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

by Brad Magnarella

  “Who came, Camilla?” Vega demanded.

  “I didn’t see,” she said. “I go to bathroom. Tony asleep over there.” I followed her trembling finger to where a multi-colored heap of Legos were scattered across a couch. “And when I come out, the door broken, and—and—and—”

  Her voice seemed to stick as she wrung a ball of stained tissues in her hands.

  “And what, Camilla?” Vega seized her shoulders.

  Camilla managed to swallow, which opened the pipes to more sobbing. “And they gone, Ricki. I run out, but men already at staircase. Door close behind them. By time I get there, I can no see them.”

  “What did the men look like?” Vega asked.

  “Too far away. Too dark. Light by staircase still broken.”

  “Did you go to a window? Did you see what kind of vehicle they left in?”

  Camilla shook her head in anguish. “Oh, God. I so sorry, Ricki. Oh, Jesus.”

  I watched the whole exchange numbly, knowing full well who had taken her son and why. I hadn’t been able to steer Vega from the Towers. I hadn’t kept her chasing Arnaud’s so-called leads. Worse, three of his blood slaves had been killed. I examined my skinned and swollen middle finger, which I’d managed to put some healing magic to on the ride here. Knowing Arnaud, he would feel perfectly justified having Tony slaughtered as retribution for his losses. The vampire had committed acts more heinous in his time.

  “All right,” Vega said, sitting Camilla on the couch. “I’m going to call it in as a kidnapping. Hoffman, I want you to canvass the neighborhood, see if anyone might have seen Tony being carried down the street or put in a vehicle. I’ll start a search by car.”

  With practiced eyes, Vega scanned her walls of framed photos, no doubt looking for the most recent image of her son. “Take this,” she said, removing a close-up of Tony’s smiling face and handing it to Hoffman. He stared down at it gravely, nodded, and left the apartment.

  Vega was pulling her phone out when I heard myself speak.

  “Detective, wait.” I cleared my throat. “I know who took him.”

  Vega stopped scrolling and looked up at me. “What?”

  “I know who took your son.”

  Without moving her gaze from mine, she said, “Camilla, why don’t you go lie down? Use my bedroom. Close the door behind you.”

  “Yes, Ricki,” she said, sniffling and sponging her nose.

  When the bedroom door closed, Vega stepped toward me, eyebrows knifing down. “Start talking, Croft.”

  “Earlier today, when I met with Arnaud, he gave me the job of keeping you away from Ferguson Towers. He didn’t say why. If I failed or told you what was up, he threatened to take your son.”

  “Is that what those leads were about?” Vega’s voice sounded distant, dangerous.

  “Yeah.”

  “And it never crossed your mind to clue me in.”

  “Of course it did, but he said if you changed your son’s routines or put any kind of extra protection around him, he would know.”

  “So you’ve been working against me this whole time.”

  “I wouldn’t put it in quite those terms. And it wasn’t like I had a choice.”

  “What else did he offer you?”

  I swallowed. “What?”

  “If you had told me yesterday, I could’ve figured something out. I could have worked the Towers case from a distance and kept my son safe.” Her voice faltered for the first time.

  Even though I felt like the world’s biggest asshat, my throat tightened defensively. “Look, when I met with Arnaud, he exuded this mind-fogging toxin. He practically fumigated his office with it. I couldn’t think straight. I agreed to his terms because I couldn’t see another way out.”

  “And he didn’t promise anything else?”

  Such as what became of your dear mother.

  “No.”

  She searched my eyes, then turned toward the bedroom. “Camilla,” she called, “stay here. I’m going out.”

  “Yes, Ricki,” came Camilla’s muffled voice.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  At the door, she checked her service pistol. “To make Arnaud tell me where my son is.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” I hustled after her into the hallway. “Do you think he’s just going to let you into the Financial District? Let you up to his office? There’s a reason he’s built a fortress around himself.”

