Black Luck (Prof Croft Book 5)

by Brad Magnarella

I actually hadn’t thought of that, but of course she could. Hell, I’d welcome some of that fae-style magic in my corner.

  “That should do it,” Claudius said. “If anything else comes up, let us know right away. Keep up the good work.”

  Harried or not, the last words placated me as I hung up. But still, who in the hell was Pierce to screw with my alarm system? And without telling me? It made me wonder how many other calls he’d intervened in over the past year. There had been a few stretches of little to no action, which I’d thought unusual.

  “Well, two can play at that game,” I muttered, patting my coat pocket that held the infernal bag.

  Though I was anxious to begin testing the bag, I had shot my payload back at Mr. Han’s to disperse the smoke golem. My power needed time to recharge. When Tabitha’s milk began to steam, I poured it into a bowl and swapped it for the empty one beside her divan. The smell roused her.

  “Thanks, darling,” she said in a languid voice.

  She willed herself to stand and stretch before thudding to the floor. As I returned to the kitchen with the empty bowl, I thought about calling the Order with an update on the afternoon’s attack. But I was bothered by the fact the mayor’s office had never called back.

  I picked up the phone, intending to dial Budge’s office, but decided to call Vega first. I wanted to see how the rest of last night had gone. I was also curious whether there were any new developments in the case.

  “Hey,” she answered in a tired voice.

  “Sounds like someone needs a cuddle.”

  Vega was a lot of things, but a cuddler was not among them. She snorted. “Is that why you called?”

  “I actually called to see how you’re doing.”

  “Well, it took till after midnight to wrap up the scene, then I was back at it early this morning, interviewing friends and families of the victims. Also the theater owner and employees.”

  “For a random attack?”

  “Even if it looks random we still have to rule out the perp targeting the location or someone inside. I mean, they knew about the loose brick in the wall as a place to hide that bag.”

  “Good point. Speaking of bags, I found another one.”

  “You did? Where?”

  I told her about my visit to Mr. Han’s, how a man had bought a large quantity of devil’s ear, paid Mr. Han to remain silent, and then mined his store with an infernal bag to be sure. I played down the encounter with the smoke golem just enough so she wouldn’t worry, but that battle had not been easy. And I hadn’t liked what the golem said about adapting to my powers.

  Vega blew out her breath. “So there are more bags out there.”

  “Yeah. Any hits with the interviewees?”

  “None of the vics seem to have had any of the usual enemies. The theater did fire someone several months back for stealing from the register, but she doesn’t look like a hot lead. To be safe, we’re getting a warrant for her place. Should have the judge’s sig by this afternoon.”

  In cases of suspected magic use, I’d instructed Vega on what kinds of books and items to look for during a search. “I’d be happy to tag along,” I offered, even though it sounded like a dead end. But it would give my magic time to recharge. I could also start addressing the absentee issue Vega had raised last night. “I just have this meeting with Budge I’ll need to work around. He wants to talk about the case. In fact, I was just about to call over there to see if he’d scheduled a time yet.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Everson, the meeting just ended.”

  “What meeting? With the mayor?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “How was I supposed to know if no one told me?”

  “Pierce was there. I figured you’d sent him so you could—”

  “Pierce was there?” I interrupted. “Pierce?”

  “Why are you raising your voice at me,” she demanded.

  I forced a steadying breath through my nose as I worked out what had happened. During my visit with Pierce, I had mentioned the meeting with the mayor. As soon as I left, he must have called his office and scheduled himself in my place. That fucking rat.

  “What did he say?”

  “Everson, what’s going on?”

  “What did Pierce say?” I repeated.

  “I want you to talk to me.”

  “And I want you to tell me what he said.”

  She sighed. “He mostly listened, but he told the mayor he’d be working closely with the NYPD and that we’d have a suspect shortly.”

  “Did he say he would be working with the police department, or we?”

  “He, but I’m sure he meant both of you.”

  I shook my head and swore through clenched teeth. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Okay, Everson, what’s this all—” She stopped as an explanation dawned on her. “Are you jealous of Pierce?”

  “No, I’m not jealous of Pierce,” I said. “But this is the second time he’s…” I almost said invaded my turf before realizing that would sound exactly like jealousy. “…encroached on my responsibilities. I’m getting a little sick of it. The next time he shows up somewhere like that, I want you to tell me. You know what? Forget it. I’m going to call him right now.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “I think I’m showing incredible restraint. I’ll call you later.”

  My heart was slamming my sternum when I thumbed the phone’s switch hook and dug Pierce’s pretty little card out of my pocket. I dialed the number with hard strokes and waited.

  “Pierce Dalton’s office,” Sora answered.

  “I need to talk to him. Is he in?”

  “May I ask who—”

  “Everson Croft.”

  “Hello, Mr. Croft. No, I’m sorry, he’s out right now.”

  “Does he have a cell number?”

  “He prefers all communications to go through me.”

  “Even in emergencies?”

  “Is that what this is?”

  Instead of answering, I said, “Tell him to call me right away. I mean that. I don’t care what he’s doing.”

  “Sure … I’ll pass on the message.”

