The Nimble Man by Christopher Golden, Thomas E. Sniegoski Page A

parchment-like skin away and his nail — his claw — had
struck something beneath that was hard and marble-smooth, like a tooth.
    Danny froze.
    Shit .
    It was one thing to think it. Another to discover the truth.
    He sat up in bed and stripped off his headphones in the
middle of a Blink-182 tune. Danny swung his legs over the side, hitched up his
baggy black pants and went to the mirror above his dresser. There was a small
light on the bureau and he clicked it on, then plucked off the shade for better
illumination. He bent over and stared at himself in the mirror. Sure enough,
where the bump protruded from his skull above his right temple the dry skin was
gone. Beneath it, something else had been revealed. Something sharp and
enamel-hard, black as oil.
    A horn.
    Oh my God , he thought. Then he gave a laugh that
sounded weak and trembly, even to him. Maybe not my God after all.
    Danny reached up to scratch away the dry skin that encased
the horn on the left side of his head and it was like tearing at a scab. It
came away with little resistance. His upper lip curled back in disgust and he
saw his teeth, which seemed longer and sharper than ever to him.
    "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck me," he snarled. "This
just so completely sucks."
    In the mirror he saw motion behind him and he turned and
stared at the woman who had just stepped into his room. She had mocha skin and
long, raven-black hair, dressed like a fashion model, and wore the most playful
smile he'd ever seen.
    "I don't know," she said. "I think they're
kind of cute."
     
     
    Storm clouds roil above the city of New York, a
thunderstorm pregnant with the promise of heavy rain. It's All Hallow's Eve and
the year is Nineteen Hundred and Thirty-Eight. Far, far below, the city is
alive with teeming life, hidden within cars and beneath umbrellas, New Yorkers
determined to enjoy the night in spite of the storm.
    Dr. Graves grits his teeth and his breath comes too fast.
His heart hammers in his chest and the torn muscles in his shoulder burn. With
one hand he grips the railing of the observation deck, the rest of him dangling
over the side, rain sluicing off his coat. The wind buffets the face of the
Empire State Building, helping him to cling there. But if it should shift
direction, Graves knows he will be dead.
    Since birth he has worked to hone his body and his mind,
urged on by his widower father, who raised his son to be an example of what
their people could accomplish if only they set their minds to it. Anyone else
would have let go already. The pain that sears up each finger and along his arm
is unimaginable. But Graves refuses to let go. Too many lives are depending on
him. He's not going to give Zarin the satisfaction of taking his life.
    Dr. Graves feels his fingers slipping. The rain has made
the railing even slicker. The air itself is moist and it is hard to breathe. He
closes his eyes and slows his breath, forces his pulse to match it. Then, with
a grunt, he hauls himself up and shoots his free hand upward, latching onto the
railing. With both hands secured, he struggles to pull himself up.
    His eyes are squinted against the rain and the wind whips
against his back. Exhaustion seeps into his bones. He is stronger than an
average man, with ten times the ordinary human stamina. He has worked to make
his body the pinnacle of human physical achievement, yet Dr. Graves is not
superhuman. He draws a long breath, knowing that should he lose his grip he
will be little more than a smear on the pavement far below, washed into the
sewers by the punishing rain.
    Thunder shatters the heavens, rolling through the storm
clouds above. Lightning strikes the needle atop the Empire State Building,
followed by booming thunder even closer than before. He thinks of Zarin and the
storm, the pure rain falling upon Manhattan, and he knows that he has no choice
but to live. He must live.
    Dr. Graves seethes, muscles popping as he drags himself
upward until he can get an elbow on the railing. A sudden