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

by Brad Magnarella

  You know, he said in my thoughts.

  Marlow, right? I answered.

  That is my birth name, yes. I assumed the name Connell upon coming to the Refuge. I didn’t want to deceive you, but neither could I tell you in those first days. It would have been too much.

  Probably a good thing, I agreed.

  We’ll talk upon your return, he said, his voice gentle in my thoughts.

  I thought about Arianna’s carefully crafted words before my first departure from the Refuge. I’m sure you’ve been wondering about your father, she’d said. He visited your bedside while you slept. He is anxious to meet you and for you to meet him, but only when that is what you desire.

  Meet one another as father and son, she’d meant. Well played.

  By the time Marlow removed his hand from my brow, the scene in the pool was fully rendered, the pit plunging deep into the water. While the other magic-users leaned toward it, I grasped my father’s retreating hand, a lump growing in my throat. It was all I could do to keep from bawling.

  Without realizing I was going to, I said, “I missed you.”

  He gave my hand a firm squeeze.

  “I missed you, too, Everson.”

  23

  James and I arrived back in the basement we had fled only hours before. A miasma of death and magic clung to the darkness: the remnants of Lich’s presence. James beat me to a light invocation.

  “Illuminare.”

  Silver light swelled from his wand and reflected from the sunglasses he’d slipped on. I reached out with my wizard’s senses, scanning the basement and house. “I’m not picking up anything,” I said, “but he’s cloaked his magic before. Every inch of this place could be booby trapped.”

  I cast through a wand Marlow had given me as a replacement for my staff and watched the light it emitted harden into a protective shield. From inside his own shield, James shook his head in disbelief.

  “Goddamned Chicory,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, I’m still getting used to the idea too.”

  I held out my sword as we made our way across the littered basement. I was especially wary of the mounds from which Lich-as-Chicory had summoned elementals during my training, ready for them to spring to life again. James loped past them, apparently unconcerned.

  “Hey, mind slowing it down?” I whispered.

  “Place is clean.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Cause it’s not his play.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not his play’?”

  James trotted up the stairs, his boots clunking loudly on the wooden steps. “You were at the meeting. Lich wins either way, he’s just aiming to win big. He knows we’ve got no choice but to go to him. That’s his play. What we do up here doesn’t mean crap to the man.”

  “It will if we find the weapon.”

  James turned enough to make a skeptical face. “Really think that’s gonna happen, chief?”

  Hot anger flushed over my own face, but I didn’t say anything. James was only voicing the obvious. Lich was acting too damned confident for there to be a weapon out there that could kill him. Meaning he had either destroyed the weapon or made it impossible to find. But what if Grandpa’s suicide had been about more than protecting me? What if he had wanted to hide something?

  “Where to?” James asked.

  We’d arrived in the main hallway, and I stood in our shifting lights for a moment. The safe house felt anything but.

  “There’s a trunk in the attic where he stashed some wands and weapons. I can take care of those if you wouldn’t mind searching the other rooms again.”

  James nodded and headed off while I climbed the stairs. I readied my sword upon entering the attic, but nothing jumped out at me. My locking spell still held the trunk closed. I dispelled it and lifted the creaking lid. The items remained where and—as far as I could tell—how I had left them.

  From one of my coat pockets, I drew out an enchanted sack Marlow had given me. One by one, I set the items inside, including the maces I’d used in the battle against the werewolves. If they carried any magic, even the Whisperer variety, the bag would suppress it until the items could be examined in the Refuge.

  “Yo, Everson!” James called. “You might want to take a look at this.”

  I hurried downstairs and turned down the hallway to find the front door open. James was standing outside, arms leaning on the railing of the small front porch. Beyond him, in the direction of New York City, the sky was an evil-looking brown and orange. The fires that had sprung up in pockets around the city were spreading, just like the influence of the Whisperer.

  We were running out of time.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked him.

  “Nothing interesting,” he said in a way that made me wonder how thoroughly he’d searched. “Guess it’s on to … where, exactly?”

  “Port Gurney,” I muttered. “Other side of the city.”

  James spun a set of keys around his finger. “Good thing I brought my ride, then.”

  James’s ride was a black Trans-Am parked curbside, the firebird emblem spreading its golden wings across the hood. The inside smelled of oil. James barely waited for me to buckle in before gunning the engine and performing a squalling U. Though the car slewed sideways, I sensed he was in control. He threw it into second as the car straightened.

  “Port Gurney,” he said, tapping a finger against the steering wheel as though consulting a mental map. “North central Long Island? We could take the interstate up through the Bronx, avoid the city.”

  “Yeah, except that the rioting and fires started in the Bronx. There’s no telling what kind of shape the interstate’s in now.” I imagined lanes clogged with piles of burning vehicles and debris. “I think our best bet is to take the Lincoln Tunnel and go straight across to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, hope the chaos hasn’t reached the center of the city yet.”

  James chuckled. “Rolling the dice. I like it.”

