“What?” Hoffman barked.
Vega shushed him.
“Imitare,” I repeated. Energy flowed through me like electricity, spilling into the circle at our feet, gaining strength. “Imitare.”
I repeated the incantation, eyeing the security feed from the vehicle checkpoint at the front of the building. For several minutes, I watched the cars pulling up to the mechanical gate.
“What is this?” Hoffman grumbled, looking at the growing light around his feet.
A moment later, I had my car: a black sedan with tinted windows. With each spoken Word, I had been fashioning a three-dimensional likeness of us in my mental prism. Now, with an uttered “Liberare,” I released the projection onto street level. And there we were on the monitor, as if we’d just walked out of the building. I squinted at our likenesses, impressed by the detail. It was as though the remaining fae magic that trickled through me was acting as a booster now instead of a foil. I manipulated the projections, walking us toward the idling sedan.
“Aprire,” I said.
The sedan’s rear door opened. I manipulated our projections to make it look as though we were ducking into the back seat. A moment later, an actual passenger got out of the front seat, looked around in confusion, then slammed the rear door before climbing back in.
The access gate opened, and the sedan slid into the flow of city traffic.
Three shadows darted up the sidewalk, paralleling the car. It had worked. The blood slaves had taken the bait. Exhaling, I broke the circle. The remaining energy puffed out into the room.
“It’s done,” I said.
“About time,” Hoffman muttered, jerking his arm from around my waist.
While he and Vega donned their helmets, I glanced over the schematic of the storm lines, noting the marks in red—their planned route to Ferguson Towers. The entry point was a drainage culvert on the East River, near Montgomery Street. I knew how to get there.
“Good luck,” I told them. “If you run into the creature, be sure to aim for the heart.”
19
A cold wind blew off the East River, batting my cinched coat and chaffing my cheeks. I could see the EPA man who had probably opened and closed the chain-link gate for Vega and Hoffman sitting in a parked van beyond, the orange ember of a cigarette drawing his face from the darkness.
I raised my gaze to where thick razor wire coiled along the top of the fence. Going over was out. I followed the fence until I could no longer see the van, and inserted the end of my cane into one of the lower links.
“Protezione,” I whispered.
The small orb of a light shield took shape, stretching the steel wire. I willed the orb out until the link gave. The fence began to rattle as I pushed more energy into the spell, links contorting and popping around an ever-expanding hole. At last, it was large enough for me to withdraw the cane and duck through.
Deepening the shadows around me with another Word, I slipped past the EPA van and down a short drive until I was standing beside Vega’s parked car, which faced the large drainage culvert.
The fence that guarded the cement cylinder stood wide, an open padlock hanging from one of the links. The security was as much to keep people out as to keep the ghouls in. Another reason I wasn’t going to let Vega tackle this alone. I just had to pray the projection spell had thrown Arnaud and the blood slaves off long enough to keep Vega’s son safe.
Straddling a trickle of slimy water, I entered the culvert’s open mouth. The space smelled like a public restroom. I called light to my cane and held it out. A round graffiti-tagged corridor swelled into view. I started forward at a fast walk, trying to ignore the fact I was going underground.
At a four-way intersection beneath what I guessed to be Madison Street, I began to turn left, but quickly killed my light and drew back. Vega and Hoffman were down there, about fifty yards away, headlamps shining into another corridor along the north side of the tunnel. They spoke in rapid whispers, but the acoustics were making an echoing confusion of their words.
I tiptoed toward them, using my cane to deepen the darkness around me.
“…sleeping bag over here,” I heard Vega say. She disappeared into what I realized wasn’t another tunnel, but a service room in the wall, a couple of feet off the floor. “And that looks like dried blood.”
“You think it’s the killer’s?” Hoffman asked.
“If the blood matches the saliva, we’ll have our answer.”
I was fairly certain what that answer would be. We were only a couple of blocks from Ferguson Towers, which made this a prime spot for a rogue blood slave to lair and rise whenever its hunger struck.