  I hung up and paced the room. My temples were pounding and my stomach felt sick. Tabitha, who had already lapped up her milk, watched me from her perch with sullen eyes.

  “Not a word,” I warned.

  “Don’t worry. I’m content observing your unraveling from afar.”

  I was about to shoot back, but she was right. I was unraveling.

  “Where’s my book? It better not be back under the divan.”

  “Relax. It’s over there.”

  I followed her lifted paw to the sofa, where half of Magical Me was sticking out between the cushion and armrest. I snatched it out, flipped it open at my chest, and resumed pacing.

  You need to relax, Everson, I told myself. Reestablish your center.

  I took a breath and began whispering the first fill-in-the blank aspiration. “I will do something every day toward becoming a better wizard. That’s the only way I will develop into my best wizard.”

  Tabitha scoffed softly.

  I glared at her, then tried again, but the affirmation wasn’t helping. I couldn’t stop myself from replaying Pierce’s little digs in my mind. And then there was the going behind my back, boxing me out of my own city. I pictured him at the mayor’s meeting with his cool blue eyes and know-it-all smile.

  With a cry, I flung Magical Me across the room. I then grabbed my cane and hit the book with a force invocation for good measure. In an explosion of pages, Magical Me leapt fifteen feet and landed in a mangled pile. I panted as I watched the torn pages flutter down around it.

  “Have you gone mad, darling?” Tabitha asked with wide eyes and the hint of a grin.

  I ignored her and stalked to my bedroom. The only thing that was going to make me my best anything was finding and defeating the mage before
Pierce could. I pounded on the closed door.

  “Gretchen!” I called.

  I heard her snort and then stir on my bed.

  “I’m ready to begin training!”

  13

  “All right, all right,” Gretchen called back. “Hold your horses.”

  I heard the bed shift some more followed by the sounds of slippered feet shuffling around the room. For the next couple of minutes, Gretchen alternately hacked and grumbled. By the time she opened the door, she’d put on a floral housedress and touched up her face. I glimpsed an array of open suitcases behind her, their former contents draped and slung everywhere. Clothes of mine that had been in my dresser stood in piles on the floor, while the top of the dresser had been converted into a messy makeup counter.

  “So you’re raring to go, huh?” Gretchen said, closing the door behind her. “Where were you earlier?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. After the meeting, I wanted to get a jump on a case I’m working. It took longer than I thought.”

  She leaned toward me and sniffed twice. “Black magic?”

  “Someone’s casting through infernal bags and creating smoke golems. I managed to get ahold of one of the bags, actually.” I started to dig into my pocket for it. “Maybe you could—”

  “Let me stop you right there,” she interrupted. “I’m here to train you, not play mentor to your current project. You know, the wise hag who gives you cryptic clues that sound like nonsense until the final act when you’re staring death in the face, and then—whammo!—a flashbulb goes off, all those clues make perfect sense, and you save the day?”

  “Not quite what I had in mind.”

  “Anyway, I shouldn’t have to tell you not to noodle with an infernal bag. That’s just stupid.”

  I felt my face grow warm. “Fine, forget the bag. I was just thinking that the best way to go about the training might be to align it with something I’m already working on. You know, applied learning.” Plus, I could really use her power and expertise to outmaneuver Pierce.

  But she folded her thick arms across her body. “Who’s doing the teaching here, me or you?”

  “You,” I said meekly.

  She nodded. “Maybe you’re not as hopeless as you look.”

  “Hopeless?”

  “Let’s have another gander at you.”

  She began circling me, lips pursed, one eyebrow cocked in critical assessment. When she’d made one revolution, she started muttering about me in third person. “His wards are rubbish … Didn’t give me much of a fight last night. And what about his aura?” She shook her head. “All over the map. Small wonder he can’t handle electronics. Oh, look—there’s his debauched companion.” She poked my belly button. A small charge detonated through me and hit Thelonious. I felt him rumble, then sink his hooks into my soul more deeply, stealing my breath for a moment.

  “Is there a point to this?” I demanded when I’d recovered.

  Gretchen seemed to be echoing Pierce’s criticisms, only more pointedly. And she wasn’t done.

  “Behold his famous luck quotient,” she muttered, circling behind me again. “Wow, that is a big one … He should have been maimed or killed at least a dozen times by now.”

  At last she stopped in front of me and extended her right hand. I took it uncertainly.

  “Congratulations on still being alive.” She gave my hand a pair of hard pumps. “That’s about the best I can say.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re going to be a real project. Hurts my head even thinking about it. I guess the first thing I should ask is what you want.”

  I didn’t hesitate. “To solve this case.”

  But she was shaking her head. “No, Everson. Big picture. What do you want as a magic-user? I don’t want to hear about your case again.”

  “But Claudius said you could help.”

  “That’s because Claudius is a senile idiot. Why do you think he’s stuck answering phones?”

  I considered that.

  “I want you to listen to me because I’m only going to say this once,” she continued. “I’ve been in the faerie realm for the last twenty of your years, which is like a jillion years over there. The fae don’t care for humans, and frankly, neither do I.”

