Purge City (Prof Croft Book 3)

by Brad Magnarella

  I did the same on the bus ride to Midtown, averting my eyes from the spread-open papers. I didn’t even want to glimpse the expressions of the commuters reading them. Smoke from Central Park drifted past the windows. North of Twenty-third Street, it became so thick that I started to see pedestrians in surgical masks.

  I entered Midtown College through a back door and removed my disguise. I had nearly canceled my morning class, but it was almost finals week, and I’d already canceled last week’s classes to work on the operation. The college was one bridge I couldn’t afford to burn.

  My right calf throbbed with magic as I climbed the empty stairwell. I’d awoken before dawn in a doorway in Times Square, a flat bourbon bottle between my legs and quarters everywhere. I did the post-Thelonious check, patting my pockets for wallet and keys. Both there. Clothing, cane, and necklace intact as well. I then craned my body around to read a flashing sign overhead. Thelonious had ended up at a peep show, which explained the quarters. His visit this time had been short and tame. Maybe he was tiring of using me as a vessel. For once, though, I hadn’t minded the oblivion.

  Upon returning home and treating the arrow wound, I had a sober hour to reflect on the horror of last night’s operation. Of what I had allowed to happen. Thirty-six dead. Men who would still be living if I’d been thinking clearly instead of about what the mage had done to my mother, what he could still do to me.

  I had decided then and there that I was no good to anyone until I hunted him down and destroyed him.

  That would be my priority.

  In that vein, if there were any potential positives to come from last night’s operation, it would be my removal from the program. Budge’s first act to save face. He didn’t need a wizard now, anyway. He could simply napalm the rest of Central Park. He wouldn’t get his cookout, no—at least not the kind he wanted—but neither would he suffer the fallout from further casualties. And he’d have dump trucks full of charred creatures to show for his effort.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said as I stepped into my classroom.

  Two students stared back at me: Denise and Brie. I checked my watch as I unshouldered my satchel and dropped it onto my desk. I wasn’t that late.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “We didn’t think you’d come,” Denise said.

  I squinted at the young woman before realizing there must have been something in the paper about my injuries. “Oh, that. No, no, I’m fine.” I flexed my right knee a couple of times to show her.

  “Is it true?” Brie asked.

  The words seemed to tremble past her lips. I set my leg back down and studied her again. Was I missing something? The two young women were among my more enthusiastic students—both added after the ghoul operation—but now their faces were taut and pale.

  “Is what true?” I asked.

  Denise took a folded newspaper from her bag and pushed it to the edge of her desk as though it were an explosive device. I broke my rule by looking at it and nearly choked at what I saw.

  Above the side column that featured my headshot was a single-word headline:

  TRAITOR

  I lifted the paper from her desk and unfolded it. For a dizzying moment, I was in my mother’s staggering, bleeding body with that word, that awful word, being hurled at me from all sides.

  NEW YORK - Everson Croft, the wizard consultant to Mayor Lowder’s ambitious eradication program, gave faulty information that led to the slaughter of three dozen NYPD officers, a credible source claims. The men lost their lives in last night’s operation to clear the southern end of Central Park.

  “Croft knew the Hundred would be overwhelmed by creatures,” the source, who asked to remain anonymous, said. “Which was why he underestimated the threat. He wanted the operation to fail, and fail spectacularly.”

  According to Police Commissioner Warren, the operation did not fail, thanks to the decisive actions of Captain Lance Cole. “He made the right call, meeting the overwhelming force with attack helicopters and napalm,” Warren said. “Indeed, Cole may be the only reason the Hundred wasn’t reduced to zero.”

  As for Croft’s motive, the anonymous source said the wizard is secretly working for the city’s banking class.

  “With Mayor Lowder close to securing the federal bailout, the city will no longer be in the thrall of the big firms,” the source said. “The firms know this. They’re fighting it. They need the mayor to lose his reelection bid, which means denying him any success. Croft was a plant to that end.”

