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

by Brad Magnarella

  “But you recognized her,” I said. “When you first saw the photo.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t screw with us,” I warned. “Because when you screw with us, you screw with Arnaud.”

  Sonny held up his pale palms. “Look, I just thought she looked like someone who used to dance here.”

  “Who?” Vega asked.

  “You know how many girls have come through these doors in the last thirty years?” Sonny said with a snort. “A thousand, probably. I can’t remember all their names. I just thought your girl might’ve been one of them, until you told me it would’ve been in the last couple of months. The girl I was thinking of was here much longer ago. Fifteen, twenty years, at least.”

  The admission sounded incidental, but my wizard’s intuition was tapping away, telling me we’d just found a shallow toehold.

  Before I could press the vampire, Vega’s phone went off.

  “Rancho,” she said, “what’s going on?”

  It took me a moment to place the name. Stiles’s henchman, the bulky Mexican we’d met at the diner.

  “When?” she asked coldly. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.” She hung up and studied the phone’s screen for a long moment, her face seeming to turn the color and texture of slate.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  Vega squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them. “Another murder at Ferguson Towers. Same M.O. as the last two. Stiles is convinced it’s Kahn, even though Rancho told him the drain in the boiler room was busted open. Stiles is mobilizing, but so is Kahn. The war’s going down tonight.”

  25

  I studied Vega’s set face as she sped south on Broadway. “You heard the terms,” I cautioned her. “‘Stay away from Ferguson Towers.’ I don’t remember hearing a clause.”

  “Arnaud meant in relation to the murder investigation.” Vega squealed around Union Square and onto Fourth Avenue. “I’m not going there to investigate. I’m going to stop a war.”

  “It’s still a risk,” I said. “Why don’t you call for backup?”

  “Even if they responded, that’s just asking for a bigger blood bath.”

  “Vega, your son…”

  Her eyes burst into black flames. “I know the fucking stakes, Croft!”

  I stared ahead at the line of street lights, my cold hands wringing my cane. I shouldn’t have pressed. Vega had made her decision. If sparing the lives of hundreds of children meant placing her own child in deeper danger, she had no choice. The vow to serve and protect was emblazoned on her soul. Like my magic, it was a part of her makeup.

  A light rain began to streak the windshield as we approached Ferguson Towers. The sedan scraped over the curb and onto the sidewalk before barreling through the project’s main gate. The water on the windshield spangled the lights of the east towers. Beneath the lights, hundreds of figures had amassed. On the far side of the plaza another army was gathering in front of the west towers.

  “Shit,” Vega spat.

  She accelerated toward the east towers and slammed on her brakes. The front line of men pulled back as the sedan skidded around on the slick concrete and came to a sliding stop in front of them. I peered past Vega. The men wielded weapons, several of them aimed at the sedan. I was no expert on arms, but I recognized the green grenades jutting from shoulder rocket launchers.

  “Hey,” I said to her, “maybe we should reconsider—”

  Vega threw her door open and got out. “Stiles!” she shouted.

  Oh, Christ. I got out on my side and hustled around the car until I was beside her, the rain flicking my face. The armed men pressed forward until Vega and I were enclosed in a semicircle.

  “Where’s Stiles?” she demanded.

  Murmurs went up about cops on their turf. As I looked from face to hostile face, I understood why Vega hadn’t wanted to get a larger police force involved. The NYPD was just as much the enemy as Kahn.

  “Stiles!” she shouted again.

  The crowd shifted, and Stiles emerged in a boot-length leather coat, his shades and bald head glistening with water. “Ricki,” he said calmly.

  Vega stomped forward until she was standing in front of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  “We had an agreement,” she shouted.

  “Yes, had,” he said. “The situation changed.”

  “Bullshit!” Rainwater flew from Vega’s mouth. “You were planning this stupid war before the latest victim turned up.”

  “I’ve told you in the past, you live by your rules, we live by ours. Rule number one is to never give ground to your enemy.”

