I was no more than 10 when I first laid eyes on the City of Angels. My father was there on business and we stayed with an uncle who lived in the hills above Hollywood. On our third night, after everyone was asleep, I made my way outside with the intention of exploring the dense woods that surrounded the house.
I remember the ground was covered with fog so thick I could barely see my feet. It did not take long for me to lose my way. And that was when I heard it, a deep growl just a few paces to my right. There was a figure there, dressed in a suit, and his eyes were wild, like an animal. Worst of all, he was feeding on the broken body of a beautiful young woman.
Our eyes met and as he rose to his full height, I feared that night would be my last. But the man merely took a swipe at me before disappearing into the dark. Sadly, that swipe was more than enough to seal my fate. His nails had broken skin.
And that, gentle readers, is how I became infected with the curse.
I would later learn the man in the suit was one of the biggest agents in town and the poor woman he devoured was a client at a rival company. She died that night. And I was born.
As I grew into manhood, I was overcome with the desire to earn 10 percent of other
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