  I thought about the pact Caroline had made to help me out the year before, a pact that had meant sacrificing her feelings for me. A distant sadness brushed my heart. I wondered how her princess life with Angelus was going.

  “I’m mostly human myself, but what can I say?” Gretchen went on. “Their realm has a way of rubbing off on you. I’m not going to apologize for that. The fae have their shit together a lot better than we do. But back to my point. I don’t care about your case. Not how important it is, not who it affects, not how I can help. I have a finite amount of energy, and I’m going to apportion it in equal amounts to keeping myself comfortable and to your training. That was my agreement with the Order. So I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

  I cleared my throat. “To become a great mage, like my father.”

  “What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  “You asked me what I wanted,” I said defensively.

  “Yeah, and you gave me the worst answer imaginable. You’re not auditioning for a role in a television movie. Seriously, what am I supposed to do with an answer like that? Tap my feet, throw my arms out, and cry, ‘Hallelujah, I declare you great!’ Steps, Everson. What can we accomplish today, this week, this month? Not in a thousand years.”

  “You really think it’s going to take that long?”

  She leveled her gaze at me. “What do you want?”

  “To, um, become more capable?”

  “Still too general.”

  “Double my current casting capacity?”

  “Give me one goal, Everson. One, specific goal.”

  “Well, since everyone and their mother keeps bringing it up,” I said irritably, “how about my luck quotient?”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t want to depend on it anymore.”

  I braced for another round of goal-jousting, but Gretchen stood back and grunted. “I can work with that.”

  “Yeah?” I said, recovering my enthusiasm. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  I squinted at her. “Can I ask why?”

  “I’m not gonna sneak a kiss. Though I won’t lie, I’m tempted.”

  I did as she said, wondering if this was meant to be some sort of trust-building exercise. I could hear her breathing in front of me. Then the door to my bedroom opened, followed by the sound of Gretchen walking away and digging around. A minute passed, then another.

  “All right, you can open them.”

  When I did, I saw that she’d put on a coat and a red bucket hat with plastic flowers. She was carrying a wire shopping cart.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “I’m going somewhere. Your kitchen’s not going to stock itself. A person would starve inside a day living here.” She walked past me.

  “Um … okay. So we’ll finish up when you get back?”

  She stopped and blinked at me. “Finish up what?”

  “The day’s lesson.”

  She waved a hand. “Oh, the lesson is done.”

  “Done? But … we haven’t accomplished anything.”

  “Patience, Everson. Ha! Now there’s some mentorly advice.”

  I watched dumbfounded as Gretchen opened the front door, adjusted her hat, and then walked out, slamming the door behind her. Prolonged exposure to the faerie realm could drive a person mad. Figured. After almost twelve years, I finally get a real instructor, and she’s fae touched.

  Tabitha stirred on the divan. “What’s the Order’s return policy on teachers?” she asked.

  “Exactly what I was wondering.”

  14

  With my plan to enlist Gretchen’s help a complete bust, I taped together my Magical
Me book and climbed to my library/lab to find out what I could about the infernal bag. Fae touched or not, Gretchen had actually been right. Infernal bags shouldn’t be messed with. But the magic in my specimen had all but expired, making it less dangerous. And, yeah, I was desperate.

  That didn’t mean I had to be stupid, though.

  I removed the stuffed leather pouch from my pocket, placed it on the iron table, and sprinkled a small circle of copper filings around it. Aiming my cane, I incanted until the circle glowed with protective power. I did the same to a second circle inset in the floor, the circle I would be casting from. Those were the standard precautions, but I didn’t stop there.

  From beneath the table, I pulled out a bin full of potions. One of my projects this past year had been to pre-mix an assortment of them, right up to the brink of the potions becoming active. Now when I needed one, I only had to perform the final steps. Hours of prep reduced to minutes.

  I chose a bottle labeled “Slick Willie,” poured the thick gray liquid into a pot, and placed it on the portable burner. Chanting, I stirred the potion with my engraved wooden spoon. I watched the potion turn thin and green and begin to steam. Another minute and…

  Done.

  I snapped off the burner and, taking the pot by the handle, tipped it to my lips. Most potions tasted awful, and this one was no exception—especially since it had spent a few months in storage. I forced the entire concoction down, then leaned my arms against the table to allow it to settle in my stomach.

  Within moments, my palms slid forward as if the table had been greased. The potion was taking effect. I stepped back into my casting circle and examined my hands. An oily film was beading from my pores. I could feel the same thing happening over the rest of my body, toes squishing inside my shoes. But the physical manifestations were only byproducts of the potion’s intent: to keep one’s soul from being grabbed.

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and reorienting myself to the bag.

  I had to use both hands to lift the cane without it slipping in my grip, but I finally managed to aim the cane at my target.

  “Rivelare,” I said.

  The reveal spell sprung from my cane in ribbons of white light and encircled the infernal bag. Almost immediately, the pouch began to jerk. It scooted from one side of the casting circle to the other. Then it started to pooch out, as if tiny fists were beating the bag’s inside. Like most objects imbued with black magic, it didn’t want to be probed.