  The car engine rose an octave as he shifted again. Houses blurred past on the empty streets. People had either evacuated the area or locked themselves inside for the night. Before long, we were dropping into the Lincoln Tunnel and then cresting again, emerging into Midtown. Black smoke billowed past the Firebird’s headlights, and I could hear sirens in the distance.

  I was in the middle of wondering how Vega was faring when she paged me.

  “Hey, would you mind pulling over up there,” I said, pointing out a payphone. “It’s Detective Vega. Probably wants an update, but she can also advise us on the best route through the city.”

  “Vega?” James said, easing up to the curb. “You mean that Puerto Rican mamma? Talk about a hot ticket.” He grinned at me in a way that made me wonder whether Vega’s eye roll from earlier had meant more than just James being an arrogant ass. Had he tried to hit on her?

  “Hey, let’s keep it professional,” I said, a knot twisting in my gut.

  He showed his hands. “I just call ’em like I see ’em.”

  “Well, she’s a friend, all right? A … good friend.”

  His grin broadened. “How good?”

  “Just…” I felt my face warming over. “Just drop it.”

  Flustered, I got out of the car. Breathing through my shirt collar to filter the acrid smoke, I made my way to the payphone, pushed in two quarters, and punched Vega’s number. A pair of helicopters batted past.

  “It’s Everson,” I said when she answered.

  “What do you have?”

  “The perp is Chicory,” I said. “Not Marlow. Not my father.”

  The relief at being able to say that washed through me like a strong surf. I was still adjusting to the idea that Marlow—a good and powerful wizard—was my father. If only the timing had been better.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “West Midtown, south of Forty-second.” I filled her in on where we were going and why. “Are we okay driving straight to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, or should we try another rout
e?”

  “You should be all right if you hurry,” she said. “There are rioters all along Forty-second Street, and they’re moving south. Another group is coming up from Gramercy.” I could actually hear them: shouts and screams punctured by the sounds of things breaking. I could also hear the strain in Vega’s voice.

  “How’s the NYPD holding up?” I asked.

  “We don’t have enough officers to contain them. The rioters are charging the cordons and breaking through. We’ve tried gas, rubber bullets, real bullets. Nothing’s deterring them. And the one’s we’ve hauled in are going absolutely nuts. Budge is asking the president for National Guard troops, but I’m starting to wonder if that will be enough. Croft … whatever’s happening out there, it’s starting to affect normal people.”

  I remembered the aging woman in the pants suit at the gas station, the way her pupils had seemed to flatten as she lowered the lighter toward the pool of gasoline…

  “Once we find the Banebrand weapon, we’re going to the source,” I promised her.

  “And that will end this?”

  I considered the odds: venturing into Lich’s turf, where he was expecting us, surviving long enough to find his glass pendant and destroy it—all assuming, of course, we obtained the Banebrand weapon first. So, a thousand to one? Ten thousand to one?

  “Only if we succeed,” I answered honestly.

  I waited for Vega to ask me the likelihood of that success, but she only blew out her breath. I glanced back at the car and caught James puffing a joint. I turned up a hand and mouthed, The hell are you doing? He smirked and shot me with a finger pistol.

  “I should let you go then,” Vega said.

  “Is your son someplace safe?”

  “He’s at the apartment with Camilla.”

  She hadn’t really answered my question, but I picked up the undercurrent of worry. Her apartment was too close to the city, the chaos.

  “We’ll swing by on our way back,” I said. “Check in on them.”

  “No, Croft, that’s not—”

  “I’m not asking,” I interrupted.

  Behind me, James laid on the horn. When I looked, he was stubbing out the joint in the ashtray and jabbing a finger past me. I craned my neck around the phone stand. “Crap,” I said. Then to Vega, “I’ll call you later.”

  I hung up and backed away from the mob running toward us, their screams an insane squall. Windows broke in their wake; awnings burst into flames. Men and women shimmied light poles, rocking them until they crashed over the street. A hydrant burst, jetting water twenty feet into the air.

  I climbed into the car and slammed and locked the door. “Protezione,” I called.

  A glimmering shield grew around the Firebird, which James had already thrown into gear. He sped toward the mob, a hailstorm of bottles, concrete chunks, and other thrown objects breaking around us. A blue USPS mailbox landed on the shielded hood and tumbled over the roof. Within seconds we were close enough that I could pick out the crazed faces.

  James wasn’t slowing.

  “Hey, wh-what are you doing?” I shouted, throwing my forearms to my face.

  But instead of clunking through bodies, the car took a hard right, rear wheels screaming, and then a just as sudden left that fishtailed us the other direction. I lowered my arms to find us on a parallel street. Straggling members of the northbound mob armed with pipes wheeled toward us.

  James let out a “Yee-haw!”

  Without slowing, he cut around them as they tried to dart in front of the car. Pipes banged off the windows and clunked under the tires. Gunfire erupted, flashing from the shield. Twice James had to drive up onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting someone, but within another few seconds we were past the mob, their mindless screams trailing in our wake. In my rearview mirror, I watched them turn and resume their assault on the street and buildings.