  Vega stepped closer. “And I told you, goddammit, Kahn’s not behind the killings.”

  “You’ve been gone too long, kid,” Stiles said. “You’re out of your depth. Shove off, and take Pasty here with you.”

  “She’s right,” I said, struggling to keep my voice from shaking in the sudden cold. “We’re closing in on the perp. We almost had her apprehended earlier tonight.”

  “Where I come from,” Stiles said, “almost doesn’t mean much.” Laughter erupted around him, and I could see how he had maintained control over his towers. In addition to whatever violence he wielded, he had the coolness factor down pat. But the line of his jaw suddenly hardened. Vega was pointing her pistol at him.

  “Call it off,” she said, “or I’m bringing you in.”

  Stiles shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Ricki.”

  Metal flashed, and two dozen barrels stared at Vega and me. I concentrated into my casting prism, ready to conjure a shield. C’mon, I thought to Vega. I know you’ve got history here, but is this worth it?

  “Call it off,” Vega repeated.

  Grumblings went up, but Stiles silenced them with a raised hand. “Everyone chill. This is between me and Ricki.”

  “So what’s it gonna be?” Vega asked, the rain water that beaded over her pulled-back hair beginning to trickle down her face. Her pistol didn’t waver.

  Stiles shook his head. “Still the same spitfire you were twenty years ago, never knowing when to back down.”

  “Yeah, well this isn’t twenty years ago, and we’re not arguing over whether you’re two-timing me—which I knew you were. You’ve got enough artillery to reduce the west towers to a sandlot. And I’m guessing they’ve got enough to do the same over here. Look around, goddammit. Look at all the lives you’re putting in danger.”

  I peeked up the east towers. The same silhouettes I’d seen last night stared from the windows. It was the smaller ones, low to the sills, that bothered me the most, the ones belonging to children.

  Though Kahn’s army waited across the plaza, the aim of Stiles’s sunglasses didn’t shift from Vega’s face.

  “She’s right, boss.”

  I looked over to see someone large pushing his way to the fore. It was Rancho, his own rain-streaked face tense and fearful.

  “I-I’ve got a family up there,” he said. “A lot of us do.”

  Several of Stiles’s men shifted, necks craning back toward the towers. The movement created a shudder through the ranks, through Stiles’s generalship.

  “Is that right?” he asked calmly, drawing a black pistol from his waistband. “You’re worried about your families?”

  Rancho stepped back, the thick lump of his Adam’s apple bobbing as Stiles raised the pistol.

  “Hey, c’mon, man,” Rancho said, showing his hands.

  Stiles stared him down, then pivoted his arm and shot Vega pointblank in the stomach.

  My heart stopped as Vega collapsed to the concrete. Stiles’s men backed away.

  “If you know how to drive, I suggest you collect your partner and get off my plaza.” It took me a moment to realize Stiles was talking to me.

  I dropped to a knee beside Vega. She was still alive, thank God, her breaths coming in choked gasps. The bullet had pierced the body armor in a small burst of mesh. There wa
s no way to tell how deep the bullet had penetrated, but blood was seeping from the hole. A lot of blood.

  Anger burned in my gut. “She was only doing her job.”

  “Did you say something to me?” Stiles asked, his voice even, menacing.

  I rose and rotated toward him. “She was only trying to protect your residents.”

  “She knows better.”

  I had no more words for the cold-blooded creature. A man who would hurt a former friend, a mother, the most dedicated public safety officer I had ever met. I glanced around at the crowd through the tapering rain.

  “Anyone with a family to protect,” I said. “I suggest you go to them now.”

  “You don’t talk to my men,” Stiles said. “I talk to my men.” He raised his pistol until it was staring at my face. “I’m not going to say it again. Take your partner and get the fuck off my plaza.”

  I stooped toward Detective Vega. Her cheek was pressed to the concrete, face clenched in agony. Rain water mingled with the blood from her wound and pooled pink around her knees. My intention had been to pick her up and load her into the car, to get her to a hospital. Instead, fury threw me into a pivot. Sweeping my cane in a wide arc, I shouted, “Forza dura!”