I pressed my body to the wall as Hoffman shone his light up and down the tunnel. He didn’t spot me, but he had missed something far more important up the tunnel—eye shine.
I yanked my cane into sword and staff.
“Illuminare!” White light shot from my orb and down the tunnel, past where Hoffman stood, hitting the creature bearing down on him. Only it was no blood slave.
Long hair draped glowing red eyes and a jutting jaw of bunched teeth. And the creature was too tall for a blood slave. It had to stoop as it ran toward Hoffman, long arms knuckling the floor.
Hoffman raised a hand to block my light, oblivious to the danger. “Croft? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Get down!” I shouted, following it with, “Vigore!”
A blast chased the light and roared down the tunnel. Thanks to remnants of the fae magic, the force quickly grew beyond my control. The force pummeled Hoffman, sending him tumbling toward the creature, who had steeled itself in a crouch, head bowed.
Oh, shit.
“Croft!” Hoffman shouted in rage.
I ran forward, pushing more light through my staff, hoping to blind the creature from seeing the meal I had just shoved in front of it. Hoffman rolled to a flopping rest on his back, his silver-bullet-loaded pistol glistening in the shallow creek a good twenty feet behind him. He lifted his head, his breath choking off as the creature’s nightmare face rose into his view.
“Vega!” Hoffman wheezed.
Striated cords popped from the creature’s shoulders as it reared to pounce.
“Protezione!” I shouted.
The creature slammed into the shield of light I threw in front of Hoffman. But before I could shape it into a protective dome, the creature darted a clawed hand around the barrier and seized Hoffman’s leg.
“Leggo!” Hoffman cried, kicking at it with his free foot.
I sprinted forward, the movement jostling my ability to hold the shield together, but I needed to get close enough to attack the creature without inflicting collateral damage on Hoffman. Explosions went off behind me and rang down the tunnel. Blood burst from the creature’s shoulder.
Vega!
The creature threw its head back in a furious cry and released Hoffman. I wasted no time grabbing his pant cuff with a Word and dragging him from the creature. Water slewed up around him as I pulled him behind us.
“Its heart!” I called to Vega. “Aim for the heart!”
By the time I looked back, the creature had lowered itself to all fours and was bounding toward us in a rapid zigzag. Smoke rose from the spot where it had been struck. Vega’s pistol banged out another series of shots, bullets caroming off walls. But the creature wasn’t slowing.
I stepped forward and raised my glowing staff. “Protezione!” I shouted.
A plate of light spread over the tunnel. I staggered as the creature rammed into it head first, breaking through in a bright shower of sparks. But I had slowed it down, enabling me to close it in a second light shield. Snapping its protuberant jaw, the creature rammed against the barrier again and again.
“What in the hell is that thing?” Vega asked, coming up beside me.
“Don’t know,” I said, between strained grunts. “But its a she.” The light from my invocation showed that much. “Some sort of vampire, but she’s damned powerful. I can’t cr
ush her, and I’m not sure how long I can hold her like this. Going to give you a shot at her heart.”
“Okay, but I need to reload.”
Dipping into my power reserves, I flattened the shield until the creature’s arms and legs were pinned. I then lifted her into a standing position. She snarled and snapped, muscles leaping from her bone-white skin. I’d been telling Vega the truth. I had no idea what the creature was, how she had come to be. I opened a hole in the shield over the creature’s sternum.
“Don’t know how you’re doing this, Merlin,” Hoffman said, circling the creature in a limp to retrieve his pistol. “But I’ll be happy to do the honors.”
“Fine,” I grunted, “but hurry.”
The creamy white light that heralded a Thelonious visit had begun to wisp around my vision. I was only vaguely aware that Grandpa’s ring was squeezing my finger in pulsating beats.
