Subway 4 A.M.

 

 

The cold wasn't a November chill; it was a deep, bone-settling freeze that rose from the concrete, a cold New York knew well after three in the morning. Marcus sat on the A-train, heading toward Harlem, the last car empty. The only sounds were the metallic shriek on the rails and his own ragged breath.

Everything changed at Canal Street Station.

A figure stepped inside, tall and impeccable in a dark cashmere coat that seemed to absorb the neon light. It wasn't the clothing that bothered Marcus, but the stillness. The skin was a milky white, almost translucent, and the eyes... the eyes didn't move. They stared at the exact center of Marcus's head.

The figure sat across from him, three feet away.

“Working late, are we?” the voice said, a low, echoless sound, like torn silk.

Marcus swallowed, his throat a desert. “I... I need to get home.”

“Of course you do. But New York is tired,” the vampire replied. “She’s tired of the noise, the lights, the rush. She seeks quiet. She seeks peace. And I provide it.”

The train braked abruptly, jolting Marcus forward. When he looked up, the figure was gone. For a moment, he felt relief.

Then he felt the cold breath on his neck and the pressure of something thin and sharp. The lights in the car flickered out, leaving only the moving shadow.

“Don’t worry, Marcus,” the voice whispered, now right beside him. “You’ll be part of her silence. And you will be beautiful.”

The A-train continued its route uptown, carrying nothing but silence and a hungry shadow.