  The force blew from me with the roaring power of a jet engine. It slammed into Stiles and his men, sending them airborne in a wave. A chorus of cries rose. Shoes and weapons spilled to the plaza. I glimpsed Stiles’s flapping leather coat before he disappeared into the wave of bodies crashing against the nearest towers. I drew my cane apart.

  “Protezione!” I called, forming a light shield around Vega and me.

  Bullets sparked off the glowing dome, but not from Stiles’s men. The commotion had spurred Kahn’s army into action. They were charging from the west towers, gun muzzles flashing.

  I glanced around. Many of Stiles’s men remained down. Others staggered into the east towers. A few had reclaimed weapons and were firing back at Kahn’s men.

  I looked down at Vega. I needed to get her out of here, but I couldn’t let the situation degenerate into the war she’d been trying to prevent.

  Flares burst across the plaza and two, three rockets blasted toward us.

  “Respingere!” I shouted.

  The pulse from my shield pummeled the rockets, knocking them off their trajectory. They wriggled skyward and detonated like brute pyrotechnics, the Manhattan Bridge to the north flashing in and out of view. Shrapnel rained down over my shield.

  Christ. My abilities had been developed to cast nether creatures back to their realms, not wage urban warfare. And with the fae magic still bolstering my powers, I possessed punch but not precision.

  I opened a rear door of the sedan and scooped Vega up. She felt too limp as she sagged against me.

  “Hang in there,” I said. “I’m going to get you to a doctor.”

  I fed her through the door and lay her across the back seat.

  I was pulling away when her left hand reached out and seized the lapel of my coat. Words hissed from her grimacing lips. “Don’t you … dare … put me in a hospital.”

  She released me, her hand falling back to her wound. I read between the lines. A hospital would mean being sidelined, unable to work on reclaiming her son. We’d have that fight later.

  I slammed the door closed and grew the shield to enclose the sedan. Kahn’s army had reached the plaza’s center, and heavy fire was coming from both sides. Stiles’s retreating men had taken up positions inside the apartments, gunfire flashing between window bars.

  That’s nice, you idiots, I thought, drawing fire toward your families.

  A rocket launcher spewed gas from an upper-story window, and a missile dove toward the plaza. My force invocation was too slow. The missile detonated in front of Kahn’s men, blasting back the advance.

  How in the hell am I going to end this conflict?

  The short answer was I couldn’t. The best I could do was give the two sides a common enemy.

  Me.

  26

  I dropped into the driver seat and slammed the door. Vega had left the sedan running. It was a different vehicle from the one I’d driven in October, but the same make and model. I took a moment to refamiliarize myself with the controls before pulling the gearshift into drive.

  I glanced back to check on Vega. “Hold onto something,” I told her and waited for her to wrap a hand around one of the safety belts.

  I stepped on the gas and peeled around until I was bearing down on Kahn’s army. Bullets flashed off the shield that glimmered around the sedan. I felt the impact of bullets from the rear, meaning I was taking fire from Stiles’s men as well.

  Perfect.

  Kahn’s soldiers began to back away, then scramble from my oncoming vehicle. When I was almost to the front lines, I shouted, “Respingere!”

  With the fae magic acting as a catalyst, the pulse from the shield detonated like a daisy bomb, blowing men as far back as the fence ringing the project. I steered through the fallen men and ruined weapons, careful not to run over anyone, then wheeled around and accelerated back toward the east towers. More shots rattled and popped, impacts flashing beyond the windshield.

  With another shouted Word, my shield expanded rapidly, knocking back Stiles’s men in the plaza. I cut the sedan hard right and steered toward the main gate. In the rearview mirror, I caught combatants from both sides giving chase, no longer shooting at one another.

  How long the temporary truce would hold, I had no idea. But I’d done all I could.

  The sedan’s passenger side scraped through the gate in a sharp keening. I braked too late, launching off the curb and into the rusted husk of a car that had been left curbside. I cursed and reversed, then took off west, away from the chattering gunfire still directed at me.