  “I could give two fucks.”

  I caught up to her at the door to the stairwell and seized her arm. She stiffened. “You don’t release me in the next second,” she said, “and I’m breaking the rest of your fingers.”

  “Just stop and think about this. You’re scared, you’re angry—I get it. But what you’re talking about is only going to get you killed. Or turned into something. Then where will your son be?”

  “Let me go, Croft.”

  “I’ll use magic if I have to.”

  “Do that and I really will arrest your ass this time.”

  “I have an idea,” I said, working it out as I spoke. “Something far more likely to get results. Something much safer for you and your son.” I released Vega carefully, unsure whether she was going to resume her determined march or drive a fist into my face. I could see both impulses in her eyes.

  “Talk fast,” she said.

  “We meet with Arnaud through one of his blood slaves. See what he wants.”

  “And where in the hell are we going to find one of them? Three are dead and at least another two took off with Tony.”

  “Arnaud still has an interest in Ferguson Towers, which tells me he’s still keeping eyes on you.”

  She took a second to absorb the info. “We’ll see.”

  We descended the stairwell to the lobby and pushed open the steel door to the street. Bits of the lock littered the stoop where the blood slaves must have forced their way in. I peeked over at Vega, who was peering up and down the deserted sidewalk, eyes dark and mercenary. Since receiving the call in the storm line, she had maintained a rock-hard composure, the dials of her maternal instinct to protect all locked on ten.

  Guilt burned through me as I considered my recklessness. I had gambled with Vega’s son and lost, goddamn me.

  “Where are they?” she demanded.

  I cupped a hand to the side of my mouth. “Arnaud!” I called into the night. “We’re here to do as you say!”

  My words had barely echoed away when, down the block, a slender shadow separated from the side of a building and began strolling toward us. The figure was dressed in a long black coat, formal shoes glinting beneath the streetlights. Vega and I turned our bodies to face him. When he had come to within a few feet of us, I recognized the monk’s bangs.

  “Well,” Zarko said, “things have taken an interesting turn tonight, hmm?”

  Vega drew her pistol and aimed it at his forehead—just what I was afraid she’d do. “Where’s my son?”

  “Hey, c’mon,” I whispered. “We’re not going to get anywhere that way.”

  “Your magic-wielding consultant is correct,” Zarko said, his lips forking into a grin. “Especially when I presently hold the cards.”

  “Keep smiling, you piece of shit,” Vega said. “This thing’s packed with silver; not something your kind handles very well. Your buddies made a real mess of themselves in that tunnel under Madison Street.”

  “Oh yes, a pity.” Zarko’s hand gestures and turns of phrase suggested Arnaud was present in every way but form. “I will miss them. Fortunately, there is no shortage of ambitious young men in this city.”

  “Is he safe?” I asked.

  “The detective’s son?” Zarko smiled. “For now.”

  “Okay, you hold the cards,” I said with a hard breath. “Just tell us what we need to do to get him back.”

  “My, that is a tricky one.” Zarko clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace, unconcerned by Vega’s pointed pistol. “I don’t take broken promises lightly, Mr. Croft. And can
I assume you have disclosed our little agreement to the detective? So there they are: two broken promises.” He made a tsking sound. “And with a beautiful little boy at stake.”

  “You lay a finger on him…” Vega warned, eyes narrowed.

  Zarko stopped pacing and spun toward her. “Though I have every reason, Detective, I am going to show some humanity, as your kind calls it. I am going to exercise restraint.”

  “What do we need to do?” I repeated.

  “Well, it seems the first order of business is setting things to rights.”

  I didn’t care for his chipper tone. “And how would we do that?”

  “First, you’re going to drop this business with Ferguson Towers.” He showed a palm as I opened my mouth. “No more questions on the matter, Mr. Croft. I have told you all you need to know. Second, I have given you another lead, the name of a headmistress. I suggest you pick up there.”

