotions came from the woman: pride, amusement, reluctance, and regret. He’s bluffing. I can do it, but I don’t want to. It’s awful. Invasive.

Abbott’s breaths were short and rapid. The scent of blood joined that of his fear and sweat. Jack looked sidelong at the terrified man and found him biting his lip. Then he turned his eyes to Scott to find him frowning as well. He was sure they were thinking the same thing: Who was Abbott so afraid of, or was it loyalty?

Fisk? Emily posited.

Although that seemed like an obvious answer, it didn’t feel right. Why have one man inject some of the people at his own vaccination clinics with the Neanderthal solution? Others would connect the dots as well. Who else might be able to coordinate something like this?

The answer hit Jack like a thunderbolt. “Angela Castillo,” he breathed.

Who? Emily asked as Abbott started babbling. 

“No! No no no no. Look, I was giving the injections. I just—”

Jack heard Emily’s light footfalls approaching. The hum and glow from Scott’s marble ceased as he tore his puzzled gaze from Abbott and Jack to look over his shoulder at his wife, then turned back around. “She’s your mother,” he told Abbott as Emily slowed to a stop at Scott’s left side.

Abbott was silently crying now; Jack smelled the salt from his tears. If Abbott had noticed the “Chinese woman’s” arrival, he didn’t let on.

“I got another text just before everything happened,” Jack said. “She’s married to the CEO of Castillo Pharmaceuticals.”

Scott’s eyebrows raised as Emily said, “Angela Rigoletto.” 

Abbott flinched, but otherwise held still.

Emily looked from Scott to Jack. “You’re sure she’s his mother?”

Jack nodded.

“We need to be positive,” Emily said as she turned to Abbott.  “I’ll check.”

“No!” Abbott exclaimed, half hysterical. “She’s my mother. He killed nonno. He’s—”

“Who?” all three of them asked.

In Jack’s head Emily said, Nonno is Italian for abuelo.

“Fisk had your grandfather, Don Rigoletto, killed?” Scott asked.

Abbott nodded as a fresh round of tears flowed. “He got away with it! Fisk gets away with everything! How the hell did he get out of jail?”

Jack had no doubt that the man’s grief and frustration were genuine. He let go of his arm. Abbott wasn’t going anywhere.

“So you and your mother decided that injecting innocent people with some sort of hulk serum and making it look like Fisk’s doing was a good way to get revenge?” Emily’s soprano was taut with anger.

Abbott tentatively met her eyes. “Mom’s idea. She wants Fisk ruined. It consumed her. Seth doesn’t know anything.”

“Seth… Castillo?” Scott asked.

“Yes, my stepfather,” Abbott confirmed. “He’s a good man.”

Emily all but snarled,“Like your nonno?” 

Abbott grimaced. “Nonno was… complicated. He was good to me. Good to Mom. His death—his murder—destroyed her.”

“And you went along with her scheme to ruin Fisk,” Scott spat. “What about all of the people you’ve hurt? There are over 100 now! Some are slowly getting better, but still. What the hell, man?”

“I know!” Abbott wailed, covering his head with his hands. “I couldn’t say no.” He looked from Jack to Scott to Emily with no small amount of fear. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Take you to the police,” Jack replied.

Abbott blanched. “They’ll go after Mom.”

Scott nodded. “That’s the idea. She’s out of her goddamned mind. You both have hurt a lot of people.”

“There’s got to be another way!” Abbott cried. “No more injections. It’s over. And Mom’s rich. How much—”

Scott’s voice was ice. “You can’t buy your way out of this.”

“We’re taking you to the police, Abbott.” Emily’s voice was as cold as her husband’s. “You’ll turn yourself in and tell them everything, except about the three of us. You know why?”

Abbott shook his head, his eyes wide.

“If you don’t do as I say, we will find you,” Emily intoned, “and I will wipe your mind clean.”

Jack managed to not gasp aloud. Please tell me you’re bluffing, amiga. You can do that?

One corner of Emily’s mouth tugged up momentarily. I’m bluffing.

Jack sighed with relief as Abbott begged to go to the police. 

Scott grinned down at his wife and put one arm around her shoulders. Jack was glad he was in on the bluff. From Abbott’s point of view, the couple surely was terrifying.

