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

by Brad Magnarella

  “What do you use as a conduit?” I asked out of curiosity.

  James reached into his jacket and pulled out a metal wand. He twirled it over his first finger and thumb like a drummer before sticking it back in his pocket. “After that it was potions and spells, minor summonings. She took care of the demon, too.”

  An ember of envy burned in my gut. I’d had to learn those skills from books. And Thelonious was still bound to me.

  “When I turned eighteen, she said I was ready. Set me up with a place in the city.” He jerked his head. “Just north of here. Told me my new mentor would show up. After a couple of months I got tired of waiting, so I started putting what I’d learned into practice in pool halls and gambling houses. As you saw, the pay’s decent.”

  “But someone showed up eventually,” I said.

  “Yeah, and said he wasn’t happy about what I was doing.”

  “Chicory?” I asked.

  James nodded. “He wanted me to focus on getting to amateur conjurers before the little creatures they called up could do any damage. He put me in charge of the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island. Gave me a map that would light up when something popped into our world. The work was all right, but sort of dead in between. Magic or not, I was gonna live my life.”

  So, he’d been given the same job as me, but in New York’s outer boroughs. More compartmentalization. “You and Chicory butted heads, I take it,” I said, remembering the infractions in his file.

  “You could say that.”

  “Weren’t you worried?”

  He looked over at me, his face blank. “About what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The penalties.”

  “Oh, you mean the Big One?” He drew a finger across his neck and gave a lazy laugh. “Yeah, Chicory tried holding that crap over my head, but after a while it got old. I just nodded and went back to whatever I was doing. The guy only showed up once in a blue moon, anyway.”

  I thought about the terror I’d felt upon being issued the same threats: the loss of appetite, the hives that would break out over my chest, the sleepless nights. And here James had tuned them out like they were background static. I felt like I was talking to a much cooler version of myself. But what did it mean that the Order had never followed up on the warnings?

  “What happened to your first trainer—Elsie?”

  James shrugged. “Never heard from her again.”

  “You never went back to visit?”

  “Never thought to. It wasn’t like we were friends.”

  “What about Chicory? Did he ever, I don’t know, say what he was up to when he was away?”

  “Checking up on other magic-users, best I could tell.”

  I nodded. That had always been my assumption.

  “You consulted for the NYPD last month,” I said, changing course.

  “Yeah, was running out of people to hustle. Figured it was time to do something legitimate. Something the Order would be more agreeable to. So I hung out a shingle. Was sorta surprised when the NYPD called.”

  “You told them Lady Bastet was killed by magic. How did you know that?”

  “A reveal spell. The magic was hidden but it was there.”

  Same thing I’d used. “You were going to run a test on the residue,” I said, “the stuff found on the mutilated cats. Did you get anywhere?”

  “The NYPD had me turn in my hours before I got started. And if they weren’t gonna pay me for it…” He swirled his beer, and took a foamy swallow. He was getting to the bottom of the bottle.

  Before I could ask him anything more about the case, a young woman sauntered up. She was curvy and coffee skinned with a midriff shirt and purple eye shadow. “There you are, baby,” she said to James, planting a lascivious kiss on his mouth, which he seemed more than happy to return.

  I shifted my weight, pretending to become interested in the bent fender of Chicory’s car. When James’s and the young woman’s faces separated, she pressed herself to his side and turned toward me.

  “I’m, ah, Everson,” I said, extending a hand. “We spoke earlier.”

  She squinted back at me, not moving her arm.

  “Carla, right?” I prompted.

  “Carla?” The young woman jerked from James and planted her fists on her hips. “Carla?” she repeated, this time with even more venom. “You’re still running with that skank?” Before James could answer, she slapped him across the face and stormed back the way she’d come.

  James straightened his sunglasses and rubbed his jaw. “Thanks, man.”

  “Not Carla?” I said.

  “What the hell is all this about, anyway?”

  I sensed his impatience, but it was a good question. Everything he had told me could be consistent with either the official story, that there was an Order, or the alternate version, that Lich had created a shadow Order and was manipulating magic-users to feed his efforts.

  “Did you ever meet anyone higher up in the Order?” I asked.

  “The money first.”

  “Money?” Then I remembered I still had his twenty thousand in my pocket. I drew out one of the rubber-banded bill folds and handed it to him. “I’ll give you the other one when we’re done.”

  “If you want an answer, you’ll give it to me now. I’m tired of talking.”

  “Even for ten thousand?” I asked, holding the other wad back.

  “Keep it,” he said and turned away.

  I needed answers more than he needed the money, and he knew it, dammit.

  “All right,” I said, my jaw tensing.

  James turned back, accepted the money, and pocketed it. Then he tilted his beer to his mouth, draining the last of it. He reared his arm back and heaved the bottle across the street. I watched it shatter against the side of the vacant building, wondering why he’d done that. I turned back in time to catch a close-up of his knuckles before they plowed into my chin.

  More stunned than hurt, I staggered back and drew my cane, but not before James had drawn his wand.

