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

the convergence point, we’ll seal the station, trapping the creatures inside. We’ll then ignite a powerful incendiary, transforming the station into a crematory. They’ll be reduced to ashes within minutes.”

My research had shown that ghouls could be killed one of two ways: decapitation or extensive brain trauma. Because the first was too labor intensive, not to mention dangerous, I had recommended to the mayor the second. The plan would mean considerable damage to the station, but Budge had reiterated his support. “Better property than people,” he’d said.

“Are there any questions for the professor?” Captain Cole asked now.

A burly woman raised her hand. “Are we sure the spotlights will be effective? What’s to stop the ghouls from turning around and attacking them?”

“In a word,” I said, “cowardice.” I had the tech return to the image of the creature. “Appearances to the contrary, ghouls are pretty gutless. It’s why they prefer scavenging to pursuing live prey. If the ghouls were to turn on any of the teams, sustained gunfire would steer them straight again.”

A young man raised his hand. “With the ghouls possessing the kind of strength you’re talking about, how can you be sure you’ll be able to contain them at the Canal Street station?”

I had descended into the station the day before with an armed backup force and several full-spectrum lights. Despite my chest-squeezing phobia of being underground—and that the space reeked of ghoul—I took my time etching defensive sigils over the station’s tunnels and exits. I planned to infuse the sigils with a high dose of energy, manifesting a field to contain the ghouls. But the Hundred didn’t need to know the magical details.

“I’m sure,” I replied.

“Well, what are you using for an incendiary?” the young man pressed. “Napalm? Thermite?”

Dragon sand, actually. Something else you don’t need to know. “A substance that will be harder to detect,” I replied. “Ghouls have a keen sense of smell.” When I looked around for any other raised hands, I noticed that the seat Vega had occupied was now empty.

Yeah, she hates me, I thought.

“Thank you, Professor,” Captain Cole said, approaching the lectern. I gathered up my notes and stepped from the stage as he addressed the auditorium. “The operation is scheduled to commence this Sunday at oh-seven-hundred. We’ll be conducting full-gear simulations at the Tactics Range in the Bronx every day until then, starting this afternoon.”

As the captain talked, I made my way to the back row and took the seat Vega had vacated. Hoffman shifted his bulk around to face me.

“Gotta hand it to you, Merlin,” he whispered. “You’ve kept this con going longer than I would’ve thought possible.”

“Con?” My temper flared. “What do you call that thing we battled in the storm lines this past spring?” I asked, referring to the werewolf-vampire hybrid.

“You talking about that albino woman?”

“Oh, is that what she was? Okay, forget the creature. How about how I yanked you out of harm’s way from thirty feet away?”

“Cheap trick. Any stage magician could’ve pulled that off.”

“And enclosed the creature in a light shield?”

Hoffman made a face as if whatever more I had to say wasn’t worth hearing. I had to remind myself that convincing him of my authenticity wasn’t why I was talking to him. I drew a deep breath and let it out through my nose along with the pent-up tension.

“Still working the Lady Bastet case?” I asked.

He eyed me with suspicion. “So what if I am?”

“Any leads?”

“Like I’m gonna tell you.”

I reached into the front pocket of my shirt and pulled out several Polaroids. My golem, Ed, had struck gold on his second day. I spread the shots over the chair’s table arm. “You sure?”

He frowned at the images. The top ones showed him chatting with one of Mr. Moretti’s men as he accepted an envelope. Subsequent photos showed him repeating the ceremony, this time with a representative of Mr. Brusilov, head of New York’s Russian crime family.

“Looks like we caught you on payday,” I said.

“Who in the hell took these? You?”

“Smile, you’re on Candid Camera.” I gathered the pictures up, tapped them into a neat stack, and slid them into my shirt pocket. “And there’s more where those came from.”

Hoffman leaned toward me until I could see every oily pore on his scrunched-up nose. “I’m gonna tell you two things,” he whispered, “and you better listen to both really fucking good. First, I’m in the middle of a sting operation. That’s what you’re photographing, you idiot. Second, what you’re doing here is attempted blackmail. I’m gonna let that go, ’cause frankly you’re not worth the paperwork. But I see you or your camera anywhere near me when I’m working, and I’m taking you in. You understand me? That’s five years on obstruction and another five on the blackmail. Let’s see how smart you think you are then.”

“A sting operation?” I said in mock surprise. “Oh, gee, the last thing I want is to interfere with the important work of the NYPD. A hundred apologies. Let me just turn these over to Captain Cole so he can discard of them properly. I’d hate for these to end up in the hands of an ambitious reporter.”

As I went to stand, Hoffman clamped my forearm, his fingers digging into the fleshy underside. I winced and tried to pry his fingers away. Captain Cole stopped talking and frowned up at us.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” he asked.

I looked at Hoffman, eyebrows raised. After a moment, he released me and shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “No problem.”

I lowered myself back to the chair as Captain Cole resumed talking.

“What the hell do you want?” Hoffman asked in a fierce whisper, facing forward.

“What can you tell me about the Lady Bastet investigation?”

“Nothing,” he said.

I started to stand again.

“What I mean is we don’t have anything yet,” he said quickly. “We recovered some trace evidence from the scene. Hair, fibers, that sort of thing. But it’s a business, people come and go all the time. We have to crosscheck the