Chapter Text

The shrill backup beeps of a garbage truck startled Matt awake. He closed his eyes again and drew deep breaths, assessing his current array of bruises and minor injuries as he lay in bed. Judging from the angle of the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows and the garbage truck, it was probably 10 AM… if it were trash day. Trash day was Friday. What day was it?

Matt wasn’t sure. 

The last few days had blurred together. For the first time in several months he’d been living as Daredevil more than Matt Murdock, active at night and sleeping when he could during the day. He was barely managing to keep up with his work caseload, mostly from his apartment in the early morning hours. Once he was caught up he’d suit up and head to the part of the city where the newest Neanderthals were appearing.

The drugged darts that Emily and Scott had come up with made subduing the transformed people much easier and more efficient. In between Neanderthal encounters Matt had taught well over a dozen petty criminals a lesson. Those in Midtown and Brooklyn had been shocked to find themselves face to face with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. “You should expand,” Foggy had joked when Matt had told him and Karen about it. 

“Start a franchise,” Karen grinned.

Matt couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Daredevils R Us.”

“Locations in all five boroughs!” Karen quipped.

“No insurance provided, though,” Foggy deadpanned. “No one would insure you crazy people.”

“No,” Matt had chuckled as he worked a sore shoulder. “Can’t blame them.”

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Matt swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. “Alexa, what’s the day, date, and time?”

The device’s digitized voice replied, “Today is Friday, September 8, 2023. The time is 10:07 AM.”

After some leisurely stretches, Matt picked up his phone from the nightstand and swiped to the text app. Huge, high-contrast text showed ten new messages waiting to be read. None was from Jack, Scott, or Emily. That was a good sign considering that they’d regrouped the previous evening to strategize. Two of the texts were from Foggy, and the rest from Karen. That was the inverse of normal.

Matt skimmed the first four texts, which included the two from Foggy. Typical work-related stuff. The next one, which Karen had sent at 6 AM, made Matt’s heart stop.

Karen

Foggy is in proto-hulk section of Columbia, room 34. He’s stable
8:02 AM

We were working late. I left the office around 10. Woke up at 3 AM with ideas on the Dewala case and texted him. When I woke up at 6:30 and didn’t see a reply, I called. No answer.
8:04 AM

Eventually I texted Theo. He’s with Foggy now. He said the cops tranqed Foggy on 11th Ave
8:05 AM

We both got flu shots on Tuesday. We didn’t say anything after you told us that Fisk’s vaccines might be involved because we didn’t want you to worry. We felt fine
8:06 AM

He can have non-family visitors from 4 - 5 pm. I’ll be there. I’m going to Columbia earlier to see if they’ll do the experimental blood test on me to see if I’m infected. The news says that ppl are reverting back slowly. Thank god!
8:08 AM

Call me when you get this. I know you’re busy dealing with this whole situation. Hope you can take a break to see Foggy
8:09 AM

Matt found himself on his feet in nothing but boxer shorts a short distance from his bed trembling with rage. His phone wasn’t in his hand.

He recalled Fisk’s politician-slick words from his press conference announcing the vaccination drive a few days earlier.

I’ll kill him this time.

A calmer part of Matt spoke up. Don’t. You’ll regret it, and you need to be with Foggy, Karen, and Theo.

Matt snarled as he looked for his phone. He must have thrown it. Kill Fisk and this insanity ends.

Killing Fisk won’t make those affected better. It will damn your soul.

“I don’t care!” Matt shouted, his voice echoing off the brick wall. Fisk had promised to leave him, Foggy, and Karen alone to protect his wife, a murderer herself. For whatever reason, the gangster had gone back on his word. He deserved to die ten times over. A hundred times! The city would be better off.

Matt found his phone on the floor in a corner of the bedroom. Other than a few cracks in the screen it seemed undamaged. The extra money he’d paid for this rugged model had been well worth it.

He stared at the damaged screen.

Kill Fisk.

Go to them.

“Call Kar…”

He yelled in frustration, but managed to not throw his phone again. Instead he activated voice to text. “Message Karen.”

“Ready,” the app said.

“Foggy…” His voice cracked. He swallowed, then began again. “Foggy will be okay. He will. He has to. You too. I’m—I’m going to fix this.”

Matt paced the length of his small bedroom and back. “You’re my family, both of you.” His voice cracked again, so he cleared his throat. “See you at 4:00. End message. Send.”

“Message sent,” said the app.

