The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1)

by Brad Magnarella

  A bout of hard knocking shook the door.

  I raised my head. Did I even want to answer that?

  “Oh, I forgot to mention,” Tabitha said. “I caught a couple of men watching the building. They disappeared when you showed up with the detective.”

  “You know, that probably should have been the first thing you told me when I came through the door.”

  “No-o-o, I was supposed to say ‘welcome home,’ which I did. I then started to ask why your face looked like a walnut, but I caught myself and asked if you were all right. Also like you told me. The information about the men watching the building must have gotten lost in your labyrinth of etiquette.”

  “Never mind.” I pushed myself from the counter and walked warily toward the door. The men were probably blood slaves sent by Arnaud, maybe to ensure I was fulfilling my end of the bargain. As long as I remained on my side of the threshold, I was safe. The power of my wards, which I had spent the last six months rebuilding, would keep them out.

  “Were they dressed in suits?” I asked.

  “Long coats and hats,” Tabitha replied. “But they didn’t look like male models.”

  I lifted my cane from the coat rack beside the door and peered through the peep hole. I saw what Tabitha meant. The men in the hallway weren’t blood slaves. If anything, they looked like something out of 1920s New York, in their Homburg hats and knee-length wool coats.

  The two men glanced around impatiently. The larger one in the fore knocked again.

  I twisted the three bolts open and cracked the door. “Yes?”

  “You Everson Croft?” the knocker asked.

  “And you are…?”

  “I’m Floyd and this is Whitey, my associate. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  I studied Floyd, with his stout frame and dark eyes that moved back and forth over mine. Whitey was much thinner, with white hair and pale eyes that looked everywhere but at me.

  “Can we come in?” When Floyd saw my hesitation, he added, “It’s about your friend, Caroline.”

  A charge went through my chest. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course,” I said quickly, opening the door and gesturing toward the sitting area.

  In the shock of hearing Caroline’s name, I hadn’t thought to ask who they were. Some part of my mind had slotted “Detective” before their names, but the men hadn’t flashed badges. And why would they have hidden from Vega when we pulled up? Then the familiar-sounding names clicked.

  Oh, crap.

  I wheeled in time for a brass-knuckled fist to plow into my jaw. Already weakened from my sparring session at the checkpoint, my chin crumpled in a rude spear of light, and I dropped straight down. Floyd and Whitey were members of the city’s Italian crime syndicate. Moretti’s men.

  I went to raise my cane, but it had tumbled from my grasp. And my casting prism was shot.

  Floyd squatted beside me, near enough that I could smell his cold aftershave. “Now that I’ve got your attention,” he said in a whisper that managed to sound intimate and menacing at the same time, “you want to tell me where she is?”

  Beyond him, Whitey had closed the door and drawn a vintage Colt pistol, his pale eyes flicking around the apartment. I couldn’t see Tabitha, but I hoped she had enough sense to keep her head down.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, blood trickling into my throat.

  “Caroline was your date last night, wasn’t she?”

  How did he know that? “A provisional date. It was something we were trying out.” When Floyd’s face wrinkled in confusion, I started again. “Yeah, yeah, we met up at a fundraiser for the mayor.”

  “So where’d you take her after?”

  “After? I didn’t.”

  Floyd peered up at Whitey as if to say, “Can you believe this guy?” then turned and cracked his brass-knuckled fist against my face again. A flash lit up my right eye and spread into a bruising throb. But Caroline’s wellbeing was my immediate concern, not the state of my face.

  “Eyewitnesses saw you leave with her,” Floyd said.

  “What?” I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode. Then I remembered the apartment building’s concierge, Javier. “Wait, wait, ask the guy who works the door. He saw her leave.”

  “He was one of the witnesses,” Floyd said from over me.

  “The hell he was. When I talked to him last night, he told me she left alone…” My counterargument trailed off as I realized that’s not what Javier had said. Not exactly. I replayed the odd exchange in my mind.