Something solid struck my head. I splashed into the slimy drainage but managed to keep my staff aloft. Dark-suited figures flashed past. Gunshots banged around me. In the confusion, I strained to hold the invocation, to keep the creature entrapped. Until a leather shoe flashed in and kicked my staff away.
The light shield around the creature wobbled and then broke apart.
20
Hands seized the lapels of my coat and slammed me against a wall.
“Did you really think you could deceive me?” Though Blondie’s mouth moved, I heard Arnaud’s hissing voice.
Sounds of struggle echoed up and down the tunnel. I turned my head to find another blood slave pinning Vega’s arms behind her. Her headlamp jostled as she swore and kicked at his shins. Down the tunnel to my left, Hoffman was on his back, a third blood slave stepping on his throat.
Blondie shook me. “I gave you two simple directives. One, stay away from the Towers. Two, follow my leads.”
“Wh-what happened to the creature?” I gasped, peering around. She should have ripped us all apart. She still could.
“Your only concern right now should be for the consequences of your insolence. But first things first.”
Blondie seized Grandpa’s pulsating ring and twisted. I shouted out in pain as bone crunched, and the ring, abrading the length of my finger in an attempt to hold on, finally popped free. He tossed the enchanted ring to a blood slave, who splashed off, no doubt rushing it to Arnaud.
I gritted my teeth. “Goddamn you.”
“That’s for violating our earlier agreement that you remain outside of the Financial District. As for our present agreement, you now have a choice to make.” He clamped the top of my head with his fingers and twisted until I was looking at Hoffman, still down. “The detective?” He swiveled my head the other way, where Vega continued to kick and swear. “Or the detective?”
“What are you asking?”
“One lives, one dies,” Blondie said. “The decision is yours.”
“And if I don’t play your stupid game?” My throbbing finger was making me nauseas.
“Then you are condemning them both.”
The easy choice was Hoffman, but I wasn’t going to be an accomplice to murder.
“Fine, kill me. Spare them.”
“Oh, no.” Blondie laughed. “That would be letting you off too easy.” His lips straightened. “Now choose.”
With Vega struggling and Hoffman down for the count, neither could hear our exchange, neither knew that their lives rested in the hands of a wizard in entirely over his head.
“First tell me what the creature is to you,” I said.
“You’re stalling for time, Mr. Croft.”
“Why are you protecting her?”
“That’s the shame of it,” he said. “Had you listened to me, who knows what you might have discovered?”
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“We’ve wasted enough time,” Blondie said. “My men are getting restless. If you do not choose within the next ten seconds, your friends will both suffer broken necks.”
“You sure you want the attention a couple of dead detectives are going to bring?” I asked.
“Oh, the attention won’t be on me, Mr. Croft. By the time the bodies are found, my associates will be long gone, and it will be your evidence investigators will discover around the victims.”
“Bullshit.”
“Five seconds, Mr. Croft.”
I took a quick peek at Vega, then Hoffman. I stopped and looked at Vega a second time. Behind her, several figures were easing up the tunnel. More blood slaves?
“Three,” Blondie said. “Two…”
One of the figures aimed what looked like a shotgun.
“All right, all right,” I said. “You want my choice?”
“One.”
I thrust my arms out, driving both palms into Blondie’s chest. Caught by surprise, he teetered back on his heels, arms flailing for balance. I crouched and turned as the shotgun went off, shots nailing my whipping trench coat, one grazing my hip in a bright flare. The blast blew Blondie halfway around, tearing skin from his face, as though by a sandblaster.
I dove for my sword, grasped the handle, and rose to face Vega’s blood slave. But he had released Vega and was sagging, a long, slender blade skewering his chest from behind. The sword’s owner gave the blade a hard twist and then drew it free. When the slave splashed to the tunnel floor, I did a double take at the female figure now beside Vega. Remembering Hoffman, I wheeled toward him. His blood slave was down too, gargling and pawing at a dagger in his throat.
A slender figure arrived above him, leather glistening in the detectives’ headlamps, and drove another dagger into the slave’s heart. He twisted the blade each way and pulled it out.
