Han needed to do something. Having his arm free opened him up to more possibilities. The name had gotten him nowhere, it was too soon to see Nikolaas, and Rand was busy trying to get the trip to South America approved.

Han had one other idea, and decided he needed to go out on a limb. So he booked a flight that weekend to New Jersey and got Liam to cover his patrol shifts. He told Sidney that his folks were going to be in New York for a few days, and that he was going there to spend time with them. Han wasn't sure what good it would do, but he knew he had to try something if he wanted to figure this out. His week was almost up, and Han was hoping that if he found out something significant, Lieutenant Marcus would give him more time. 

More time to figure out the mission. And more time with Sidney. 

Han arrived in Newark Friday evening. He took a taxi to the hotel he had booked in Paramus, and checked in. His plan was to wait until night fell, and then go about and see what he could find. It wasn't the most thought-through or thorough plan he had ever come up with, but he had to start somewhere. He had something to go off at least, a name, and an image of the necklace. According to his folder on Sidney, apart from some minor investigation, no one had been able to find much in Jersey. Maybe if he just asked the right questions, he could get somewhere.

Han waited until after midnight. He wandered the streets in his Collective gear, prepared to fight but hoping he wouldn't have to. He just wanted answers.

The first thing Han found was a vampire, a male, trying to feed on a woman in a shady part of town. Han tackled him. The girl fled, and Han pinned the vampire to the ground, grabbing one of the stakes from the holder that hung from his back and holding it over his shoulder, ready to strike.

"Wait! Wait!" the vampire protested, struggling beneath his weight. "I'll give you anything you want! Just please don't kill me!"

"I want information."

"Ask me anything. I have a lifetime of knowledge."

"Does the name Valenteen ring a bell?"

Han saw the vampire's head churning, desperately trying to think of a satisfactory answer. He didn't know anything. He was going to tell him a lie. Han raised the stake into the air. "Wait! Wait! The name doesn't mean anything to me, all right? But, look, there's lots of places to go for information around here. I can give you the grand tour. Show you around."

"Tell me."

"No, I've gotta show you."

Han gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, echoing from the gorilla within, and let the vampire up. "Try to run and you'll be staked, got it?"

"No need for that now, okay? I'm helping. We're pals, right?"

The vamp attempted to put an arm around Han, but he held the stake up to his throat, making him freeze. "Try to touch me, and you'll be staked, got it?"

The vamp put up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."

He led him by foot, a long walk upon which the vamp kept trying to talk. Han shut him up every time he opened his mouth, but the silence always ended up too much for the vamp, it seemed. He'd always start up again.

"So you're not from around here, huh?" the vamp asked. "We don't get a lot of Collective types."

Han let out a long-suffering sigh. Was it even worth it? Why not just kill the vamp now? The vampire seemed to sense his ire, because he said quickly, "the spot's just up the way. You're going to find just what you need there, I'm sure of it. But, uh, you need me to get in. So just, keep that in mind."

The "spot" was a rundown local bar called the Blind Pig, on the edge of a forest in the middle of nowhere. The windows were broken and the neon lights only flashed half their colors at half the brightness they should be. If Han didn't hear, and smell, the crowd inside, he would have thought it was abandoned. 

"See, didn't I deliver?" the vamp said. "You can smell them in there, can't you?"

Things of darkness. Yes, Han could smell them, and almost sense them. They filled the space. This was going to be interesting. 

"Thanks a lot, uh... sorry, I never got your name," Han said.

The vampire smiled with relief. "It's Victor."

"Thanks a lot, Victor." 

Han swiftly kicked out his leg with a sweep, sending Victor slamming into the ground on his back. Han pounced on him before he could get away and jammed the stake directly into his heart. Victor stared at him for a moment, stunned, before the life faded from his eyes.

Han picked up his body and carried him deeper into the woods, dropping him on the ground without a second thought. He didn't like to leave a mess, but he was outside of his territory and didn't want to go through the red tape to make a call to the New York Collective headquarters.

He approached the bar, taking a breath to center himself. He could smell all types inside. Some of them pretty benign creatures, like low-level witches and starving corpse-eaters. There were a few more challenging things, like some vampires and a werewolf. But all in all, he felt confident he could get in and out without too much of a kerfuffle.

All eyes turned to him when he entered. 

"Your kind isn't welcome here," a bouncer by the door said. He was half Han's height, but Han could tell he was half-ghoul. He passed as human, but the scent lingered on him. 

"I don't want trouble, I'm just looking for some information."

"Information is trouble," the half-ghoul said, his voice a low death rattle coming from the back of his throat.

