“Yoo-hoo!”
You’re kidding me, I thought with a groan.
I looked over to see Gretchen prancing toward us, this time in blue capri pants and a striped shirt. She’d pinned an actual sailor’s hat atop her tied-back hair, and an airy red scarf fluttered around her neck.
“What are the odds of running into you here?” she panted happily as she arrived. “Well, Enzo and I are finally off on our travels. In fact, we’re on our way to the pier now.” She nodded at her boyfriend, who was standing in another suit and broad-rimmed fedora, his arms loaded with suitcases.
“Our boat leaves in thirty minutes.”
“And your route just happened to take you through Central Park?” I asked dryly.
“Unless of course someone thinks I shouldn’t go,” she continued, ignoring me. “In fact, now would be the time to tell me.”
She looked pointedly at Bree-yark, who was glancing between her and Enzo. But like me, he seemed to be noticing something off about Gretchen’s boyfriend. Standing in full sun, his proportions didn’t seem quite right. And why was she always keeping him at a distance?
When the wind picked up, I angled my cane and released a force invocation just strong enough to send the fedora toppling from his head. A monstrous face with a jutting jaw appeared, causing Gretchen to turn with a start. She snapped her fingers, restoring the hat to his head, but Bree-yark had already seen enough.
“Enzo’s a … shaved bugbear?” he asked.
“Why, of course not!” Gretchen replied with a nervous laugh. “Where did you ever get that silly notion? He’s an amazing, adventurous man, who—”
I displaced his hat a second time, causing the bugbear to go lumbering after it. Suitcases trailed behind him, many of them coming open. All were empty.
With a cry of frustration, Gretchen replaced the hat again and strengthened the enchantment she’d been using to control the fae creature. He stopped and knelt, recovering the luggage like a proper gentleman. But it was too late. Bree-yark was snorting laughter, and I was doing my best not to join him.
Gretchen wheeled on us, eyes wide. I feared the worst, but more mortified than outraged, she snapped her fingers and, in twin flashes, disappeared along with her bugbear prop. She didn’t even bother with the luggage.
“I suspect that will be the end of that,” I said.
“I don’t know what just happened,” Mae remarked, wiping her hands off and turning to Bree-yark, “but one thing’s become clear. Either you’re not ready to make an honest woman of me, or you’re too scared to ask. So I’m going to make this as easy as possible. Yes. Now all you have to do is supply the question.”
Bree-yark looked over at me, eyes bright with panic.
I nodded fervently and made a bandage-ripping gesture across my arm.
He turned back to her. “Will you m-marry me?” he stammered.
Laughing, she shook his ear and kissed his cheek. “I just told you.”
Bree-yark released a surprised chortle, the brightness in his eyes softening to a diffuse in-love-ness. Standing, he bowed low before Mae, then helped her to her feet, in full control of himself once more.
“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, “my fiancée and I are going to take a walk. We have a future to discuss.”
“Congratulations, you two,” Vega called.
“I think he’ll forgive us,” I decided, as he escorted her away.
Vega was agreeing when my phone vibrated. It was a text from Trevor of the Sup Squad.
I know we’re done with the Sven business but I got a message from the tech who was working on his facial recognition match. Nothing came up, but he got a few close hits based on morphology. Thought I’d send one along. Congrats on cracking the triple homicide. Hope to work with you again soon.
An image was uploading, but it was going to take a few minutes on my primitive device.
There hadn’t been any matches because Sven had never existed here, something I’d yet to explain to Trevor. I was snapping the phone closed when a prickling rush of magic told me someone was watching. Off to the right, I spotted a shadowy figure hanging out near the edge of the trees.
“Well, speak of the devil.”
“Is that Sven?” Vega asked.
“Yeah, I left him a message at our spot telling him we’d be here.” I waved him over, but he shook his head and waved for me to come to him instead.
“He’s not still afraid of me, is he?” she asked.
I’d finally told Vega about encountering her shadow, how she’d tried to apprehend me for the murders and discharged her weapon at Sven. She’d only asked a couple questions before dropping it. She said she needed to get used to the idea of a living, breathing version of herself existing elsewhere. I didn’t mention her shadow’s marital status. Probably because I would never get used to that.
“No, I think this is something else,” I said. “Will you be all right for a couple minutes?”
“I will if you drag Mae’s basket over here.” She patted her belly. “We’re ready for seconds.”
I did as she asked, kissed her, and was about to join Sven when I remembered something I’d been meaning to ask.
“Oh, hey, what did Larry and his wife get us for our wedding?”
“The private box for the Mets game on Memorial Day,” she said. “Why?”
I snapped my fingers. Damn. “Because I told him we’d used their gift ‘a few times.’”
Vega shook her head as I left and jogged over to where Sven was waiting. Despite the warm weather, he was wearing gray jeans and a long-sleeve hoodie shirt, the straps of his pack hugging his narrow shoulders.