  Though the large firms, including Chillington Capital, have contributed millions to Lowder’s opponent, the source declined to speculate on whether Abby Azonka knew of the arrangement.

  “But there’s something Azonka should know,” the source said. “She’s accepting money from vampires, and I don’t mean the figurative kind. Let’s just say not all of the city’s creatures hide underground.”

  When asked whether Croft was one such creature, the source said, “No, but he might as well be.”

  The mayor’s office declined to comment on the story, declaring it under investigation.

  In the meantime, the city is planning a dedication for the slain officers today at noon, and…

  I returned the paper to Denise and stepped slowly backwards until I was leaning against my desk. The room revolved around me. “…bad information … wanted the operation to fail … a plant…” My two students looked on worriedly as I swallowed a surge of liquor and bile.

  Last night Cole had said the mayor was meeting with advisors to determine the next step. Was this what the fae had come up with? Was this their solution to the bungled operation? To throw me under the bus?

  Impossible, I thought. Caroline would never let that happen.

  But was it impossible? Given the insinuations against Budge’s opponent, the anonymous source had clearly come from the mayor’s office. And Caroline’s allegiance was to the fae now, to securing the portal in lower Manhattan. In the eyes of her race, the fate of someone like me meant nothing.

  Hence, Caroline’s warnings, I realized.

  But why make me a traitor? Why link me to the bankers?

  Because the portal is located in vampire territory.

  Securing Federal Hall, the building in which the lower portal was housed, was only half the battle for the fae. The other half was them being able to come and go as they needed. The vampires may have been making that difficult, demanding a hefty tribute or something. The solution? Poison my name to mitigate any political fallout from the operation and then put me in league with the vampire bankers, thus poisoning them too.

  Two birds, meet one stone.

  I raised my gaze to the students. “No,” I answered. “It’s not true.”

  Denise let out a relieved laugh. “We knew it.”

  Brie drew a finger through the mascara-tinted tears forming beneath her eyes. Her voice hitched as she spoke. “It’s just, you’re our favorite teacher, and—and—and everyone was talking like you’d done these horrible things. And—and we just refused to believe it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, digging into my pocket and handing her a clean handkerchief. “That’s really nice of you. Both of you. Class will be cancelled until we can get this sorted out.”

  I spoke calmly, but my mind was scrambling like a spider. I needed to get out of here, needed to get to a phone. I would call Vega, even Budge—someone who could tell me what in the hell was going on.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Denise asked.

  “Maybe don’t mention I was here?” I suggested.

  Denise and Brie nodded as though taking solemn vows. That would help, anyway. As they collected their bags, I slung my satchel over a shoulder and retrieved my cane. I would go out the way I came in, don the sunglasses and beard to disguise me from a public that wanted my head on a pike, and go straight to a payphone.

  Someone cleared his throat.

  I spun toward the doorway. At first I saw only the backs of my departing students, but w
hen they stepped around a diminutive figure in a bowtie and three-piece suit, my heart plummeted into my stomach.

  “Going somewhere?” my department chair asked.

  “Professor Snodgrass,” I said, then thought, please tell me you didn’t read this morning’s paper.

  His triumphant grin suggested otherwise. “What did I tell you?” He took a jaunty step into the room. “I said this wasn’t over, that I was going to be watching you. It appears I had good reason, Croft.”

  “It’s Professor Croft,” I answered testily.

  “Not anymore.” He stepped inside the room. “You’re suspended.”

  “Based on an anonymous allegation?” I snorted. “We’ll see what the board has to say about that.”

  “Oh, the board’s spoken.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a crisp white envelope. I searched Snodgrass’s face for a lie as I stood my cane against my desk. I opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. It was a suspension order, signed by Chairman Cowper.

  “Effective immediately,” Snodgrass said, stepping to my side.

  My face smoldered at his undisguised glee. “I can read.”

  “Oh, and there’s more.”