  Did she leave with someone else?

  What you mean, Mr. Croft?

  I mean, did a man escort her out?

  You mean someone else?

  That’s right, someone else.

  No-o-o-o?

  Christ. Javier’s confusion hadn’t stemmed from a language barrier, but from the belief he’d seen her leave with me. I thought of Angelus and fae powers, namely glamours. The son of a bitch could have assumed my likeness for others to see, but without Caroline necessarily knowing. Hot anger broke through me at the idea. I would find her, but first I had to get rid of these guys.

  “I have an alibi,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Floyd’s lips tightened into a smile. “Hear that, Whitey? Lover boy here’s got an alibi.”

  “Homicide,” I said. “I was consulting on a case for the NYPD. I left the party around 9:30 and didn’t get back until after it was over. Detective Vega will confirm that. I believe you just saw her outside?”

  That seemed to give Floyd pause.

  “Look,” I said. “When I left, Caroline was talking to a guy named Angelus. Six foot five or so, dark blond hair, a face you want to smash, it’s so damn perfect.”

  “That don’t sound like someone who would be mistaken for you,” Floyd said.

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Floyd sighed from his haunches and looked up at Whitey. Some sort of nonverbal communication seemed to pass between them. At last, Floyd nodded and straightened. “We’re gonna look into your alibi,” he said, staring down at me. “But I’m gonna tell you something right now: we find out you’re fibbing, and what happened here today’s gonna seem like a beach vacation. And don’t even think about running. Not unless you want both your legs broken.”

  “Great,” I said. “You enjoy the rest of your day, too.”

  Floyd shook his head and followed Whitey out. I gained my feet and locked the door behind them.

  “And that’s exactly why I have you tour the ledge,” I called back to Tabitha.

  “Did you say something, darling?” When I turned, Tabitha was lifting her head from her paws, blinking slowly. “What did those men want?”

  “You slept through all of that?”

  “It didn’t sound like it was going to be very interesting.” Tabitha yawned. “Is that blood on your mouth?”

  I wiped my bottom lip with the back of a hand and retrieved my cane. “Forget it.”

  I wasn’t going to get into it with my cat. Touching my cane to my hurt places, I uttered healing incantations. I needed to be at full strength. Caroline was missing, and the Italian mob was interested for some reason. Which meant it was time to dial up some magic.

  In my library/lab, I took the slip of paper onto which Caroline had written the address for last night’s gala, aimed my cane at it, and spoke an incantation. White light bloomed from the opal, absorbing Caroline’s essence from her writing.

  Without warning, the cane kicked in my hand. It spun me in a complete three-hundred-sixty-degree circle before the opal’s light faltered and went dim. The cane took on a ponderous weight.

  “Again?” I groaned.

  I pushed more energy into the incantation, already knowing it was a lost cause. Like the salt barrier, something was coming between the item and my target. But in this case I suspected fae magic.

  I didn’t know whe
re in the city the fae lived. They were secretive, like I’d said. But I knew someone who might be able to point me in the right direction.

  Even if she was a night hag.

  13

  “Soglia,” I whispered, aligning my mind with my apartment’s defenses—defenses designed to keep out nasty supernaturals. But now I needed to let one in. Not only that, I would be setting out the equivalent of a piece of cheese as bait. I shuddered at the thought, but if I was going to learn anything about the fae in the city, and fast, I had little choice.

  From my pocket, I pulled out a piece of black lava rock—an element to which night hags had an affinity—uttered “Aprire,” and set the rock on the floor before the door. The threshold’s energy hit the stone’s shadowy aura and coursed over it, creating a small hole in my home’s defenses.

  In the back of the fridge, I found an expired carton of milk. I counted to three, then glugged it down. My stomach shook and burbled, drowning in the spoiled milk. I needed to make my sleep as unpleasant as possible—more night hag bait.

  “I’m going to sack out for a bit,” I told Tabitha when my stomach had settled to a dull nausea. “If you hear me moaning or thrashing around for more than a few minutes, could you come and wake me?”