Matt tossed his phone on the bed and headed straight to the shower. He had his work cut out for him.

***

The $2000 Matt had spent in bribes and called-in favors had gotten Matt into the luxury highrise building with Fisk’s home on the top floor. If Fisk’s flights weren’t delayed, his helicopter would land on the rooftop helipad at 3 PM. Even if his mission went smoothly, Matt probably wouldn’t make Foggy’s visiting hours, not that he was too concerned about that. He’d bribe his way to seeing his best friend if need be.

Despite his best efforts, Matt couldn’t get direct access to the roof. The closest he could manage was climbing through one of the few windows at that height that opened, which meant free-climbing two stories of glass and concrete exterior to the roof.

Thanks to the clear, cold weather, Matt’s fingers and toes had gone numb in his climbing gloves and shoes by the time he was halfway to the roof. Twenty floors up, a steady west wind buffeted him as his phone buzzed intermittently in his light daypack.

Despite the precariousness of his situation, Matt was unafraid. He’d prayed before leaving his apartment, dressed in light-colored exercise gear with the daypack on his back. He’d prayed for Foggy and Karen and Theo and Sister Grace and everyone else he cared about. He’d prayed for his new friends, hoping that they’d found and stopped the people Fisk had ordered to inject innocents with a presumably experimental drug. He’d prayed for God’s forgiveness for the murder in his heart. If God chose not to grant it, Matt would suffer his fate. He did what he did willingly.

After what felt like an eternity, Matt hauled his frozen body over the edge of the roof. A glance around showed that he was alone. He rolled against the low wall separating him from a 200-foot drop and curled into a ball to warm up. The sun was still high in the sky. He had time before Fisk’s people arrived to secure the landing site.

A half hour later Matt changed position where he crouched behind one of a dozen heat pump compressors on the west side of the roof. He’d regained feeling in his extremities and didn’t want to cramp up as he waited for his target. 

His cell phone buzzed again. Matt set it to silent.

With a balaclava covering his head and most of his face, Matt held his blowgun loaded with one drugged dart in his right hand. Five more darts were set in a neat row on the roof at the base of the compressor. His batons lay on top of his daypack nearby. With the sun behind him, Matt figured he could fire at least two darts before Fisk and his bodyguards discovered him. Two darts of the powerful sedative should be enough to kill a man as big as Fisk. If it weren’t, there were plenty of other ways to end his life.

He heard the helicopter approaching long before it flew into view. Matt ducked down and listened. Two men had stepped on to the rooftop through the door in the bulkhead north of the helipad. Their footsteps had soon stopped. Matt listened for their heartbeats and found them standing near the door. With any luck, he’d only have these two, a bodyguard on the helicopter, Vanessa Fisk, and Wilson himself to contend with.

Wind whipped outward from the helicopter as it descended.

Matt hadn’t considered the wind. He had all of two days’ experience with blowguns. Although he’d try to compensate for the wind, Matt doubted his first shot would hit his target. The second might not go much better.

No matter. He’d manage.

The helicopter gently touched down. 

Matt peeked over the top of the compressor with the blowgun ready. Perhaps firing at Fisk as he exited the helicopter would work best. Shooting directly upwind might only slow the dart but not make it veer off course.

One of the men near the door—a stocky man in a gray suit—approached the helicopter, ducking his head. Through the window in the helicopter’s door Matt saw Fisk’s white coat and bald head. 

Don’t do this. The thought reminded Matt of Father Lantom. 

The helicopter door opened.

Matt raised the blowgun to his lips.

Gray Suit held the door open. Fisk, a hulk in his own right, climbed out of the helicopter, smiling. Vanessa looked up from taking off her seatbelt and smiled back.

Matt wanted to rip Fisk’s face off with his bare hands. He shoved the thought aside, aimed, and fired.

Gray Suit straightened abruptly. He might have shouted; the helicopter drowned out everything else. 

Cursing under his breath, Matt carefully loaded another dart. The last thing he needed to do was accidentally get the sedative in his own bloodstream.

When Matt looked over the compressor again Gray Suit leaned heavily on the helicopter door, pushing it against Fisk. Matt cursed again; Fisk had cover. Matt aimed for the right side of Fisk’s torso, adjusted for wind, and fired.