“Hey, buddy,” I said as I arrived in front of him. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. Why don’t you join us?”
“Nah, I’m good.” But he was blinking his dark eyes nervously. “I promised I’d tell you my real name when this was over.”
“Okay.”
“It’s Alec DeFazio, and I’m actually fifteen.”
“I guessed the fifteen part, but it’s good to meet you, Alec DeFazio.”
I shook his hand, then hesitated. DeFazio. I knew that name.
In a flash, I was back at Gowdie’s Antique Store, the hag sisters circling me as they rattled off my failed relationships. Jennifer DeFazio had been one of them, a girl I’d dated in college before she decided I wasn’t exciting enough.
My flip phone hummed, alerting me that the image of the close match had finished uploading. I opened it to find my faculty photo staring back at me.
I raised my stunned eyes to Alec.
“I’m your son,” he said.
The Doideag’s Prophecy
The cauldron speaks with foreign tongue
Of ancient wars and songs unsung.
Can a children’s love restore lost time?
Can the fleet of foot avert the crime?
Beware the shadow of many faces,
But fear the master of many places.
If ye should fail and war should come,
If seas should boil and lands should run,
Allies gather, eleven and one,
And be not afraid of thine own blood.
Wage, young mage, till your final breath,
And come night’s fall, accept your death.
Available Now!
There’s more Prof Croft coming. In the meantime, meet his good friend…
Blue Curse
(Blue Wolf, Book 1)
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Author’s Notes
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br /> If you saw that final moment coming, I salute you, because I sure didn’t. At least not when I first sat down to Shadow Duel. At some point during their graduate assistantship meeting, I heard Sven make the surprising declaration to Croft, and I knew I’d just written the ending.
Yet further proof that characters live much more interesting lives than their authors.
My research for this installment was mostly internet-based. That usually includes a perusal of the spell list on Roll20, various mythology sites, as well as interesting New York City locations. This time, I focused on the Explorer’s Club, an actual institution on East 70th Street, which is much as it’s described in the book (minus the shadow doorman and bonding potions, of course), and Track 61, where Sven hides out.
Fun fact: Track 61 was famously used by Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1944, when he gave an address at the Waldorf Astoria. Contrary to a popular myth, the car where Croft finds Sven is not FDR’s car, but lowly Baggage Car 002, which transported crane rigging throughout Grand Central before being abandoned. It housed a ghoul family for a short time before becoming Sven’s hideout.
As I write this, I have several ideas for the subsequent books—which may or may not survive first contact with the characters. (See above.) Though I can’t help but think Croft will encounter shadow Vega again. There’s a story there, and with our Vega on light duty, now seems a good time to explore it.
I have several people to thank for their help in bringing Shadow Duel into the world.
Thank you to the team at Damonza.com for designing another stellar cover. Kudos to my beta and advanced readers, including Beverly Collie, Mark Denman, Linda Ash, Erin Halbmaier, Susie Johnson, and Bob Singer, who provided valuable feedback during the writing process. And thanks to Sharlene Magnarella and Donna Rich for taking on the painstaking task of final proofing. Naturally, any errors that remain are this author’s alone.
I also want to give a shout out to James Patrick Cronin, who brings all the books in the Croftverse to life through his gifted narration on the audio editions. Those books, including samples, can be found at Audible.com.
Prof Croft 9 was written in Guanajuato, Mexico. Thanks to the owners and staff at my preferred work spots for tolerating this laptop-toting gringo and serving up excellent coffee: Café Tal, Vivo Café, and Cueva Café.
And none of this would be possible without the Strange Brigade, my dedicated fan group whose enthusiasm serves as motivation jet fuel, book after book.
Last but not least, thank you, fearless reader, for taking another ride with the Prof.
Till the next one…
Best Wishes,
Brad Magnarella
P.S. Be sure to check out my website to learn more about the Croftverse, download a pair of free prequels, and find out what’s coming! That’s all at bradmagnarella.com
Preview of Blue Curse
Blue Wolf Book 1
I watched the burqa-clad figure drift from one side of the dirt road to the other, coming nearer. She looked like a green specter through my night-vision goggles. A singing green specter. As she drew even with the compound two blocks from my position, I could hear the wavering notes rising above the clamor of the compound’s generator.
“Nice pipes,” I muttered.
Curling a finger over the trigger of my M4, I raised the rifle from the woman toward the rooftop of the cement building that stood above the compound’s high walls.
A magnified guard appeared in my sight picture. He leaned over the north side of the rooftop, an AK-47 propped against his shoulder, then called to a second guard behind him. The two peered down on the woman, unescorted and apparently drunk, out in the middle of the night. In the suburb of the conservative Waristani city, that would draw anyone’s attention.
Which was the whole point.