  “Now?” I said.

  “The sooner the better.” His eyes cut to Vega. “For all concerned.”

  “I need proof that he’s all right,” she said.

  “Very well.” Zarko reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a smartphone. He spoke as he tapped. “This is a live feed, though the location will have to remain undisclosed, I’m afraid.”

  Not wanting to interfere with the technology, I stood back as Zarko held the phone out for Vega. The screen showed Tony curled on a couch in an affluent-looking room, sound asleep. A colorful blanket over him rose and fell with his breaths, his lips sputtering slightly. The boy seemed safe—were it not for the shadows of blood slaves drifting shark-like around him.

  Vega nodded once, and Zarko returned the phone to his pocket.

  “So, I stay away from Ferguson Towers,” she said, still training the gun on him, “and I go interview this person, and you’ll return my son unharmed?”

  “It will certainly go a long way toward straightening the mess your consultant here made of things,” Zarko replied. “After that, we’ll see where the situation stands, how adept you’ve proven yourselves.”

  “Selves?” Vega said. “Unh-uh, he’s not coming with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zarko said, “but you and the professor complement each other far too well. I insist you work together. Consider it another condition for your son’s release.”

  “I need a guarantee you’ll keep your word,” Vega said.

  “Oh, Detective. You of all people should know there are no such things as guarantees. Odds. Chances. Those are life’s precious currencies. You will improve both considerably if you get started now.”

  I nodded, knowing it was the best deal we were going to get out of him. Vega sighed as though arriving at the same conclusion and lowered her pistol from the blood slave. But Zarko was no longer there.

  22

  “Look, I’m really sorry,” I said.

  Vega’s gaze didn’t shift from I-495 East, down which we were barreling at over ninety miles an hour, lights flashing.

  “You’re absolutely right,” I went on. “I should have told you about my deal with Arnaud.”

  “Stop talking,” she said coldly.

  “Like I said, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Did I stutter?”

  “I just don’t want you to think—”

  “I don’t give a shit about your feelings,” Vega cut in. “My only goal right now is getting my son back. Whether or not you meant to put him in jeopardy, you did. That’s the bottom line.”

  I tapped my cane slowly between my shoes, eyes fixed on the dull opal.

  “And when I do get him back,” she continued after several beats of awful silence, “you and I are done. No more consulting, no more calls. I don’t even want you stopping in to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

  I struggled with something to say, but she was right about me, about everything.

  “Are we clear?” she asked, glaring over at me for the first time.

  A painful knot filled my throat. “Yeah.”

  Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a semi-circular drive that delivered us to the front of the mansion-like school. Small floodlights illuminated white columns, dark-red brick, and sheets of English ivy.

  As Vega and I stepped from the car, the paunchy security guard who had let us onto the grounds arrived in a golf cart. He hustled up the steps, a ring of keys jangling in his right hand. “Her room is going to be at the end of the main hall,” he said, opening the front door for us. “Last door on the left. Just be careful not to wake the students.”

  Vega charged ahead without thanking him. I caught up to her at a door with a brass plate that read: Mrs. Poole, Headmistress.

  Ignoring the security guard’s directive, Vega knocked five times hard, the blows resounding up and down the hallway. A moment later, the door opened onto a tall woman in a white robe, graying hair pinned back from a worried face. She wasn’t another vampire, in any case.

  “You must be the detectives,” she said.

  “Detective,” Vega corrected her, leaving me to explain myself.

  “Consultant,” I muttered.

  “Well, come in,” Mrs. Poole said, standing to one side and closing the door behind us.

  We stepped into a carpeted administrative office. “Please, have a seat.” Mrs. Poole gestured to a pair of chairs in front of a desk. She closed the door to a back room—her living quarters, I surmised by the tabby cat that had begun to poke its head into the office. Mrs. Poole joined us on the other side of her desk.

  “Thanks for seeing me on short notice.” Vega scooted her chair forward.

