“What can you tell me about the Lady Bastet investigation?”
“Nothing,” he said.
I started to stand again.
“What I mean is we don’t have anything yet,” he said quickly. “We recovered some trace evidence from the scene. Hair, fibers, that sort of thing. But it’s a business, people come and go all the time. We have to crosscheck the evidence against her known clients. Even against you.”
“No eyewitnesses?” I asked.
“If so, no one’s talking.”
“What about the cats?”
“What about ’em?” he sneered. “You think one of them saw something?”
“No, smartass. Any bite marks? Anything to suggest how they were decapitated?”
“Well, it wasn’t from a blade. Those heads were torn off.” He glanced over at me, his jaw working as though deciding whether or not to tell me something.
I tapped my shirt pocket containing the photos.
“We found something odd in the fur,” he said at last.
“What?”
“Some sort of residue. Lab says it’s mostly sulfur.”
I kicked that around. Sulfur could mean a demonic presence. Had someone aided the wolves?
“So, we good?” Hoffman asked, his temples shiny with sweat.
“Not quite. I need a couple of things.”
Hoffman’s lips pressed together. “What?”
“First a sample of the residue.”
“What else?”
“You should have a piece of hair in evidence. Light brown. About this long.” I held my two index fingers a foot apart. “I want that, too.”
“You’re asking me to tamper with evidence?”
“Like you’ve never done that before,” I said dryly. “This time, you’ll actually be doing the investigation a favor. The hair belongs to me. Well, not me me, but someone I know. I brought it in for Lady Bastet to do a reading on. It would’ve ended up right around the murder scene. I want it back. Look at it this way. It’ll be one less lead to track down.”
“Anything else, Columbo?” he asked irritably.
“Yeah. Keep me up to date on the investigation.”
“And you’ll hand over the photos?”
“Every last one,” I promised.
11
“They’re slowing,” a team leader’s voice crackled over the feed.
In the tent serving as our command center, black-and-white monitors showed subway lines from the perspectives of the three below-ground teams. The message had come from the southbound team. Like the other two feeds, theirs depicted a graffiti-tagged tunnel narrowing into darkness. Save for the occasional bone pile and mound of excrement, the tunnel had been empty, the ghouls keeping well ahead of the rolling spotlights. Now, hulking shapes took form.
“How many?” Captain Cole asked into his headset.
“Their numbers have been building,” the team leader answered, his slow steps rocking the feed from his helmet-mounted camera. “Right now we’re probably looking at a hundred or so. And they’re getting louder.”
Grunts and whooping cries echoed through the feed.
Cole turned and looked at me. Beside him, the GPS map showed the three teams converging on the station below our feet. We were roughly fifteen minutes from a completed mission and with zero casualties. How do we preserve this? the captain’s eyes were asking me.
I estimated the ghouls to be a hundred feet ahead of the southbound team. Not enough of a buffer.
“Have them turn up the lights and continue advancing,” I advised. “But slowly.”
“Did you catch that?” the captain asked through his headset.
“Roger that,” the team leader replied. “Lights up!” he called.
The feed flared white before the camera adjusted and restored the grainy image. For a moment, the ghouls were exposed, hands and forearms guarding their eyes. They scrambled over one another to escape the full-spectrum light. My released breath relaxed my shoulders. If the ghouls had charged, the southbound team would have been in big trouble.
“Go ahead and have the other teams do the same,” I said, “to be safe.”
Cole gave the order. My heart lurched as the other two feeds lit up to show even larger crowds of ghouls. Damn, more down there than I thought. I was praying my defensive sigils would be up to the job, when the leader of the southbound team’s voice returned, his tone urgent.
“One of them’s stopping.”
On the feed, an especially large ghoul had lingered behind the others. He stood in a half crouch, an enormous knuckled hand shielding his face. Members of the armed team began to shout and squeeze air horns as they’d been instructed. But though the ghoul flinched, he didn’t retreat. Beyond him, other ghouls began to slow, their misshapen heads turning to watch.
Their numbers are starting to embolden them, I thought.
“What’s the call?” the captain asked me.
“Stop advancing, but continue with the noise,” I said.
With the lights blinding their infrared vision, the ghouls didn’t know who or what was bearing down on them. I needed them to think it was a larger, more terrifying force—despite that the ghouls held a ten to one advantage. The rest of the Hundred were acting as an aboveground backup force, ready to drop in if needed. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but this idiot wasn’t helping. The ghoul squinted above his hand before taking a sidestep toward the stalled team.
“Prof?” the captain prompted.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking,” I said.
Each team was armed with automatic rifles and pistols, as well as concussion grenades—any one of which might do the job. But they could also throw the ghouls into a panic, sending the creatures stampeding toward the team. A warning seemed the safest move, something to inflict pain while being clear where the source of that pain had originated.
“The flamethrower,” I said. “Just a burst, though. Enough to get it moving.”
“Hit it with the flame,” the captain said. “To injure, not kill.”
“Roger that.”
On the feed, a team member moved to the fore, a small flame dancing at the end of a flamethrower’s barrel. I held my breath, more sweat spreading over the back of my shirt. Either the flamethrower idea would work, or things were about to get really, really ugly.
