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

then from Mr. Moretti for delivering a hit on me. I adjusted my slick grip on my revolver.

“You want to know where Caroline is?” I nodded past them. “Ask him.”

Still wary from their surprise beat-down at the pier, Floyd and Whitey chanced peeks behind them. But I wasn’t bluffing. Someone was walking up, and that someone was Angelus.

He was wearing the style of suit I’d seen him in at the gala, formal and dark, the shirt underneath his jacket open at the collar. He approached from the direction of Central Park, as though returning from a nighttime stroll—completely insane for anyone but a powerful supernatural. I squinted past him in the faint hope of seeing Caroline, but he was alone.

A half block from us, Angelus slowed, but he didn’t stop. I trained my revolver on him. Moretti’s men glanced between us, their guns still on me, but their faces now squinting with uncertainty.

Angelus drew up to within a few feet of us and stopped. “Is that Everson?”

“You know damn well who I am,” I said. “You assumed my appearance when you left the gala last night. What did you do with Caroline?”

“Caroline is fine,” he replied neutrally.

“I didn’t ask how she was. I asked what you did with her.”

“I coerced Caroline into nothing.”

Despite my cold fury, I noted the precision with which Angelus was answering my questions. The fae were master deceivers, but they couldn’t lie. “Where is she?” I asked, stepping closer, revolver pointed at his chest.

Floyd and Whitey stood off to either side, eyeing our exchange.

Angelus’s face, a handsome bronze when he had arrived, now greened a shade. He was reacting to the iron bullets in the revolver. I watched for the least sign he was preparing to cast magic.

“Where is she?” I repeated.

“Caroline is home,” Angelus said.

“Bullshit, buddy,” Floyd cut in. “Whitey and I were just over there.”

“Where’s home?” A sickness crawled around my belly as the first line of an obituary scrolled through my head: Caroline Reid was taken home to be with her Lord on the night of…

Angelus looked at the three guns aimed at him and raised his gaze to the townhouse. “It’s late, gentlemen.” His slate-blue eyes fell back to mine. “And I’m sure we all have places to be.”

“You don’t get it.” I stepped over to cut him off. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me where Caroline is and how I can reach her. Try to force your way past me, and I will shoot you. I know for a fact cold iron kills your kind, especially when it’s blown through your heart.”

“Yeah,” Floyd put in.

“You will not kill me, Everson Croft,” Angelus said calmly.

“Oh, no?” I applied pressure to the trigger.

“Your magic is weak, but I can read it like the stars. You have never used it to perform ill. And as goes the magic, so goes the man. Now if you will excuse me.” He raised a hand as though to step past me.

I fired twice. First into Whitey’s chest and then Floyd’s. They dropped like sacks to the pavement. I trained the gun back on Angelus.

“This ain’t magic.”

Angelus studied the two dead gangsters. “I do not wish to harm you, Everson.”

“That’s pretty funny, considering which end of the gun you’re standing on. I’m through screwing around. I catch even a whiff of enchantment coming off you, and you’ll be joining them.” My heart slammed harder at what I was about to ask. “Is Caroline still alive?”

“Goodnight, Everson.”

Angelus stepped past me, and I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. When I squeezed again, my revolver moved. I looked down and hollered. In the place of the revolver, a hermit crab-like creature with a black shell clung to my hand, its hairy legs pricking my skin.

I swore and tried to shake the creature off me. Angelus’s magic was so subtle I hadn’t felt the transformation. The creature hit the pavement and scuttled away into the shadows.

I wheeled and lunged for Angelus. If he reached the door, I’d lose my only lead to Caroline. My fingers touched the back of his jacket, but before I could grasp it, the material turned as slippery as a buttered pan. My fingers scrabbled against it, and I fell forward onto the sidewalk.

Angelus jogged up the steps.

Something in my pocket dug against my hip as I rolled and pushed myself to my feet.

Wait. The pager.

I reached into the pocket and gripped the casing. Cold iron. I yanked out the pager and winged it at Angelus. The pager struck him in the low back. He grunted and seized the spot with both hands as though he’d blown a lumbar disk. The pager clattered to the bottom of the steps. I picked it up mid-stride, palmed it in my right fist, and took the steps three at a time.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I said.

When Angelus twisted around, I shot the iron-loaded fist into his mouth. Something broke beneath my knuckle. He clutched my jacket. I reared back and threw another punch. The looping blow caught him behind the ear. We went over together, tumbling down the steps. When we hit the sidewalk, I straddled him and mashed the pager against his cheek.

“I want answers, goddammit,” I panted.

Angelus squinted up at me from a scraped and bleeding face that had taken on a blue hue. Though the iron was dissolving his glamour, he still bore the sharp angles and self-possession of royalty.

“Where is Caroline? And I don’t want to hear that she’s home. I want a fucking location, an address.”

“She’s where she belongs.”

“See? That doesn’t help me, either.”

I pressed the pager harder until Angelus hissed and smoke began to curl from his face. When his pupils shrank, I noticed a pale light had fallen over us. The door to the townhouse had opened.

“Everson,” someone said, but it wasn’t the butler.

A hand to my brow, I squinted up to find the light filtering around an angelic being.

My breath caught. “Caroline?”

32

She wore an airy gown, a white cape fluttering