  “What, you’re an admitted cross-dresser?”

  Hands clasped behind his back, Snodgrass gave a forbearing smile. “Hold onto that humor, Mr. Croft. You’re going to need it where you’re going.” He turned his face toward the door and called, “You can come in now.”

  Three bulky NYPD officers pushed into the room. I recognized them as members of the Hundred. One led with a pistol. The other two wielded black batons. Loathing creased their faces.

  “It’s a lie,” I told them.

  “Everson Croft,” the lead officer growled. “You’re under arrest for treason and accessory to mass murder.”

  Snodgrass retreated past the officers. “For the record, the college stands firmly with the NYPD. Use whatever force you deem justifiable, men. Rest assured, there will be no one here to witness it.”

  Without taking my gaze from the advancing officers, I unshouldered my satchel, reached for where I’d set my cane—and swiped air. When Snodgrass turned and stepped into the hallway I saw that he’d hidden my cane behind his back. That son of a… Grinning, he balanced my cane on an index finger and closed the door behind him. I retrained my focus on the advancing officers and tried to summon my wizard’s voice.

  “Look guys,” I stammered, “you need to let me explain.”

  “Explain it to Charlie Dumars,” the lead officer said, his voice low and steely. “Or how about Eddie Gleeson, Don Whitley, T Bone Jones. Explain it to the thirty-two others you murdered.”

  “I underestimated the threat,” I admitted, backing away from them. “I screwed up. But not in the way it’s being spun.”

  “Shut him up,” the lead officer ordered.

  The two flanking officers raised their batons and rushed forward.

  22

  Raw energy crackling against my prism, I aimed my palms toward the advancing officers, squinted my eyes—and at the last second, covered my head. Without my cane, I didn’t have control. I could maim the officers, or worse. God knew, I didn’t need more dead NYPD on my conscience. And it would make me look guilty, putting the remaining officers in the city on shoot-to-kill orders.

  I would take my lumps, play possum, and then determine a non-lethal way out of this.

  I squinted up as the officers descended on me.

  Maybe easier said than done.

  The first baton blow cracked my right forearm, the pain shooting all the way to my shoulder. The second baton caught me across the diaphragm. The air left my lungs in a nauseating grunt. I dropped to my knees and folded over, arms wrapping my head.

  The batons rained down on my back in deep, thudding blows.

  Stay conscious, Everson, I thought through gritted teeth.

  “Stop!” a woman shouted.

  The blows tapered, then ceased. I fell to my side, my body one big, throbbing slab of pain. I could hear the officers breathing heavily as limping footsteps entered the classroom.

  “I want three minutes with him,” the woman said, “then he’s all yours again.”

  I looked up, half-expecting to see a recovered Penny, but I found Detective Vega instead. Hardly a whew moment. Vega glared down at me, her lips a trembling line.

  When the officers didn’t move, she barked, “Alone.”

  The sharpness of the command got them moving. They filed out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them.

  “Oh, c’mon,” I grunted through the pain. “You don’t believe that horseshit in the paper.”

  “You don’t speak unless I tell you to.” She drew her pistol and aimed it at my head. “On your feet.”

  “Apparently you do,” I muttered.

  “I’m not going to ask you again,” she said.

  “Oh, was that a request?”

  Using the seat of a nearby desk, I pushed myself to one knee and then up to my feet. Amoeba-like spots swam over my vision. When they receded, Vega had stepped closer. She was wearing one of her all-black suits, a metal brace bracketing her right knee. Her knuckles were white around her pistol grip. I’d seen her angry before, but this seemed different, worse.

  “You’re a fucking liar,” she said.

  “Do I have permission to speak now?”

  “You told me you weren’t working with the blood-suckers, and you’re neck deep in them.”

  “Your proof?”

  “And I’m the one who vouched for you, you piece of shit.”

  “Exactly,” I said, anger breaking through my voice. “So how in the hell could I be a plant?”

