Thomas.”
“I’m Tony Della Francesca,” he said nodding toward his group. “Vani, Piero, the pretty lady with the sawed-off shotgun under her forearm is Bella.” Bella clicked her mouth and leveled her arm at them letting them glimpse the two holes of a twin shotgun inside her jacket sleeve.
“And these two guys over here,” Tony said as he walked toward the two remaining men who rolled their eyes as he approached, “are brothers. I’ll bet you five bucks that you can guess the name of one of them if I give you one clue.”
“Andiamo Tony, gia abbastanza!” one of the men said.
“He’s a Cypher! It’s a little field test, and you both shook on the bet, for life,” Tony scolded them.
“We were drunk, Tony,” the other grumbled. “And it got old three years ago.”
“Tatatata,” Tony shushed him. “Ten bucks, kid. What do you say?”
“Sure,” Thomas answered. “What’s the clue?”
The two men pulled out ten-dollar bills from their pockets with a dissatisfied grunt.
“This big guy’s name,” Tony said tightening his grip around the man’s shoulder, “is Luigi.”
Thomas let out a chuckle. “So you must be Mario, right?”
Tony clapped and snatched the bills from their hands and immediately gave one to Thomas. “See boys? He’s really a Cypher!” Tony then led Thomas by the shoulder. “We are the Central Park watchmen. We keep humans and Mashcrits on their own side of the fence.”
“Mashcrits?” Thomas asked.
“Magical Critters, but don’t let them catch you saying that. They hate it. Piero!” He nodded and the lean man threw a couple of yellow T-Shirts at them. On the front of the T-shirts was the stylized Egyptian eye logo of Guardians Inc. “Neighborhood Watch” printed in bold letters on the back.
“The company set up a police permit to let us roam Central Park at night with our flashlights. We’ve caught some real weird Mashcrits and a couple of human thieves too.” He led them through the park.
“This looks like a forest,” Thomas said in awe. The trail they followed through the park entered through very thick vegetation.
“Designed to look like one by Olmsted and Vaux since 1858,” Tony said, “with help from the chief of the fauns, Husseha, himself. This is the Ramble. We have the Great Lawn on the other side of the road and The Lake to the south. Here the Mashcrits can go out at night and have their fun. I prefer the East Meadow myself.”
“And how big is this place?” Thomas pushed away a branch that almost whiplashed him as Tony walked by it.
“The whole thing is almost 850 acres. The Ramble is just 38, but it’s like a forest isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“That’s how the Mashcrits want it. It gives them the chance to hide or run away if someone approaches.”
“And how many… Mashcrits do you have here?” Thomas couldn’t resist asking.
“Well, we deal with three basic Mashcrits types in Central Park. There are the Fauns that own the place, the Fae that come and go with the seasons, and the Drifters, some of whom we have to convince the hard way to leave.” He pointed with his thumb at Henri. “Big guy here knows about Drifters. Don’tcha?”
“Werewolves in Brooklyn,” Henri said from behind them.
“They still haven’t fixed that place you brought down.” Tony gave the grotesque thumbs up. “Classic Henri.”
“Lots of fun.” Henri chuckled. “Is Tinamra still mad?”
“Oh yea, that lady wants to clip wings badly. Anyway,” Tony continued, “we have an understanding with Husseha, Chief of the Fauns. So when his sons began to act up, he called us, we checked out what was happening, and then we called you.”
“So what exactly happened?” Thomas asked. They’d left an established path and were now walking toward a formation of rock over a small hill. The forest grew thicker around the hill and they had to use both hands to get through the vegetation. It was as if the plants themselves resisted their
“I’m Tony Della Francesca,” he said nodding toward his group. “Vani, Piero, the pretty lady with the sawed-off shotgun under her forearm is Bella.” Bella clicked her mouth and leveled her arm at them letting them glimpse the two holes of a twin shotgun inside her jacket sleeve.
“And these two guys over here,” Tony said as he walked toward the two remaining men who rolled their eyes as he approached, “are brothers. I’ll bet you five bucks that you can guess the name of one of them if I give you one clue.”
“Andiamo Tony, gia abbastanza!” one of the men said.
“He’s a Cypher! It’s a little field test, and you both shook on the bet, for life,” Tony scolded them.
“We were drunk, Tony,” the other grumbled. “And it got old three years ago.”
“Tatatata,” Tony shushed him. “Ten bucks, kid. What do you say?”
“Sure,” Thomas answered. “What’s the clue?”
The two men pulled out ten-dollar bills from their pockets with a dissatisfied grunt.
“This big guy’s name,” Tony said tightening his grip around the man’s shoulder, “is Luigi.”
Thomas let out a chuckle. “So you must be Mario, right?”
Tony clapped and snatched the bills from their hands and immediately gave one to Thomas. “See boys? He’s really a Cypher!” Tony then led Thomas by the shoulder. “We are the Central Park watchmen. We keep humans and Mashcrits on their own side of the fence.”
“Mashcrits?” Thomas asked.
“Magical Critters, but don’t let them catch you saying that. They hate it. Piero!” He nodded and the lean man threw a couple of yellow T-Shirts at them. On the front of the T-shirts was the stylized Egyptian eye logo of Guardians Inc. “Neighborhood Watch” printed in bold letters on the back.
“The company set up a police permit to let us roam Central Park at night with our flashlights. We’ve caught some real weird Mashcrits and a couple of human thieves too.” He led them through the park.
“This looks like a forest,” Thomas said in awe. The trail they followed through the park entered through very thick vegetation.
“Designed to look like one by Olmsted and Vaux since 1858,” Tony said, “with help from the chief of the fauns, Husseha, himself. This is the Ramble. We have the Great Lawn on the other side of the road and The Lake to the south. Here the Mashcrits can go out at night and have their fun. I prefer the East Meadow myself.”
“And how big is this place?” Thomas pushed away a branch that almost whiplashed him as Tony walked by it.
“The whole thing is almost 850 acres. The Ramble is just 38, but it’s like a forest isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“That’s how the Mashcrits want it. It gives them the chance to hide or run away if someone approaches.”
“And how many… Mashcrits do you have here?” Thomas couldn’t resist asking.
“Well, we deal with three basic Mashcrits types in Central Park. There are the Fauns that own the place, the Fae that come and go with the seasons, and the Drifters, some of whom we have to convince the hard way to leave.” He pointed with his thumb at Henri. “Big guy here knows about Drifters. Don’tcha?”
“Werewolves in Brooklyn,” Henri said from behind them.
“They still haven’t fixed that place you brought down.” Tony gave the grotesque thumbs up. “Classic Henri.”
“Lots of fun.” Henri chuckled. “Is Tinamra still mad?”
“Oh yea, that lady wants to clip wings badly. Anyway,” Tony continued, “we have an understanding with Husseha, Chief of the Fauns. So when his sons began to act up, he called us, we checked out what was happening, and then we called you.”
“So what exactly happened?” Thomas asked. They’d left an established path and were now walking toward a formation of rock over a small hill. The forest grew thicker around the hill and they had to use both hands to get through the vegetation. It was as if the plants themselves resisted their
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