“Be ready to drop in,” Cole radioed to the backup team.
With a harsh whoosh, the feed turned bright white. A primal scream sounded as flames washed over the ghoul. A battle cry? But when the flames relented, the ghoul was loping away, the jacket of fire over its head and back guttering out. The ghouls that had stopped to watch fell into his bellowing wake until they were beyond the reach of the spotlights once more.
Thank God, I thought.
“Resume the advance,” Cole ordered.
“The teams are ten minutes from the target area,” a tech said from in front of the bank of monitors. “We’re already seeing some arrivals.”
I raised my eyes to the images of the abandoned station. The eerie infrared feeds showed the first ghouls shambling into view and then wheeling around in the face of ghouls arriving from the other directions. Several climbed onto the platform. Sensing they were being corralled, they scrambled over turnstiles and hammered their fists against the steel barriers beyond.
“I’m going to step out and ready the shields,” I told Cole. “Have them use the flames on any more stragglers. Let me know when the lines are clear.”
“Will do,” he said.
I stepped from the tent, squinting in the sudden light. In the center of the road, halfway between the station’s two entrances, I planted my feet. Eyes closed to the flashing police cordon several blocks ahead, I aligned myself with the defensive sigils I’d etched the day before. I reinforced the two shields over the subway exits to street level. Then I shifted my focus to the sigils at the mouths of the three lines feeding the station.
“Southbound line is clear,” a tech called from behi
nd me.
“Cerrare,” I said. Energy flowed down my legs, through the street, and into the sigils. I felt a robust shield swell into place between the retreating southbound team and the station.
“Ditto the westbound line,” the tech called a minute later.
I repeated the Word, walling in the station from the east.
One to go.
At that moment, the droning of a fast-approaching vehicle broke through my concentration. What the…?
I wheeled around to find a white news van squealing to a stop behind me. A camera crew poured from the van’s side door. They weren’t the only ones. More news vans appeared, parking at odd angles over the closed-off road, ejecting crews who proceeded to unspool cables, off-load equipment, and aim cameras at the subway entrances.
A blond woman, whom I recognized as an anchor for one of the local news networks, appeared in a bright red dress and matching pumps. She primped her feathered hair and, mike in hand, nodded at her cameraman.
“We’re reporting from the Canal Street Station, where Mayor—”
“Hey!” I shouted. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? We’re in the middle of an operation.” I turned toward the tent. “Captain Cole!’
The anchor frowned and made a cutting motion across her neck to the cameraman.
“Do you mind?” she said to me.
“Do I mind?” I pictured the hundreds of ghouls pouring into the station right below us. I needed to concentrate, dammit. I thought I’d made that clear. Why wasn’t anyone ushering these clowns out of here?
She planted a fist against her waist. “We’re about to go live.”
“Live? Here?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Who gave you authorization?”
The woman was opening her mouth when a black Escalade rolled into the mix. The anchor and cameras turned toward it. When the Escalade stopped, a bevy of security personnel emerged, one of them opening the passenger door. Budge’s smiling face appeared.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” I muttered.
Budge climbed from the Escalade and tottered toward the blond anchor. “Courtney, honey, how are you? Not still knocking around with that bum from Channel 4, I hope.”
Courtney’s lips pursed into a flirty smile. “Ancient history.”
“Good,” Budge said. “’Cause you’re way out of his league. Better anchor, too.”
I charged toward him. “Sorry to interrupt your little chat, but you let them through?”
Budge stumbled around until his watery eyes fixed on mine. “Well, sure,” he said. “Someone has to document the moment of triumph.” When he laughed, I caught a waft of alcohol.
“That wasn’t the plan,” I said through clenched teeth.
“And who’s this?” Courtney asked Budge.
The mayor pushed his way past his security detail and grabbed me around the shoulder. The cameras followed him. “This,” he said, hugging me to his side, “is my secret weapon.”
“Let’s keep it down, huh?” I whispered.
“Everson Croft!” he proclaimed. “New York City’s greatest wizard!”
I felt the color drain from my face as I looked wildly from camera to camera.
Courtney squeezed in beside me and motioned her cameraman into position. He pointed at her to go. “I’m standing here with Mayor Lowder,” Courtney said, “and who he’s calling his ‘secret weapon’ in his campaign to rid the city of evil creatures, wizard extraordinaire, Everson Craft.”
“Croft,” the mayor corrected her.
“He’s only joking, you know,” I said.
“I’m sorry. Everson Croft,” she amended. “Can you tell us in what capacity you’re helping the mayor, Mr. Croft? Are you employing standard magic, or have you cooked up something special for the campaign?” She tipped the microphone toward me, eyes glittering in fascination.
As far as the Order was concerned, we revealed our magical identities at our own risk. And in a city like New York, risks ran aplenty. Especially now, with public outrage over supernaturals growing by the day.
“Mr. Croft?” Courtney prompted.
With energy I couldn’t afford to expend, I swelled my wizarding aura. One by one, the blinking lights of the cameras went dark. Courtney’s cameraman lowered the contraption from his shoulder and looked at it.