  “Sure, darling.”

  As if she would be staying awake herself.

  I closed the shades and crawled into bed, lying down on my back. Not wanting my protective necklace to act as a deterrent, I turned it around so that the coin hung between my shoulder blades. I then straightened my arms and legs and tried to clear my thoughts. After a few moments, my awareness began to crumble and break apart.

  I was in a forest of tall trees, a child, and I was lost. I peered around, frightened by the sameness. Moving in any direction would only plunge me deeper into the forest, to a place no one would find me. And then night would fall, and the creatures would come out.

  “Mom!” I cried in a thin, straining voice.

  I had never called to her before. Nana, the woman who had raised me, had always been the soother of my scraped knees and hurt feelings. But I had a clear image of my mother, a photo in our old living room of her standing beside a window, light paling one half of her face, lost in thought. Now, an urgent tugging on my heart told me she was the only one who could lead me from here.

  “Mom! Help me!”

  Footsteps approached from behind. I turned and beheld the beautiful woman from the photo. Same light-brown hair brushed over one shoulder, same sad smile, same soft eyes. Only now they were looking at me.

  “Mom!” I ran forward and threw my arms around her leg, pressing my cheek to the pleasant-smelling fabric of her slacks.

  Her hand brushed my hair. “What’s wrong, Everson?”

  I sniffled. “I was lost.”

  She laughed softly. “Well, I found you, didn’t I? I’ll always find you.”

  “How do we get out of here?”

  “I can point the way, but I’m going to need you to be a brave boy and make the journey yourself. Can you do that?”

  I clung to her more tightly. But a chill wind cut through me, and her slacks suddenly turned ragged and rancid. Her thigh, so soft a moment ago, became a bony ridge, hard against my cheek. The hand stroking my hair began to hook and pull. I leaned my face back and let out a hoarse scream. My mother was gone, replaced by an old woman with a long, crooked nose and wild shocks of gray hair.

  “What’s wrong, Everson?” she cackled.

  “No!” I wheeled to run, but the woman caught my wrist in a withered hand and yanked me back.

  “Leaving so soon?” she said. “I wouldn’t think of it, a handsome young boy like you.”

  “Stop!” I beat at her hand. “Let me go!”

  When the necklace that hung between the woman’s baggy breasts shook with delighted laughter, I saw that it was made of small bones. Children’s bones.

  “Let you go?” she asked. “Like this?”

  I had been leaning back, and when she released my wrist I fell onto the rotten leaves. As I kicked myself away, the old woman lit up with more cackles, her mouth a graveyard of broken teeth.

  “Stop,” I pled. “Leave me alone.”

  “But don’t you want to play with the other children?” she asked, stalking after me. She pulled a dripping leather bag from a cord that cinched her waist and opened it toward me. From deep inside came a chorus of screams, the sound drawing ice-cold nails across my soul. “There are so many, Everson. And they’re always anxious for new playmates. Jump inside. Don’t be shy.”

  This was a night hag, I realized. They visited their victims in nightmares, torturing their dream forms before stuffing them into a bag made out of stitched human skin. With enough visits, the sleeping victim would die.

  And with that, I realized I was dreaming.

  I fought to remember the chain of events that had delivered me here: creating a seam for the hag, calling her to my space with the lava rock, drinking sour milk to invoke the nightmare.

  “Back off.”

  Even though my voice sounded more adult, I was still scared witless. I struggled through the wet leaves, away from the nightmare creature bearing down on me with that awful sack. And then I felt the hard edges of something between my shoulder blades.

  My necklace!

  I dove a dream hand behind my neck. But before I could claim the powerful charm, the night hag took a giant leap. Her gnarly feet landed on my torso, pinning my arm beneath me. With a snarl, she crawled her hooked toes forward, the horny black nails gouging the skin of my chest.

  “You’re going to join the other children,” she said, “and you’re going to enjoy yourself.”

