The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Brad Magnarella (ink book reader txt) 📖

That’ll be Vega, wanting her bullets.

I twisted the Bunsen burner to a low blue flame, checked the pager, and then left the unit, moving the padlock to the outside hasp and snapping it closed behind me.

Dusk had settled over the city by the time I stepped out onto the street. It took several blocks of wandering through the bombed-out neighborhood—the last place Moretti’s men would think to look for me—before I found a working payphone.

“Did you get them?” Vega asked without preamble.

“Two boxes’ worth,” I replied. “What’s up?”

“We’re going down tonight.”

“Into the storm lines?”

“No, Funky Town,” she said in exasperation. “Yes, the storm lines.”

“Well, look. Arnaud gave us another lead.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, some administrator at a boarding school.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, just that it’s someone we would be interested in talking to.”

“Where is this school?”

“Out on Long Island.” I cringed before adding, “Hauppauge.”

“Forget it,” she said.

The finality in her voice was what I’d feared. “Why?”

“He’s playing us.”

“I don’t know… That visit to Sonny’s could well lead to something. I mean, the man did turn out to be a vampire.”

“The only thing it’s leading us down is a false trail.”

“I just think—”

“Forget it,” Vega repeated. “Where can I pick up the bullets?”

I thought desperately. Arnaud wasn’t dumb. The second his blood slaves observed us descending into a drain, even a drain blocks from Ferguson Towers, he would guess what we were up to. Which would mean I hadn’t kept up my end of the deal. Vega’s child would be snatched—or worse.

“I’ll bring them to you,” I said finally.

“When?”

“Give me an hour?”

“Fine, but no more.”

I hung up. I had bought some time, anyway. I turned from the phone and made my way around months-old trash piles back toward the apartment. A few blocks to the north, I could make out the silhouettes of ghouls in a roving pack. Before they could pick up my scent, I broke into a run.

I was going to love my new neighborhood.

“About time,” Vega said with a huff.

“Yeah, sorry.” I set the boxes of ammo on her desk. “Had a hard time catching a cab.”

She wasted no time opening the top box, inspecting the ammo, and loading the silver bullets into her service pistol. I patted my waistband and pockets. Damn. Still not used to carrying a gun, I’d left my own at the East Village apartment. I eyed Vega’s black body armor. A helmet with a headlamp sat on one end of her desk.

“So you’re really serious about this,” I said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just think we should give it another day. Check out the other lead first.”

“You’re doing it again,” she said without looking up.

“Doing what?”

“Squirming.” She checked her loaded weapon and holstered it.

“I’ve already told you, I can’t help you down there.”

“Who said anything about you going down?”

I stared at her. “Come again?”

“Do you think I’d put a civilian consultant in that kind of danger?” She gave a sharp laugh. “My new role is under enough scrutiny as it is.”

“You’re planning on going down alone?”

“Not alone.”

At that moment, Hoffman came waddling into the office in his own set of body armor. His eyes widened briefly when they met mine.

“Surprised to see me?” I asked.

“Disgusted is more like it.” He fidgeted with his Kevlar vest.

“Thanks for the alibi, by the way.”

“What are you talking about?” Vega asked.

“Do you want to tell her?” I asked Hoffman.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he said. “Couple of Moretti’s men wanted to know what time I picked up Dumbledore here last night. Told ’em I couldn’t remember.”

“You told them a hell of a lot more than that,” I said. “Including that Vega couldn’t be trusted.”

“Moretti’s men?” Vega’s eyebrows crushed down. This was going to be good. “You’re talking to Moretti’s men?”

“Naw,” Hoffman said. “I mean, it’s not a regular thing or nothing. Like I said, they—”

“Listen here.” Vega drew herself up in front of him. “If I hear you’re talking with Moretti’s men—or any of the bosses’ meat heads—I will personally walk you to internal affairs and see that your ass never wears the NYPD shield again. They might have worked their slimy tentacles into other units, but I’ll be goddamned if they’re going to infiltrate mine. Are we clear?”

“Sure,” Hoffman said, scratching his nose. “Geez.”

When he glanced over at me, I showed him my smuggest smile. There was a lot more I could have told Vega, but watching him being upbraided was worth it for now.

“So are we going or what?” Hoffman grumbled.

Vega glowered at him another moment before turning to collect her helmet.

“Guys,” I said. “There’s, ah, one other thing I need to do before you set out.”

“What?” Vega demanded.

“It’s a ritual of protection. Sort of a magical layer of armor against whatever you might encounter down there.”

“I don’t frigging believe this,” Hoffman groaned.

I was already sprinkling a circle of copper filings over the floor.

“Is a ritual really necessary?” Vega asked, eyeing the symbol skeptically.

I nodded. Yeah, but not for the reason I’m telling you. I stepped into the circle and, ensuring I had a view of the security monitors in the main room, gestured for Vega and Hoffman to join me.

“If this is some kind of trap…” Vega said.

“I swear on everything I hold dear, it’s not. Besides, I would be stuck inside it too.”

Vega looked at me another moment, eyes narrowing, before stepping into the circle. She turned to her partner. “Hoffman,” she ordered.

Still smarting from his dressing down, he muttered and joined us.

“In close,” I said. “Arms around each others’ waists.”

Hoffman leaned away. “You serious?”

“Do it,” Vega said, slipping her arm behind me.

“Can’t you see he’s playing us?” Hoffman said.

On the matter of holding waists, I was, actually. That part was completely unnecessary for the spell to work. I pulled Hoffman up against me and gave the fat roll on his far side a little pinch.

“All right,” I said. “You might get swimmy-headed, but that’ll pass.”

I spoke a Word to close the