“Something inside just blew,” he grumbled.
“Well, grab the backup,” Courtney snapped. “Hurry!”
“Northbound line is clear,” the tech called from the tent.
I wriggled from between Courtney and the mayor. “I need everyone to get back,” I called. “Way back.”
Budge gave an embarrassed laugh. “That’s not necessary, folks.”
“Yes, it is,” I told them. I lowered my voice so only Budge could hear me. “If you don’t want this operation turning into a shit show on live television, you’re going to get them out of here. Now.”
The mayor’s face sobered. “Will a block be enough?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Just get them out of my hair.”
“You heard him,” Budge said, pushing his hands toward the crews. “Back it up a block. The man needs to work.” The mayor’s security detail formed a line and walked them back.
“You too,” I told Budge as I stepped past him.
God, what a frigging nightmare.
With the intersection to myself again, I drew a calming breath and aligned myself with the final sigils.
“Cerrare,” I said.
A shudder rose through the pavement as the final shield manifested. The station was boxed in. I could feel the ghouls ramming against my magical defenses, trying to escape. I pushed more energy into the shields as I awaited the final word. It came only a moment later.
“All teams clear,” the tech called.
I shifted my focus from the shields to the dragon sand scattered over the station floor. Four hundred ghouls versus a two thousand-degree inferno? I was putting my money on the inferno.
“Fuoco!” I shouted.
In an explosive instant, the dragon sand ignited. The intersection shook. Up and down the street, red-orange flames jetted from vents. And now a roaring chorus took up, the dying cries of ghouls.
But I couldn’t relax just yet. I’d felt the shields bow out from the explosion. If even one of the defenses failed, the ghouls could escape the inferno and regenerate. I went sigil to sigil, reinforcing the enclosure with spoken Words.
North and southbound lines … check. Westbound line … check. West entrance to the station … check. East entrance to the sta—
Something rammed into my side, spinning me in a half circle. I lost my balance and fell to the street. I also lost the Word, having only uttered half of it. I looked around for my assailant and found one of the cameramen running toward the subway entrance. His half-exposed belly swung side to side as he moved in for a better shot. That’s what had felled me.
Swearing, I realigned my thoughts with the sigils over the station’s East entrance. Oh, crap. My fragment of a Word had not only failed to reinforce the shield; it had dissolved it.
“Cerrare!” I cried.
The shield crackled and spread back into being, but I felt it crunch through bone. Ghouls had already begun to escape. I opened my eyes to the station’s east entrance. The shadowy pit glowed with fire.
The cameraman had reached the sidewalk and was aiming his backup camera down the station’s steps. He couldn’t have known what he was looking at. He was still filming when the first blazing ghoul appeared. With a fiery slash, the ghoul opened the man’s stomach. The man dropped to his knees, his innards gushing out, then collapsed beside his smashed camera. Three more ghouls scrambled over him, igniting his hair and clothes.
Behind me, members of the news crews began to scream.
“Get back!” the mayor was hollering. “Everybody back!”
Driven to blind rage by fire and pain, the four ghouls oriented to the panicked sounds—and charged.
&n
bsp; 12
“Vigore!” I cried.
The force that shook from my sword slammed into the lead ghoul. He roared as he was blown backwards, red fire pluming upon his collision against the metal entranceway that framed the stairs to the station.
A moment later, he was back on his feet.
With a shouted “Protezione!” I threw up a shield across the street. Because of the energy I’d just expended, the manifestation was weak. The charging ghouls crashed through it.
What now? I thought as I backpedaled.
The ghouls were close enough for me to smell their burning flesh. Flesh that, beneath the thinning flames, was beginning to regenerate. I cast my staff aside and gripped my sword in both hands. Attempting to decapitate four rampaging ghouls was tantamount to suicide, but there were innocents behind me.
Automatic gunfire chattered from either side. The ghouls flinched from the impact of bullets. Armored vehicles were rolling in, backup members of the Hundred firing from the vehicles’ sides.
“Their heads!” I shouted in reminder. “Aim for their heads!”
If the hollow-point bullets could penetrate the creatures’ dense skulls, they might inflict enough brain damage to drop them. At that thought, two of the ghouls’ heads exploded in rapid succession. The flaming creatures collapsed to the street. A third ghoul joined them.
The ghoul I’d knocked into the station’s entranceway did not, however. With a bellow, he lowered his head, impervious to the bullets blowing bits of flaming flesh from his hide.
My backward jog turned into a backward run, until I rammed into the mayor. His broad back remained to the ghouls as he pushed his arms toward the news crews, yelling for them to disperse. He ignored his security detail, one of whom had wheeled the Escalade around while another was trying to pull him toward the vehicle’s open passenger door. I could see on Budge’s corpse-white face that he believed he was watching his campaign swirl down the drain in front of the very opinion shapers he’d invited to the event.
I regained my footing as a foul heat seared the side of my face. Shoving Budge forward, I spun with my sword. The blade flashed, catching the ghoul’s incoming arm at the wrist. A flaming hand dropped to the street, not far from where Budge and the security man had tumbled down.
The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Page 60