"Look, I could ask my questions now, all quiet-like, or I can come back with a squad. What will it be?"

The ghoul gave a grumble, but moved aside, letting Han into the space. The patrons started mingling again, turning their eyes away, although they were considerably quieter than before. There were a few pool tables, all in use, and a long bar that ran the length of the building. 

Han approached the bar first. He squeezed in between two vamps and raised his hand for the bartender's attention. As far as Han could tell, the bartender was entirely human. Strange. He was a pot-bellied man with a long mustache.

"You're bad for business," the bartender said when he approached Han.

"Help me and I'll get out of your hair. Then business can be booming again."

"Fine. What do you need?"

"The name Valenteen mean anything to you?"

The bartender shook his head. "Is it supposed to?"

"Where could one go around here to get information of a more... historic variety?"

"What, like, you need someone old?"

"Yeah. Or someone who specializes in the more obscure, archaic. Ancient."

The bartender scratched his chin, then pulled on his beard. "One guy. Goes by the name of Franklin. He's been around for centuries. Maybe even longer than your little crew. Problem is, he's a real bitch to find."

Han ran a hand through his hair, fighting back frustration. This felt like a losing fight.

"I know a tracker," the bartender said.

Han leaned in. "A good one?"

"The best. Werewolf with a nose like a bloodhound from hell. You've never seen the like, I swear."

"Where can I find him?"

The bartender gave a wide smile. "I might can connect you two. For the right price."

Han rolled his eyes. Of course. "How much?"

The bartender's smile switched to a smirk as he nodded at Han's waist. "One stake."

"Really?" Han asked, surprised. 

"Yeah. Vamps can get rowdy here and they're a lot harder to tame than the others."

Han could understand that. The Collective dipped their stakes in a special Poison that made them lethal to vampires. It sucked the eternal life power out of them, which was what made it possible for them to die from the stake-wound. 

"Deal." Han handed the man one of his two remaining stakes, earning him glares from the vampires on either side of him. But the bartender just twirled it in his hand and then slid it into his belt, which wasn't doing a very good job of holding up his pants but seemed to grab onto the stake just fine.

"In the kitchen," the bartender said with a laugh, tilting his head back to the door behind the bar.

Han shook his head in annoyance. Of course. He made his way around the bar and through the swinging metal door into the kitchen. There was just one cook back there, and he was busy picking at his fingernails with a knife. 

"Mac?" Han asked. But he didn't smell werewolf.

The cook pointed over to the sinks, where a teenage girl was vigorously scrubbing dishes. Han was surprised they didn't break under her firm grip. Han took in a deep smell. The soap got in the way but it was there. Faint, but there. Werewolf.

"Mac?" Han said louder, taking a few steps toward her.

"Who's asking?" the girl said, spinning around suddenly, wielding a ladle. 

"I need your help. And I'm willing to pay."

The girl glanced over at the cook. "Finish these for me."

"I ain't your servant."

The girl took a step toward him, snarling, and the cook jumped to action, heading for the sink. "Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up."

"Come on," the girl said to Han. "Let's talk outside."

Han followed her out the backdoor. There was just one small streetlamp out back, illuminating a few cars and the dumpster, which was teeming with flies. The girls dark hair shone almost blue in the light. She had a look of a caged animal about her, eyes always darting around, face always concentrated, never relaxed.

Mac put her hands on her hips. "What kind of job we talking? And what kind of money?"

"I need to find someone. And how much do you charge?"

"Five hundred a night, until I find the person in question. Deal?"

Han gave a nod. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long. His flight left Sunday afternoon.

"So who is it you need found?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have a scent for you to follow. But it's a guy by the name of Franklin. I'm told he's been around a while and might have some information that can help me."

Mac gave a knowing smirk, which made Han a little nervous. "Yeah, he probably can. But you sure you want to go finding him?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

Mac barked out a laugh. "You don't know, huh? Franklin's got information, sure, and lots of it. But no one ever goes looking for him. He's a duende."

"Crap," Han said with a sigh, running his hand through his hair in frustration. A duende was a little goblin-like creature. They were small, hairy, no more than three feet tall, who lived mostly underground, at least in the US. There were different species, but they all had one thing in common. If someone passed over the mound under which they lived, they would either give them good luck with something, or curse them with bad luck. It didn't last forever. The person was just cursed in one future circumstance. And it wasn't just a little luck. You wouldn't just find ten dollars on the street, you'd win the lottery. Or you wouldn't just slip on a banana peel, something much worse would happen.

