Whispers in the Night

Chapter 1: Welcome to Buttonwood

Black Ash Swamp, New Jersey. Sunday, April 3, 2005.

The woman returned to her car and sped off down the highway.

Two vampires arrived at the pull-off as the black Mustang disappeared into the evening mist. They'd run with preternatural speed through the swamp but were too late to catch her.

"Damn. She was almost ours. I can still smell her."

"Just as well," his companion snarled. "You know our orders. C'mon. Doc's waiting. The others will have arrived. He warned us not to be late."

"So? What's he gonna do? Not let us feed?" He started back down the dark path and then froze, pointing into the swamp.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't you see her?"

"Where? That ghostly pillar of white? That's her?"

"Yeah, and she's coming this way."

"Then we better not hang around." They raced along the path, the trees a blur as they skimmed over the soggy ground. "We can't do anything to jinx our chances. The awakening is only a few months off."

"You reckon the reports are true?"

"Doc met with them. You get him to describe what happened, then you'll believe."

Federal Building, New York City.  Four days later.

"Define strange ... You're right, even for Mozzie that's a stretch ... He did what? ... Seriously? ... I'll come down tomorrow." Neal ended the call and turned to look at Peter. "I'm not sure if this is a true emergency, but Janet needs my help."

Up to then, it had been a routine meeting to discuss the upcoming White Collar budget, or what passed for a routine meeting when Neal Caffrey was involved. Special Agent Peter Burke had grown accustomed long ago to cutting his consultant a little slack. Janet Dodson, the girlfriend of Neal's friend Mozzie, didn't normally call the office. "Has something happened to Mozzie?"

Neal nodded. "Just don't ask me what. Mozzie left with Janet on Monday for a week-long getaway to rural New Jersey. Mozzie had never experienced the thrill of spring peepers and —"

"Hold on, spring peepers? Isn't Mozzie normally the one doing the peeping?"

"I had the same reaction when he mentioned them to me," Neal admitted. "He told me that spring peepers are small woodland frogs. They're calling right now—it's their mating season. Mozzie planned to spend several evenings with Janet in a swamp, listening to the peepers. She'd mentioned she'd like to go on a field trip to hear them. He hoped their peeps would act as an aphrodisiac. Mozzie found a romantic inn near Black Ash Swamp and went to great lengths —"

"I get the idea. No need to draw the picture." Peter had to give Mozzie points. It wasn't a bad tactic for a costume designer who liked to draw inspiration for her ideas from wildlife. Mozzie prided himself on being a kindred soul with Thoreau, which, coming from a man who'd spent his life in cities was a bit perplexing, but then Mozzie danced to a different tune from the rest of the world.

"Janet called because Mozzie's acting strangely, and she's worried something's wrong."

"Are you sure she's not simply confused by his interpretation of the mating ritual?"

Neal shrugged. "That's certainly a possibility, but even for Mozzie, his behavior seems out of character."

"Perhaps all that fresh air got to him," Peter suggested. "She should bring him back to New York. Once he's on his home turf he'll be fine."