  “Anything I can do to help,” Mrs. Poole said. “But what is this about, exactly?”

  Good question, I thought. Arnaud sent us to you with absolutely no explanation as to why. And yet he seemed determined that we come out here—and not just to keep us away from Ferguson Towers. Vega already agreed to that.

  I snuck a peek at Vega, wondering how she planned to proceed.

  “There was a murder in lower Manhattan a couple of nights ago,” she began. “Two residents of a housing project had their necks bitten into. They died from loss of blood.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Poole said, touching her own throat. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but I’m not sure what that has to do with me or my school.”

  Vega had given the bare facts to see if they would prompt the headmistress to volunteer something. She hadn’t. I scooted my own chair forward, trying to anticipate Vega’s next move.

  “Are you aware of any cases like that in the area?” Vega asked.

  “People having their throats bitten?” The lines of Mrs. Poole’s face deepened. “Why, no, Detective.”

  “And your students are all okay?” Vega asked. “No attacks on campus?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Her eyes moved between us, as though beginning to sense we had come on a blind cast.

  Something Arnaud had said through Zarko was sticking in my head: After that, we’ll see where the situation stands, how adept you’ve proven yourselves. It was that last part: how adept you’ve proven yourselves. He wanted us to find something. He had already sent us to Sonny, the vampire strip club owner, and now here. There had to be a connection.

  “Well, if anything comes to you,” Vega was telling the headmistress, “here’s my card.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance.” Mrs. Poole rose as Vega did.

  “Um, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I just have a couple of questions.”

  “No you don’t,” Vega said.

  “I do, actually.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vega said to Mrs. Poole. “My consultant suffered some head trauma earlier. He thinks he’s an investigator now. That was all. We’ll be leaving now.”

  “Have any of your girls left school since the start of the semester?” I asked quickly.

  “Well, ah … two, actually,” Mrs. Poole said.

  “Did they give reasons?” I leaned away from Vega, who had seized my arm and was trying to ha
ul me to my feet.

  “Sheila’s family moved to the west coast, and Alexandra left for unspecified reasons.”

  I gripped the chair’s armrests. “Did Alexandra’s parents sign her out?”

  “She didn’t have parents. She was a ward of the state. A private donor sponsored her attendance here.” Mrs. Poole’s eyes shifted between us in growing anxiety as we continued to struggle. “But Alexandra turned eighteen this summer. She was a legal adult and didn’t need permission to leave the school. She’d been having some problems. Perhaps that’s why she left.”

  Vega’s grip eased from my arm and she turned toward the headmistress. “What kind of problems?”

  “Oh, well, acting out, unexplained absences. A search of her room didn’t turn up anything suspicious, but her behavior was enough to put her on probation and into mandatory counseling.”

  “Do you have her sponsor’s contact information?” Vega asked. “Also, a photo of Alexandra would be helpful.”

  “That would be in our admissions office,” Mrs. Poole said. “I can make a copy of her file.”

  “Please do.” Vega sat back down as Mrs. Poole left the room. When I started to speak, she said, “Not a word.”

  I crossed my arms and quietly considered how Arnaud’s two so-called leads might overlap. If there was a similarity between Sonny and the boarding school, it was young women. What if this Alexandra had gotten fed up with school and moved to the city? With few work prospects, she might have had no recourse but the Forty-second Street clubs. I pictured her arriving at Seductions, gazing up at the lurid flashing marquee, then making the stomach-curdling decision to cross the threshold.

  What then? Had Sonny bitten her? Turned her? My fists clenched at the idea of that sleazeball feeding on her foot. Had she become the creature we’d faced in the storm lines? Sonny swore he didn’t turn his girls into anything, but there was a first time for everything.

  Out of the blue, Vega said, “Why would Arnaud protect the killer while leading us to who she is? It doesn’t make any goddamned sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But vampires often follow their own logic.”