The problem was, duendes very rarely ever left their burrows. And the only way to get them to come out was to step on the mound and stomp three times with your left foot. So there was no way of getting to the duende without getting cursed, one way or another.

Han had encountered duende before, when Orsini had taken over their burrows in the city and left them homeless and hunted. But that was above ground, safe from the blessing or the curse.

"You still want to do this?"

Han needed information. But this could all be a wild goose chase. Still, a duende that had been around for centuries? If anyone was going to know something, it was him. "Yeah. I do. Will you be able to track him?"

Mac gave a nod. "Oh, yeah. I know the duende scent. And I'm pretty sure he's the only one in this region."

"Okay." Han grabbed a slip of paper and a pen out of his pocket and wrote down his phone number. "Here. Call me when you find him. I'll pay you then. Deal?"

Mac gave a nod, taking the paper from him. "Deal."

Han spent the majority of the next day passed out on his hotel bed, exhausted from the night before. He didn't wake up until after five, when his phone rang. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with one hand while reaching for the nightstand with the other. Instead of picking up his phone, he accidentally knocked it to the floor. Han practically fell out of the bed trying to get it, all tangled in the sheets.

"Hello?" he greeted when he finally got the phone to his ear.

"I found your man," said the voice on the other line. "Meet at Sixth and Harland in an hour." Mac hung up before he could respond.

Han made it just in time to meet Mac. The intersection was farther from his hotel than he had anticipated. She was already waiting at the corner for him, leaning against the signpost. "It's not far from here," she said, wasting no time. "We just have to take a little trek into the Meadowlands."

Han followed Mac out into the great expanse of green that was most of the Meadowlands. It involved them walking alongside a highway for about half an hour, but they made it in the end.

"Why couldn't we have taken the bus?" Han asked as he followed Mac deeper into the Meadowlands. In the distance he could see the stadium where the Jets and Giants played.

"I'm a werewolf. I don't do cars and transportation."

After about ten more minutes of walking, Mac finally stopped, putting her arm out to stop Han as well. "Right there," she said, pointing to a spot in the ground that was slightly lifted. 

Han took a breath. This was it. He stepped onto the mound, knowing the second he did he was being either blessed or cursed. Han stomped three times on the dirt with his left foot.

A few quiet minutes passed, and Han thought the duende was either not there, dead, or ignoring him. But then he saw a gnome-like creature pop out of the ground a hundred feet away. He shuffled towards them at a much faster pace than Han would have thought possible.

He looked just like a garden gnome, down to the little red hat he was wearing. He had a long, white beard and a big nose. "What is it that you want with me?" He spoke slowly, in a low, rasping voice, as if he had been smoking for a century and had just quit.

"You're Franklin?" Han asked, raising an eyebrow at the curious creature. He seemed different than the duende Han had encountered before. They were taller, for starters, and a bit more like goblins.

"Yes. And you're an animal mage."

"I am. I need to ask you a few things. Would you be willing to help me?"

Franklin gave a shrug. "Your people have always been good to me and I have no reason to withhold knowledge. Even if I was a bit rudely disturbed from my slumber."

"I apologize about that. But it was the only way."

Mac took a step in between them. "My end of the deal's done," she said, holding her hand out to Han. He fished the five hundred dollars from his pocket. Mac plucked the money from his hand and ran off without another word.

Franklin looked up at him and continued on as if they had never been disrupted. "What is it you want to know?"

"Does the name Valenteen mean anything to you?"

Franklin's eyes widened just the slightest bit. "It means more than one thing, my boy. You're going to have to be more specific."

Han reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out the sheet of paper on which Han had redrawn the symbol on Sidney's necklace. "It has something to do with this." Han wasn't sure if that was true. For all he knew, Sidney's necklace had nothing to do with the name, but that seemed like too much of a coincidence, especially since she couldn't even remember how she had gotten it in the first place, just like she had no knowledge of her father.

Franklin gave a sigh. "Oh, yes," he said, his voice suddenly sad. "I was afraid that's what you were talking about."

"So you know him?"

"'Him?' You mean 'them.'"

"Them?" Han questioned, confused. Did he mean Sidney's ancestors? "It wasn't just one man?"

"Man?" Franklin laughed softly, a surprisingly light sound in comparison to his voice. "No, no, my boy. I'm afraid you're mistaken. The Valenteens are not men."

"Then what are they?" Han asked, his pulse quickening with every word. The answer to this question meant everything, he was sure of it. Han kneeled down in front of Franklin so that he could see him and hear him better.

"Demons, my boy. Demons."