  I tried to worm my fingers farther down my back—I was only inches from the coin—but they wouldn’t budge. I tried to buck my body and shove the hag off me, but I couldn’t move. The hag’s weight on my chest had paralyzed me. Her eyes, once rolling with delight, sharpened to the malevolent blades of the criminally insane.

  I listened for Tabitha, hoping she had heard me scream.

  “Such a handsome-looking nose.” The night hag licked her sore-riddled lips with a black tongue. “I don’t suppose a little taste would hurt, hmm?”

  She leaned lower, teeth drawing apart. A smell of bloating and decomposition broke against my face.

  Might not be able to seize my charmed coin, I thought, but I can still cast through it.

  I stopped struggling and focused on the coin’s symbol, squares offset to create a star-like pattern, lines to channel and focus energy. It pulsed like a warming ember beneath my back.

  “So delicious.” Her tongue scraped along the bridge of my nose.

  “Respingere,” I mumbled.

  The force discharged through my dream body. It crashed against the hag’s chest like a fist, blue fire breaking briefly around the impact as she was thrown from me. She landed hard on her back. The paralysis broken, I sat up and pulled my necklace over my head, the heavy coin clenched in my palm.

  The hag let out a withering scream. “You little bastard!”

  She scrambled to her feet, jerked the dripping sack from her belt, and charged, fresh screams rising from the sack’s mouth. She opened the sack wider until it looked large enough to swallow me.

  I held out the glowing coin and bellowed, “Intrappolare.”

  A shaft of blue light slammed into the onrushing creature. She screamed as the force knocked her from her feet. I advanced, angling the amulet to direct the light over her, pinning her to the forest floor.

  I had my night hag.

  “Release me!” she screamed. “Release me, curse you!”

  “I have a few questions first.”

  Spitting, she writhed against the force and wrung her sack.

  I channeled more energy through the coin. “I can do this all day, you know.”

  She relented suddenly, her voice becoming a frail whimper. “You would torment an old woman?”

  “You mean the one who just tried to eat my nose?�
��

  Her face curled up again. “What do you want?” she spat.

  “You’re not a faerie, but you roam the wilds of their realm. You’re aware of their comings and goings.”

  “What of it!”

  “I’m looking for a particular fae. He goes by the name Angelus.”

  Her eyes showed a brief glint of recognition. “I know no one by that name.”

  I shrugged and leaned against a tree. “How long we do this is up to you.”

  “No, mortal.” Her lips wrinkled into a grin. “I have only to wait for you to awaken.”

  “I’ll destroy you before that happens.”

  She cackled. “You haven’t the power.”

  “Oh?” I pushed more energy through the charmed coin. The shaft of light pinning the hag turned bright.

  “Owww!” she howled, covering her head with her bony arms.

  I backed off. “That’s just a taste,” I lied. I had pushed hard enough to make Thelonious stir. “Now tell me about Angelus.”

  She lowered her arms with a scowl. “What about him?”

  “First, who is he?”

  “He’s a prince.” Her lips puckered around the word.

  “In the faerie realm?” I thought about that. The fae didn’t carry royal titles in the city. They were more like the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers: old, wealthy families, but without the name recognition, which was how they seemed to like it. “What does he do in the city? Where does he live?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I’ve seen you pushing your shopping cart up and down the sidewalks. How many centuries have you been in New York? And you’re going to sit there and tell me you have no idea what a prince from your realm does in the city or where he lives?”

  “I don’t know what he does.”

  I upped the energy until her warts began to sizzle and burst.

  “I don’t!” she insisted. “But he lives near the Park.”

  “Where near the Park?”

  “East Side! Seventieth Street! Now release me!”

  I eyed the hideous creature. Stealer of souls, robber of cradles. I could try to destroy her, but that would mean expending energy that might not even be sufficient to the task. And if Thelonious made a visit, things would go from very bad to much worse. No, I couldn’t risk it.