  14

  Silver magic flashed from the end of James’s wand and streaked toward me like lightning. I threw up my cane, forgetting that the magic-absorbing capacity of the staff had been cleaned. Voltage roared through me as the bolt struck and lifted me from my feet. I landed down the block, performing several backward somersaults before coming to a bruising rest.

  I was surprised to find myself still holding the cane, the current apparently having locked my fingers around it.

  “Protezione,” I called as I staggered to my feet.

  Energy coursed through my banged-up prism and emerged from the staff’s orb, manifesting a shield. Sparks blew from it as another of James’s bolts struck. The young wizard was pacing toward me, lips set in a determined line. The air around him glimmered with power.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted, drawing my sword.

  He unleashed another attack, splitting the silver bolt in two. They arced around—much as he’d made the billiard balls do—and slammed into either side of my shield. My protection buckled. A clapping sound landed against my ears, as though they’d been hammered by a pair of open hands, the pain driving to the center of my head.

  I stepped back, incanting to maintain my prism. My recent training with Chicory had increased my capacity to cast, but another couple of shots like that and I’d be toast. What was this about, though? The stupid pool game? Or was I dealing with something more sinister?

  Need to put him on the defensive.

  “Vigore!” I called, swiping my sword in a clumsy arc.

  The force caught Chicory’s car and heaved it toward James. With a Word, he manifested a silver light shield and used it to shove the car back into the street. Still backpedaling, I shouted another invocation, this time uprooting a section of chain-link fencing from an adjoining lot. With sharp clangs, the fence whipped around and encircled James.

  “Respingere,” he said.

  His silver shield flashed, and the fence broke into piece
s, his boots crunching over the broken links as he continued his advance. Thanks to his five years of training, the guy’s magic was fundamentally sound. But I had experience on my side, not to mention a sword in which some of Grandpa’s magic-cleaving enchantment still lingered. I’d have to employ the first to get close enough to use the second, though.

  “Illuminare,” I called.

  The light that pulsed from my shield was meant to blind him, but James had anticipated the Word and countered with a Word of his own, one that intercepted the light with an orb of darkness. Damn. That was the problem with casting in the same language as your opponent.

  Two more bolts slammed into my shield, rocking me backward. When I grunted, a smile formed across James’s lips. His confidence was growing. He cast his next bolt from the hip.

  As my shield shook and sparks blew across my face, I remembered how James had passed on the easy tap into the side pocket for the win against me earlier, electing instead for a trick shot. Something told me he’d do the same thing out here: go for the spectacular instead of the sure bet.

  Deciding to test that theory, I turned and ran.

  Behind me, James spoke four Words in rapid succession. Bolts ripped past my shielded body, leaving harsh ozone trails in their wakes. Several blocks ahead they wheeled in different directions, like jets at an air show, before storming back toward me en masse. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know James had thinned his shield to feed the bolts.

  I aimed my sword back between my legs. Using a force blast as a propellant, I released my grip and let the sword rip.

  Behind me, James let out a scream. The bolts fizzled in midair.

  I turned to find his shield shattered, James clutching his shoulder where the blade had gashed him. With another force invocation, I returned the sword to my grip and stalked toward him. His sunglasses had fallen off, and surprised blue eyes stared from his face. He jerked his wand at me several times, but no bolts would emerge. The blade’s enchantment had broken his magic. I kicked the wand out of his hand and touched the blade to his throat.

  “You’re oh for two, pal. Care to explain why you attacked me?”

  His eyes shifted, as though searching for an escape.

  “You can try to get up, but this blade has cut through thicker necks than yours.”

  Muttering, he showed his hands.

  “Better start talking,” I said. “Fast.”

  “Can I at least grab another beer?”

  I allowed James his beer, warning him that if he shouted for help or did anything funny, I would force blast him into next month. But he was already injured, his magic spent. I doubted he would test me.

  We sat at the dark end of the empty bar, a couple of brown bottles sweating in front of us.

  “All right,” I said, the tip of my blade against James’s side. “Mind telling me why you went homicidal on me out there?”

  James sighed. “I was warned you might show up.”

  “Warned?” Coldness enveloped me. “By whom?”

  “Chicory.”

  “Chicory? Our Chicory?”

  “Yeah, he stopped in a couple weeks ago. Told me to be on the lookout for someone who’d come with a lot of questions. Said the person would be the agent of some evil wizard, a dude named Lich or Lech, and not to let him get away.” James took a swig from his bottle. “And then here you come, driving Chicory’s car. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

  I took a sip from my own bottle and worked out the timing. Two weeks before would have been when Chicory was training me. He had ducked out a couple of times, though he’d never said for what. There was nothing about the visit in James’s file, either.

  “Were those his exact words?” I asked. “Agent of an evil wizard?”

  “Best I can remember. I was sort of stoned when he dropped in.”

  I still couldn’t believe this guy was a member of the Order.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Naw, that was pretty much it.”