I centered the crosshairs on the nearer guard’s head. “Mario in sight,” I whispered into my headset.
“Roger that, Captain,” Segundo, my team sergeant and second-in-command, answered. “I have Luigi.”
“On three, two, one…”
Our M4s coughed a single round apiece, Segundo’s from three blocks away. In sprays of glowing green mist, the guards we’d nicknamed Mario and Luigi dropped from sight.
“Move,” I ordered, stepping from the corner of my building.
Four men in black camos and body armor followed me, weapons at the ready. We crossed the road and jogged the next block at a crouch, then proceeded single file along the compound’s outer wall. The woman who had distracted the guards met us. She shed her burqa and became Sergeant Calvin Parker.
The lankiest member of Team 5, Parker was the only one who could have passed for a female. I nodded at my cultural affairs officer to tell him good job. The young black man gave me a wry look as he ditched the burqa and readied his rifle and gear. He hadn’t been thrilled about the role.
I gave the signal, and two of my men dropped off to establish perimeter security. On the other side of the compound two men from the split team were doing the same. Ten feet from the compound’s north gate, my senior engineer moved to the front, pulling out C-4 charges to place on the hinges.
“Hot on the north,” he said over his radio.
“Hot on the south,” an engineer on the split team answered.
We crouched away, and both doors detonated. The hammering of the compound’s generator helped cover the dry bangs, but we needed to move fast.
I took the lead, rushing low through the smoky doorway, three men following. We were in the compound’s west outer courtyard. I spotted the two guards. They were beside a small outbuilding, fumbling their AK-47s into firing positions. We had interrupted their smoke break—one of many that aerial surveillance had shown us. Our rifles coughed. Each guard was hit at least twice before he collapsed to the ground. At the same time, suppressed shots echoed from the east courtyard. Not a single burst of answering gunfire so far.
Good. Execution is on point.
I led my team to the southern end of the courtyard where Segundo’s team was mining the metal door to the inner courtyard. The engineers cleared the blast area. Another dry bang. Segundo and I shared the lead through the acrid smoke. We were eight strong now, two members remaining behind to secure the outer courtyard.
The main building rose ahead. Light slivered around the seams of a covered window on the third floor. I was cycling through the building’s layout in my mind when the front door opened.
Segundo and I greeted the armed guard with a single shot apiece to his chest.
We stepped over his prone body and into the first floor. The rooftop generator that shuddered through the concrete building encased us in a wall of pounding, disguising the noise of our entry and movement. We had cut power to the sector an hour earlier for just that purpose.
I spotted the staircase to the second floor at the far end of a corridor, doorways opening off it. I circled a pair of fingers to remind my team of the two guards still on the floor. They appeared from a back room a moment later, armed but unaware the building had been breached. We dropped them and cleared the remaining rooms. One man remained behind while the rest of us filed up the stairs.
Two guards saw us coming onto the second floor. Our suppressed gunfire cut their alarmed cries short. A third guard poked his head from a doorway. I squeezed my trigger before he could duck back to safety. Through my night-vision, the corridor glowed green with spattered blood.
All twelve guards were now accounted for. But had their shouts penetrated the din of the generator? Only one way to find out. I signaled for two of my men to stay behind to check the rest of the floor while I led Segundo and Parker to the top level.
From the shadow of the stairwell we peered onto a narrow corridor with two closed doors. Light glowed beneath the one on the right. Beyond, I could hear the shouts of men arguing. Segundo grinned broadly. They had no idea an American Special Ops unit was at their doorstep.
After clearing the other room, we stacked on the door. I signa
led for Segundo and Parker to cover my breach. Flipping the night-vision goggles from my eyes, I seized the handle and threw the door open.
For a moment, the six men sitting around the lamp-lit room on rugs didn’t notice me. Several were arguing, the sleeves of their loose shirts and gowns shaking as they pointed accusing fingers at one another, eyes blazing above their shouting mouths. I recognized all of the men, but at the moment, I only cared about the one I had singled out with a red laser dot on his chest.
Plump with a purple vest and trim gray goatee, Zarbat was trying to restore order. He glanced up at me distractedly, then away. I could almost see the image of a massive armed man registering in his brain. His eyes worked their way back to me. One by one, the other men followed the aim of his ashen face. The shouting fell to murmurs, then died.
Zarbat peered past me, as though expecting his guards to come to his defense. Instead, he saw Segundo and Parker, the three of us holding enough firepower to liquefy the room. The men understood this. They cast nervous glances around, none of them moving or saying a word. Glass tea cups rattled on saucers, and the plywood over the window shook as the generator hammered on.
At last Zarbat licked his thick lips and tried to smile. “Jason Wolfe,” he called in his refined voice. “I didn’t realize you were coming. Have a seat. Here is the tea you like.” He reached for a pot in the middle of the gathering.
Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9) Page 26