As Gray Suit slumped to the ground, Fisk pushed the door shut. If the big man had been hit, he didn’t show it, and the dart’s tail was too small for Matt’s pseudo-vision to detect. So he divided his attention between loading another dart, Fisk, and the other guard who ran toward Fisk with a semi-auto pistol held ready.

Fisk moved toward the nose of the helicopter, pounded on the pilot’s door, and gestured broadly. The helicopter’s blades sped up. It lifted off as Fisk and the conscious guard, nearly doubled over, hurried toward the bulkhead.

Matt aimed his blowgun at Fisk and fired again. Neither man reacted. 

Slamming the blowgun on the rooftop in frustration, Matt snatched up his batons. He sat up and hurled one at the guard’s hand holding the gun. With the helicopter pulling further away, the man’s cry was audible as he dropped his weapon and pulled his injured hand close to his body. He and Fisk rounded on Matt, who rose to his feet.

Fisk’s face reddened with rage. “We had an agreement!”

Matt took his time weaving around the rows of compressors, holding his remaining baton in his right hand. The guard, who’d positioned himself in front of his boss, seemed unsteady. “That’s why I’m here,” Matt growled. “You broke it!”

The guard staggered. Fisk scowled at him and pushed him aside. The man face planted, then went limp.

Matt cleared the last of the compressors. Twenty feet separated him and his enemy. At this distance one well-placed throw of his baton could knock out even a man as big as Fisk.

Hold, son, Father said.

Fisk stepped closer, his fists clenched. His voice was low and taut. “I have left you and your associates alone, as I promised.”

Matt’s hand gripped his baton more tightly. He wanted to bury it in Fisk’s skull. The man had caused so much hardship and pain. Why was he walking free? Why did he live in luxury with a wife who loved him when so many suffered?

Listen to him, Lantom murmured.

“WHY?!” Matt shouted at Lantom and Fisk. Father was dead because of Fisk! Why did he hear Lantom’s voice, and why was Fisk continuing this charade?

Fisk stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head, eyes squinted, as he studied Matt and tugged at his shirt cuffs. “You think I violated our agreement. How?”

Matt’s anger and grief boiled over. He swept his arms wide. “All over the city, with your supposed vaccination drive!”

Fisk frowned at him for a moment longer, then barked a laugh. “Perhaps, Murdock, you’ve been hit in the head too many times. My charitable act can’t hurt you or your friends.”

Matt saw red. He charged at Fisk before he realized he’d made the decision. 

The white-suited man planted his feet and snarled. 

At the last minute Matt dropped the ground and slid into Fisk, whose arm swung down in an attempted strike. Matt dodged it as he pivoted to sweep Fisk’s legs and roll aside. The rooftop shook slightly when Fisk fell with a roar.

Matt scrambled to his feet and pounced. Fisk lay on his side, but managed to swing his arm into Matt’s side. With no armor to blunt the force Matt reeled and staggered back, gasping.

Fisk got to his knees, his eyes dark with fury. “YOU have violated our agreement! Your life, and your friends’, are forfeit!”

Matt struggled to stand up straight. The pain in his side felt like broken ribs. “Foggy is one of those—those things!”

A parody of a smile formed on Fisk’s meaty face. His brow furrowed as he set one foot on the rooftop and started pushing himself up. “You think…” He grunted as he straightened up. “…that my flu vaccines are responsible for these hulks?”

Matt raised his baton.

Listen, Lantom whispered.

He moved closer with the baton still raised. “All of them—over 100 people!—went to one of your clinics.”

Fisk stood unsteadily. “Correlation…” He blinked rapidly. “…does not imply causation.”

Matt stalked up to Fisk. The big man tried to throw a punch and nearly fell over. Matt caught him, gathering bunches of silk suit coat in his fists and hauling the gangster up.

“Why are you doing this?” Matt demanded. “Are you testing a drug, or is it pure sadism?”

“No profit…” Fisk slurred. His eyes briefly focused on Matt’s, and he violently shook his head.. “My vaccine drive hurts no one. It helps my employees and my bottom line. Profit. PR. Surely you can see that.”

The bulkhead door opened, and three guards armed with pistols darted out. As they took aim, Fisk roared, “STOP!”

The men froze.

Fisk’s forehead slammed into Matt’s. Both men cried out, and Matt lost his grip on his foe. He struggled to remain on his feet and conscious.