“Goodnight, sweet prince,” he said, drawing a forearm across his brow.
The shotgun went off a second time, and Blondie landed on his back beside me, his chest blown open.
I looked from the downed blood slaves to the new arrivals. As Vega went to help Hoffman up, I retrieved my staff, calling light to it. The three figures that glowed into view were instantly familiar: a towering tattoo-faced man holding a pump-action shotgun, a rail-thin woman with spiked pink hair, and a lithe man in leathers, his hair dyed neon green.
“…the hell?” I whispered.
Tattoo Face squinted at me before his face lit up like a bulb. “I don’t believe it! Mr. Wednesday Night!” He hustled over and wrapped a huge arm around me, pulling me into a crushing side hug.
“You know each other?” Vega asked.
“He came to one of our house parties back in October,” Tattoo Face said. “The guy’s a freaking animal.”
Blade’s pink lips smirked. “You should see him when he disrobes.”
My cheeks blazed as Vega looked from the punks to me in puzzlement. I hurried to explain. “They lived below someone involved in that case we worked together in the fall. I sort of … bumped into them.” I left out the part about Thelonious paying our world a visit, downing a bottle of cheap liquor, crashing their party, and then depositing me on a mattress, half-naked, with Blade.
Vega nodded slowly as though I’d explained absolutely nothing.
I looked from the shotgun Tattoo Face held, to the leather-wrapped sword handle showing above Blade’s left shoulder, to the pair of ninja swords Green Hair had sheathed across his back in an X. I was still trying to figure out how and why they had ended up in the storm line.
Vega showed her badge and introduced herself and Hoffman. “And your names are…?”
Acting as spokeswoman, Blade stepped forward. “This is Bullet,” she said, slapping the back of a hand against Tattoo Face’s chest. “I’m Blade. And our sometimes guitarist over there is Dr. Z.”
Green Hair bowed slightly.
Hoffman limped forward. “How ’bout giving us some real names,” he said, his throat still hoarse from being stepped on.
“How about we don’t,” Blade said. “And I never heard a ‘thanks’ from you.”
“You have permits for those weap
ons?” he demanded.
Vega shook her head for him to back down. “We appreciate you helping us out,” she said to Blade. “But we do have to know what you’re doing here. You’ve walked into the middle of a murder investigation.”
I caught Bullet and Dr. Z glancing over at one another.
Vega must have caught it too. “Something you guys want to tell me?”
“Have you found anything?” Blade asked.
“That’s not something we can discuss with the public,” Vega said.
“Why?” I asked Blade. “Are you looking for someone?”
It had taken me a few moments, but I had connected their presence to the weapons they carried to the skill they had just shown in destroying the blood slaves. They might have been punk rockers for kicks, but they were vampire hunters by trade. They were trying to track down the killer.
Blade’s dark eyes met mine. “That’s not a matter we can discuss with the public.”
Vega opened her mouth to say something when her phone rang. She drew it from a back pocket. “Vega,” she barked, pulling off her helmet. “What?” Her face went pale in the light of my staff. “All right, stay in the apartment. I’ll be right there.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Vega jammed her phone away and began running back toward the main line.
“Hey, what happened?” I asked, splashing to keep up. I heard Hoffman laboring into a limping run behind us.
“Some men grabbed Tony,” Vega said.
“Tony?” I struggled to place the name.
“My son.”
A boulder dropped into my stomach.
Oh, shit.
21
When we arrived at Vega’s apartment, the door was hanging from one hinge, and a middle-aged woman, who I guessed to be Tony’s babysitter, was pacing and sobbing hysterically.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Vega said, her voice as tight as a suspension cable on the George Washington Bridge.
When the woman wheeled toward us, her face was a disaster of mascara and bloated eyelids. “Oh, Ricki,” she said. “Oh, Jesus. They come and—and they take him.”
The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Page 41