  Had the warning to James been some sort of insurance in case the operation failed and the Front used Whisperer magic on me? Or had it been in case the Front told me the truth?

  “To be honest, you don’t strike me as an evil agent,” James said.

  “Would’ve been nice if you’d exercised that bit of judgment outside,” I muttered.

  By warning James, my former mentor had put me in a bind. No matter what I told him, James was now biased against me. Just like Chicory biased you against the Front, the voice whispered in my head. If the potion I’d drunk that morning had worked, I was hearing my own voice. If not, I could well be hearing the Whisperer’s corrupting words. I squeezed my beer bottle in frustration. Never mind James trusting me—could I trust myself?

  “Before you started firing bolts at me,” I said, “you suggested you’d met someone higher up in the Order.”

  “Naw. I just wanted my money back.” He froze with his bottle halfway to his mouth. “Shit. Does that mean you’re gonna kill me now?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Good.” James took his swallow. “How about I ask you a few questions, then?”

  I checked my watch. I still had a couple hours before I needed to be at the airport.

  “Shoot,” I told him.

  “What do you really do?”

  “Same thing as you,” I said tiredly. “Stop amateur conjurers, blow up nether creatures, close holes to their worlds. Oh, and get threatened by the Order. I cover Manhattan. I helped the mayor’s eradication campaign last month. You might have read about me in the papers?”

  “Eradication who?”

  “Don’t follow the news, huh?”

  He shook his head and took another swig. “So why does Chicory think you’re working for an evil wizard?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time. Not like I can hustle now.”

  I looked over at him. Something in his hunched posture spoke to sincerity. Maybe he’d been lonely for the company of another magic-user, someone he could talk to. I doubted he’d told his life story to anyone else—or at least anyone who wouldn’t have laughed him out of the room. In any case, it wasn’t as if I’d be giving away any secrets. I had nothing to lose.

  “It’s going to sound insane,” I said.

  “Hey, I dig insane.”

  “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” In a lowered voice, I began. I told him about my mother’s suspicious death, the silence from the Order, and how my consulting Lady Bastet had led to her murder.

  “So that’s why someone offed her,” James said. “I’d wondered about that.”

  I nodded, going on to tell him about my own investigation, which had gotten me a warning from Marlow, or at least someone pretending to be him; my session in the scrying globe, where I experienced my mother’s murder at the mage’s hands; and then what Chicory had told me about Marlow taking up Lich’s work to bring forth the Whisperer.

  “No one ever told me about any Whisperer,” James said.

  “According to Chicory, that info isn’t shared with novice practitioners.” I wondered now if that info was shared with anyone, save in cases where a magic-user came too close to the truth.

  “Always did feel like I was at the kid’s table,” he said.

  “Don’t take it personally. I was right there beside you, bib and all.”

  “So why were you told all this stuff?”

  “Because Marlow’s my father.”

  “No shit?” James said.

  “Yeah.” That much I knew to be true. Both Chicory and Connell had said so. I told James about being sent to the Refuge, allegedly to destroy Lich’s book, and what had actually happened—from battling Marlow to being sent back here to investigate the Front’s claims for myself.

  James’s sunglasses remained fixed on me as I spoke. When I finished, he said, “So … Chicory’s history?”

  “That remains to be seen. Either he’s dead, or he’ll return in fou
r days. Well, three days now.”

  “So you wait and see,” James said. “That would settle that question, right?”

  “If Connell is telling the truth, Chicory will be coming for me. I know too much now. Were I to alert the magic-using community, he’d be deprived of the power he needs to sustain himself and the portal to the Whisperer. Plus, he’d be looking at a much larger resistance.” I thought of the hundreds of files I’d given to Vega. Convincing those magic-users would be another matter, of course.

  “What if this dude Connell is lying?” James asked.

  “That’s what I have three days to find out.”

  James blew out his breath as though to say, Sucks to be you, bro.

  “What do you think?” I asked pointedly.

  “What do I think?” He set down his bottle and studied me for a moment. “I think if you’re on the bad side of this, you don’t know it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I play cards, five card stud mostly. There my magic only really helps when I’m the dealer, so I’ve had to learn to read people, pick out their tells. For the past hour, you haven’t shown me a one. Which suggests that everything you’ve said either happened, or you believe it happened.”

  “So you understand my dilemma.”

  “Yeah, you’re either looking at a bluff or a double bluff.”

  “What does that mean to us non-card-playing types?”

  “It all goes back to the mystic’s murder,” he explained. “The perpetrator made it look like a wolf attack, right? With a simple bluff, he would’ve done that to hide his involvement—in which case the killer is Marlow. But with a double bluff, he’d have done that to make you think the second bluff about Marlow was the truth. In which case the killer is Chicory.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t have put it more succinctly myself.

  “The anti-hunting spell that earned you those claw marks from your cat,” he said, “what you saw in the scrying globe … Any advanced magic-user could have put those together.”

  I nodded some more, glad now I’d shared my story with James. I hadn’t learned anything new, no, but the back and forth was helping to bring the essential questions into relief.