“Vanessa is safe,” Fisk stated, his voice steadier. Matt willed his senses to focus on Fisk. The man was standing, if not straight. “It would be mutually beneficial to renew our agreement. You have made a grievous error out of concern for your friend. This I… understand.” He looked in the direction of the helicopter growing smaller in the distance. 

Matt’s head swam, and only partially from the wound on his forehead dampening his balaclava with blood. If Fisk wasn’t behind the Neanderthals, who was? “Then… who…?”

Fisk stood straighter. “I intend to find out.” His tone made the statement a death sentence. “I have the upper hand, M— masked man. I will maintain my end of our agreement. Will you?”

Matt’s head was clearing. After swallowing his pride, he ground out, “Yes.”

Your soul is safe, my son, Father said.

Tears filled Matt’s eyes, and he was glad his face was covered. “I—I ask your forgiveness for the harm I’ve caused due to my error.”

Fisk chuckled. “Granted.” He turned to his men, who’d watched their exchange in puzzlement. “In five minutes escort this man outside through the service entrance. If he harms you, use whatever force necessary to defend yourselves.” The gangster turned back to Matt. “That’s fair, I believe.”

Matt nodded. The throbbing of his head worsened.

Fisk strode to the bulkhead, not bothering to face Matt as he spoke. “Should you violate our agreement again, I will kill you.” One guard held the door open for him. “Come with me,” he ordered. The man obeyed. The door closed behind him and Fisk.

The taller of the two remaining guards checked his watch. “Five minutes.”

“Right,” Matt said.

He scanned the roof for the baton he’d thrown, then moved to pick it up. He felt the guards’ eyes on his back as he walked through the rows of compressors to retrieve the rest of his gear.

Matt wondered what time it was as he packed up his batons, the blowgun, and the remaining darts. He’d wait until he was safely on the ground and away from Fisk to check his phone. If he were lucky, he’d make it to Columbia in time to join Karen and visit Foggy. 

Chapter Text

Jack knocked on the door of Emily’s and Scott’s apartment for probably the tenth time during his two-week visit to New York City. They’d been gracious hosts. The two-bedroom apartment felt nearly as familiar as Nina’s now.

He smelled Scott’s scent—Ivory soap, lemon, and a hint of something metallic—moments before the tall man opened the door. “Hey, Jack. Come in.”

As he stepped inside and shrugged off his stuffed-full daypack, Emily called from the kitchen. “Did it work?”

Jack tried to keep his expression neutral. He called back, “I’ll let James tell you.”

Earlier that day he’d gone to James’s apartment so the young man could cast yet another spell to rid him of the elaborate facial tattoo the Left Hand Path had inflicted on him. That spell had worked. One of James’s neighbors had pounded on a shared wall due to their whoops of delight.

“It worked!” Emily crowed. She looked around the corner from the kitchen. “Congrats! Want something to drink?”

“Gracias. And yes, a beer, please.”

Scott walked to the couch, motioning for Jack to join him. “I’m so glad he could do that for you,” he said as he settled into the corner of the sectional sofa. That seemed to be his and Emily’s spot. “I probably can’t imagine half of the stuff you’ve been through over the years.”

Jack sat on the cushion on the end closest to the kitchen. “It’s been… interesting.” 

Emily padded into the living room on stocking feet with an opened bottle of beer in each hand. Jack accepted the one she offered him, and Scott got the other. He smiled at her and asked, “You joining us, qīn ài de?”

“In a few minutes. I’m working on the nachos.” She grinned at them both. “You two talk man things.”

Jack and Scott chuckled as she returned to the kitchen. Jack had suspected she was preparing some sort of Mexican-American food based on the scents hanging in the air: raw green peppers, jalapeños, onions, cilantro, tomatoes, and garlic, a mild cheese, raw beef, and the salt and oil of fried corn tortilla chips. Although nachos were more American than Mexican, he enjoyed the snack.

“We’re supposed to talk man things,” Scott said, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. “So, football?”

Jack laughed. “You mean ‘soccer’?” He put air quotes around the Americanism. “That’s real football.”

“I don’t follow either,” Scott chuckled, “so we’re out of luck there.” A comfortable silence stretched as they tugged at their beers. 

Since the others would join them soon, Jack decided to take the opportunity to ask a question he’d not yet voiced. “My friend,” he began, ignoring how his cheeks flushed. “As you know, I have a sensitive, ah, nose.”

Scott nodded. “Perk of being what you are.”