  I jagged left at the next intersection, then right, then left again pulling up to a four-way stop. I was far enough from the Towers that I dispersed my shield to allow my powers to recharge. I twisted around to peer into the back seat. “You all right, Vega?” I still had to figure out where to take her.

  I didn’t notice the dark van slide up beside us, lights off, until my driver side door cannoned open. A fist crushed my jaw and wobbled my casting prism. A pair of hands seized the front of my coat, jerked me from the vehicle, and pinned me against the car’s side. I stared at an unfamiliar face.

  Wait … I do know you.

  Stiles’s sunglasses had no doubt come off when I’d blasted him. Now, small, nervous eyes stared into mine.

  “You couldn’t leave the Towers to us,” he said, a bloody cement rash glistening over his right brow. “You had to come and interfere.”

  When he reared back to punch me again, I jabbed a thumb into his right eye. He grunted and released my coat. I dove for the open car door, for my sword, but he grabbed the back of my coat and swung me out. I slammed into the side of the van, head ringing.

  I turned, fists raised, and threw a lunging punch. Stiles leaned away, a switchblade popping from his own fist.

  We circled. I blinked sweat and rainwater from my eyes, tried to focus, but my head was too foggy to cast. The van’s front doors opened and closed, and two of Stiles’s armed henchmen took positions to box us in.

  Stiles stepped forward and drove the blade at my gut. I skipped backwards, got my feet tangled, and fell to the street.

  The ganglord stood over me. “I don’t know what the hell you are,” he said, holding up the blade. “But something tells me you still bleed.”

  A shot rang out. Stiles staggered to the side. One of his hands drifted to his throat. When it came away, he stared at his palm for a long moment. A gout of blood spurted from his neck. He dropped straight down, collapsing onto the seat of his coat, then fell against the side of the van.

  I turned. Vega’s pistol was pointing from the front door of the sedan. Stiles’s henchman moved toward her, rifles aimed.

  “Stand down!” Someone hustled up from a side street, a shotgun raised. It was Rancho. “I’
m next in command, and I don’t want any dead cops. Put Stiles in the van. We need to get him back to the Towers.”

  The henchmen hesitated before lowering their rifles. They pulled open the side door of the van and lifted Stiles’s limp body. While they loaded him into the van, Rancho grasped my arm and hauled me to my feet. He helped me into the sedan, squinting into the backseat.

  “You gonna be all right, Ricki?” he asked.

  She nodded and lay back, the hand holding her pistol pressing against her stomach.

  “Don’t worry about the Towers,” he said. “With Stiles out of commission, I’ll get them back under control.” His gaze shifted to me, and he lowered his voice. “Don’t let her die, motherfucker.”

  I nodded, and he closed the door.

  “I’m taking you to a hospital,” I said as I turned down Canal Street.

  “You do, and I’ll kill you,” Vega whispered.

  “Duly noted, but I’ve never treated a bullet wound before. And even if I knew what I was doing, my powers are all out of whack. I wouldn’t be able to put any healing magic to it.”

  “There’s a medical kit in the trunk,” Vega murmured. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

  I started to shake my head, but then I had an image of pulling up to an emergency room only to have Vega brace herself inside the car like a cat. I sighed. “All right. I’m staying at a place not far from here. But if I can’t help you, I will take you to a hospital. No more arguments.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Just shut up and drive.”

  I kicked the apartment door closed behind me and set Vega on the bed in the back room. The medical kit I’d pinned beneath my arm fell to the floor. I stooped over Vega and freed the Velcro straps of her vest. She inhaled sharply through her teeth as I peeled the vest away. She was wearing an army-green wife beater underneath, its stomach plastered with blood.

  I steeled myself before lifting the hem of her shirt to her sternum and tucking it beneath her sports bra. Her stomach was awash in blood. An angry hole stared up at me from beneath her right ribs. It opened and closed like a small mouth with each pained breath.