  “Good God,” I muttered. “It’s like Zombieville out there.”

  “So seriously, man,” James said, shifting into a higher gear. “What’s up with you and Vega?”

  I looked over at him. “Me and Vega?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I have an idea, but now’s not really the time.” I flinched as James squealed onto a street with a new wave of rioters, slammed the brakes, threw the car in reverse, and accessed the next block.

  “There’s no shame in it, man,” he said, not missing a beat.

  I relaxed my grip on the armrest. “We work together, that’s all.”

  “But you feel something for her.”

  “I feel what I’d feel for anyone I worked closely with. I might even develop feelings for you some d—look out!”

  More bullets flashed off the shield. James swerved to avoid a group spilling from a Thirty-fourth street subway entrance, then down-shifted and turned north.

  “Naw, man, this runs deeper than that,” he said. “Every time you say her name, your eyes do this thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “This tiny shift. It’s your tell. Saw it when you first brought her up at the pool hall. Didn’t think much about it till a few minutes ago when you wanted to rip me a new one. And bam, there it was again.”

  “Whatever,” I said, my face growing warm.

  He turned toward me. “Say her name.”

  “What?”

  “Just say it, man.”

  “Hey, would you watch the road?” I cried.

  James swerved at the last moment, avoiding a toppled light pole, then turned back to me. He made small steering adjustments without looking, his tires clunking over debris and glass. “C’mon, man, I want to see.”

  “Vega,” I said quickly, for no other reason than to get us across Midtown in one piece.

  James leaned back and laughed. “I knew it. You’ve totally got a thing for her.”

  “If my eyes did anything, it was only because you made it awkward,” I stammered.

  “What’s the big deal? You like her. You’ve got good taste.”

  I grumbled. My eyes did a lot of things without my knowledge, apparently. Was I developing feelings for Vega? It had only been a month since Caroline had had her feelings for me wiped clean. I hadn’t gotten over that, not yet. So how could I have a thing for Vega? And yet … I did care about her. And yeah, I looked forward to seeing her now.

  “I respect her,” I allowed at last.

  “Respect her,” James echoed. “Have you told her?”

  “Told her what?”

  “About your, cough, respect for her.”

  “For God’s sake. Has it occurred to you that the city is literally falling apart?” As if on cue, James turned a corner and sped past a blazing building. Bricks landed on the shielded roof.

  “I’m just trying to help a wizard out,” he said, switching the vent setting to Recirculate as the smoke outside thickened. “You’re not the smoothest number. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m an academic. I know that.”

  “My advice, then? Start simple. A casual dinner, maybe. Or drinks. See what kind of chemistry you two have outside work.”

  “Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

  “You talking about finding the Banebrand weapon?”

  “Yeah, the small matter of finding the Banebrand weapon, something even you’re skeptical about. Oh, and then there’s the whole destroying Lich’s pendant and closing the portal to Dhuul. Otherwise, yeah, we’re golden. I’ll go ahead and make that dinner reservation.”

  James shrugged. “You were the one who brought it up. I was just trying to help.”

  I stared at him in disbelief, but we were arriving at the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, which had to have been a record for an west-east traverse of Manhattan. Once through, we had the highways to ourselves. James shut up, thankfully, and urged the Firebird past one hundred. Other than distant pockets of fire, the destruction was nothing like what was happening in Manhattan, but that would change as the disorder spread. I imagined the worl
d and everyone I cared for, Vega included, reduced to a mindless soup for the Whisperer to feed on.

  Please let the Banebrand be in the vault, I thought.

  24

  James steered through the empty streets of Port Gurney, the Firebird’s beams sweeping past boarded-up buildings and weedy lots. A pack of feral dogs scattered ahead of us, their backward-peering faces lean and fearful.

  “Sure this is the place?” he asked.

  “The town took a hit when the shipping industry crashed. It’s been a downhill ride ever since. There,” I said, pointing out a leaning strip of buildings that made up the town’s waterfront. “The name of the bar was the Rhein House.” As James turned, I rolled down the window and squinted in search of a sign. A smell of seawater and sewage wafted into the car.

  “I see it,” James said, and took a sharp turn in front of a building on the end of the strip. The front window had been smashed, but the hand-painted letters “RH” still showed in the upper left corner of the glass.

  I got out of the car and, wand and sword readied, listened a moment. Except for the wind and the slapping of the sea, the town was quiet. But something was telling me to be wary.

  “Door’s unlocked.”

  I jerked at James’s voice and found him already stepping into the bar. I hurried to catch up. Glass crunched underfoot as I stepped into the orb of silver light growing from his wand. The establishment was a leaf-blown space where I imagined tables had once stood, photos from the old country adorning the sooty brick walls. A U-shaped bar took up the far side of the room, ringed by stools bolted into the wooden floor, though several were missing. I imagined Grandpa sitting on one of the stools, ordering a stein of beer, then using illusory magic to go down to the vault to add to his collection or perhaps examine the magical artifacts already there.