Jack chuckled; Scott had repeated his earlier words back to him. “Yes.” He turned his gaze to his beer bottle. “Your scent is… unusual. There’s a, how do you say… undercurrent that’s different.”

The tall man blinked. “Huh.” Then he grinned. “Is it bad?”

“No,” Jack said, grinning. “It’s metallic, sort of. Neither bad nor good.”

“That’s a relief,” Scott chuckled. He reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out his silver marble, and held it close to Jack on his upturned palm. “Is it like this? My sphere doesn’t smell like anything to me.”

Jack hesitated as he reached for the object. It clearly was important to his friend. 

“Go ahead.”

Jack nodded, then picked up the metal ball and rolled it in his hand. It felt lighter than he’d expected. He inhaled deeply and smelled that subtle metallic tang. “That’s it,” he said, pushing down self-consciousness. He met his friend’s eyes. “This—this scent—is part of you. What is it?”

Scott smiled. “I’ve been wondering if you’d ask.” He nodded at the sphere. “It’s a substance that doesn’t occur on Earth. My father brought it here with him.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Your father isn’t human?”

Scott shook his head. “It’s complicated, but suffice to say he’s an energy being. His ship was made of that stuff.”

Jack stared at the marble in his hand with awe. He held an extraterrestrial substance in his hand. He chuckled to himself and returned the sphere to his friend.

“What’s funny?” Scott asked as he returned the marble to his pocket.

“Something James said last week. ‘Scott gets you.’ He wouldn’t say why.”

Scott smiled broadly. “He’s a good friend.” He grew pensive, then continued. “It’s hard having to hide who you are. I pass as human—well, fully human—all the time. You did until the… what was it, the Hand?”

“The Left Hand Path,” Jack corrected, rolling his eyes at the idiot cultists.

Scott chuckled mirthlessly. “They made it harder for you to pass. And every month you have to deal with the worst part of the curse you didn’t ask for. It’s not right.”

“It’s not,” Jack murmured. He broke eye contact and took a long swig of beer. Despite being indoors and out of sight of the moon, he knew the heavenly body had recently risen and was at half of its full power. The moon’s light was a quiet, bass undertone. As the moon waxed, the wolf inside Jack moved closer to the surface, finally freeing itself and suppressing Jack for the three nights of the full moon. It was the rhythm of his life.

Jack picked at the edge of the beer bottle’s label with a thumbnail. “Do you resent it?” He met Scott’s eyes. “Being different?”

Scott not-quite smiled. “Now? No.” His eyes focused on the space between them. “When I was younger? Yes, often. That—” He shook his head. “Too much to get into. It was tough. But Dad was there for me, even when I was a brat.” He chuckled, and Jack joined him. “Was yours?”

Jack shook his head. “No. Like you said, too much to get into. But mamá and hermana were.”

Scott smiled genuinely. “I’m glad. And you’re there for your relatives.”

Jack’s heart swelled. “Yes. Ted, too.”

“Ted?”

“My best friend,” Jack smiled. “He’s a monster, like me.”

“A werewolf?”

Jack laughed at the notion. “No, a different kind.”

Scott fixed an earnest gaze on him. “You’re not a monster.”

Jack sighed; his friend still didn’t understand. “I am. I accept this. The wolf isn’t me, but it’s part of me now. One day I hope to be free of it. But for now, it’s my responsibility.” He turned his eyes to the bottle in his hands. If he didn’t control the wolf, the same hands would be covered in blood. It was an all-too-familiar sight.“I have killed many people. For most of those times the wolf was in control. Most of the other times were self-defense. A few were retaliation.” 

He looked back to Scott, unsure of what he’d find. The older man’s brow had furrowed and his heart rate had quickened, but he calmly returned Jack’s gaze. “The Left Hand Path?”

“Yes.”

Scott nodded, his expression sad and resigned.

Jack felt similarly. He wanted his new friends to understand the risk they took being around him, even if it meant possible rejection. He felt fortunate that he remained accepted, for now.

They sat quietly again, both pensive. The smell of browning meat wafted from the kitchen. Jack’s mouth watered as the wolf inside grumbled disappointment. 

He took another swig of his beer, then donned a smile. “So, tomorrow I leave to visit Ted. You would like him. He’s a biochemist and a monster.”

Scott quirked a grin. “What kind of biochemist and monster?”