  “I swear to God, I could kill you right now.”

  “Really?” I staggered back from her thrusting pistol, my palms showing. I glanced past her to my classroom door, where the officers were peering in through the mesh window. I half considered waving the three inside to resume beating me—I liked my chances better with them—but with my next stumbling step backwards, I was beyond their view.

  “I’d be doing this city a favor,” Vega went on.

  “You’re a detective,” I said. “Exercise some logic, for Christ’s sake. If I’d wanted the Hundred decimated, why did I risk my neck to get them out of the park? Why would I—”

  “Shut up!” she shouted. But her eyes were suddenly out of sync with her voice. They seemed to soften as they cut to my right.

  “Huh?”

  “Shut it, I said!” Louder, and with the same eye motion.

  I peeked over my shoulder. The window. Vega had steered me into the corner and out of sight of the officers for a reason. When I looked back at her, she nodded once, eyes insistent. I reached back and thumbed the latch open. That she didn’t shoot told me I’d read her intentions correctly.

  “You don’t get it!” she shouted, clearly for the officers to hear. “You’re scum to me! You’re nothing!”

  “Thank you,” I said, and slid the window up.

  “I can buy you a minute,” she whispered. “No more.”

  I threw a leg out and, ducking beneath the raised window, brought the other leg out until I was sitting on the sill. I looked down at the one-story drop into an alley that ran behind the college.

  “Vega, I…”

  “Don’t make me regret this,” she whispered, and gave me a shove.

  I plummeted the ten feet, arms pinwheeling. The instant my feet contacted ground, I folded my knees and crashed onto my side. Despite the pain, I was up quickly. I tilted my face to where Vega resumed yelling at the spot where I’d been standing, carrying on the charade.

  She was risking a lot to give me a head start, God love her.

  I took off at a shambling run down the alleyway. I needed to make every second count.

  Paces from breaking out onto Forty-fifth Street I realized my disguise was still in my pocket. I stuttered to a stop, strapped the dark-brown beard around my head, and pushed on my sunglasses. I th
en peered around the corner. Several police cruisers were parked along the side of the college. More would be rushing in soon. I needed a better disguise.

  I spotted an aging wino squatting in the alcove of a shuttered business, flies buzzing around his fishing hat. Despite the summer heat, he was wrapped in a dirty brown topcoat. Bingo. I just hoped he’d socked away enough brain cells to perform a simple transaction.

  “Hey,” I said, jogging towards him.

  The rim of his stained fishing hat tilted up, and a whiskered face squinted from the shade.

  “How much for the hat and coat?” I asked.

  “How much ya got?” he asked back.

  “How about a twenty?” I fished the bill from my wallet.

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Seriously?” I said, looking at the soiled articles. “That’s being very generous.”

  “What? I’m supposed to jump up and shuck my duds at the first whiff of money? I’ve got more dignity than that. Besides,” he said, his eyes taking on a dangerous intelligence, “I know that panting voice. You’re on the run, my friend. Meaning I’m not just providing you goods, but a service.”

  “Service?”

  “You don’t want me to squeal to the boys in blue, do you? Give them an up-to-date description?” He winked as a yellow smile appeared inside his whiskers. “So let me ask you again. How much ya got?”

  I swore as I leafed through my wallet. “One-forty,” I muttered.

  He snatched the sheaf of bills, stuffed them away, and then shed his coat with exaggerated care. I looked over my shoulder, an anxious pressure ballooning my bladder. My minute was almost up.

  “C’mon, already,” I said, shifting from one foot to the other.

  The man stood and insisted on helping me into the coat—an act he also performed as if he had all week. Finally, he pried his hat from an oily pile of hair and pressed it down over my head.

  He looked me up and down. “Out of this world!”

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same,” I said, but referring to the coat’s god-awful stench. “Hey, could you see it in your heart to give me back a twenty? I don’t have anything for cab fare.”