“There are different kinds of biochemists?” Jack frowned.

“Yes!” Scott laughed. “Ask Ted and let me know what he says, okay?”

Jack chuckled. “I will. He will enjoy that. Science doesn’t interest me, and that frustrates him sometimes.” He drank the last of the beer in the bottle. “As for his kind of monster, I believe he is unique. He is mostly plant now. And fungi, I suppose.”

“Whoa!” Scott exclaimed as he sat up straight. “How is that possible?”

Jack grinned. “Ted said it was science and magic. He doesn’t fully understand it either.”

“Holy shit,” Scott breathed. “Mind if I tell Em?”

Jack chuckled. “Go ahead.”

His eyes unfocused. Moments later Emily shouted something in Chinese from the kitchen. She leaned around the kitchen entryway holding a spatula in one hand. “Ted sounds awesome! Can we meet him sometime?”

Jack threw his hands up. “I, ah, need to talk to him first. He’s very private.”

Emily grinned. “Of course.” Then she frowned at something in the kitchen. “Shit!” She ducked back into the room and out of sight.

Orange-red sparks appeared on the far side of the living room near the sliding patio doors, currently covered by drawn curtains. Jack smelled the ozone they produced as they arced down and traced a fiery circle hovering just above the carpeted floor. He and Scott stood to greet the new arrivals.

The inside of the circle showed a dark, dank concrete room. Matt, wearing tennis shoes, gray workout clothes, and a matching balaclava that covered his face from the nose up, stepped over the fiery bottom edge. The often serious man smiled from ear to ear. The often ebullient James, again wearing his sorcerer’s tunic and boots, frowned in concentration. He followed on Matt’s heels and turned to close the portal.

“Glad you could join us, M— my friend,” Scott said. Jack echoed his sentiments.

Matt nodded a hello, then turned to James as the last of the sparks winked out. “You’re spoiling me, James,” he said. Then he gestured at his informal mask. “Please don’t be offended by this.”

James cheerfully scoffed. “No problem, DD. After what Scott went through when his cover was blown, I totally get it.”

Matt and Jack turned to Scott, who seemed uncomfortable with the attention. 

“Who found out that you’re half alien?” Jack blurted.

Matt looked from Scott to Jack and back. “You’re half alien?”

Jack buried his face in his hands. Emily’s scent grew stronger, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Matt’s cool.” He looked up and gave her a grateful smile.

Scott said to Matt, “Sort of. It’s complicated. But yeah, my father’s not human. That’s why I can heal and am telekinetic and—”

“You’re telekinetic?!” Matt exclaimed.

“Yeeaaaahhhh,” James drawled. “Where have you been?”

The visible part of Matt’s face flushed. “Working solo mostly.”

Although Matt hadn’t said much about it, Jack, Scott, and Emily suspected that something had happened between Matt and Fisk one week ago. When they’d met that evening here in the apartment, Matt had a few obvious injuries. He’d accepted Scott’s healing and was amazed and grateful. Yet afterwards, despite the good news about Abbott turning himself in and bringing the box of Neanderthal serum syringes with him as evidence, the blind man had been subdued and preoccupied. Jack’s gut said it was more than worry for his friend who was in the proto-hulk wing of a hospital.

Since Matt currently looked far more uncomfortable than Scott and Jack had already put his foot in his mouth, he decided to insert it further. He turned to James. “What cover was blown?”

James grinned hugely, as did Emily, then glanced at Scott. The tall man shook his head and waved vaguely. James replied, “Heard of the Red Pharaoh?”

“Who?” Jack said.

Matt gaped at Scott. “That was you?!”

Scott blushed furiously. “For a few months, yeah.”

Usually cool and collected Matt continued gaping. “You’re half— and the Red— what?!”

“I know, right?” Emily laughed. She gave her husband a one-armed hug, then strode toward the kitchen. “Beer, anyone?”

“Yes!” everyone replied.

Emily stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and motioned to the dining table. “Have a seat. Scott can tell you all about it over nachos.”

Scott groaned and scrubbed his face with both hands.

James clapped his friend’s back. “If you don’t, Em and I will.”

“I resign myself to my fate,” Scott said, exaggerating his reticence.

Jack laughed, then gently grasped Scott’s arm. “Come, my friend. I want to hear this story from a life more complicated than my own.”

Scott grinned and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You got it.”