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

prism offline, I had no choice but to let Marcus complete his work—to what purpose, I still had no idea.

Following a quick washing, Marcus scrubbed my hair with a towel and used a brush and blow dryer to give it a feathered look. He moved to makeup next, smearing a base layer over my face. He then came at me with various stencils, brushes, and lip glosses—“Or else the lights will reduce you to a corpse,” he said. Rather than explain further, he talked into his headset in emotional bursts, demanding a few more minutes from this Dwayne.

“There,” he said at last, standing out of my view of the mirror.

I hardly recognized the face staring back at me. “What in the hell?”

“Don’t touch it!” Marcus squealed, swatting my hand down.

I pursed my lips to make sure the copper-colored reflection was mine. In addition to the fake tan, Marcus had drawn over my eyebrows, making them more dramatic, with little curls on the ends. The harsh rouge along my cheekbones complemented the bright red of my lips.

“There’s nothing elegant or mysterious about this,” I said, searching around for something to wipe it off with. “I look fucking ridiculous.”

Marcus nodded at Flint and Evan, and they pulled me from the chair. Marcus reappeared with a black cape. “Here,” he said, fastening it around my neck. “There’s no time to change you out of that shirt, so keep the cape closed. Oh, and let’s get this on you.” He turned and reappeared with a leather hat with a huge brim and tall bulbous crown, which he set atop my head.

“Now you look the part,” he said.

“For the hundredth time, what’s this for?” I demanded.

Marcus tilted the hat slightly. “He’s ready,” he said into his headset.

Flint and Evan escorted me from the dressing room and up a short flight of steps to a door. Flint knocked, and another man with a headset answered—Dwayne, I presumed.

“Great, thanks, guys,” he whispered to the wolves.

The wolves slammed the cane against my chest and shoved me into the dark room after Dwayne.

“Don’t worry,” Dwayne said in a breathless voice, “you’re not going to have to speak. After your introduction, you’re to stand behind the mayor, a bit to his right. We’ve marked the spot with tape. Try to affect a mysterious look. Better yet, brooding. They’ll eat that up.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Ooh! They’re ready for you.”

Dwayne led me around a corner until we were peering out onto a small stage from the side. The mayor, who stood at the podium where he gave press conferences, glanced over at us.

“And here he is, ladies and gentlemen,” Budge announced. “The man—or rather, wizard—of the hour, Everson Croft!”

Oh, hell no.

I tried to turn around, but Dwayne blocked me and pushed me out onto the stage. I emerged into the packed press room to a detonation of camera flashes and shouted questions. Budge seized my hand and pumped vigorously. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered. The handshake went on for several seconds as he smiled toward the cameras. He finally released me, nodding toward the X taped on the floor behind him. Stunned by the sudden attention, I dutifully took up my position and faced the press in my makeup and hat.

“Mr. Croft!” a reporter shouted. “Where did you learn your magic?”

“I, ah…”

“C’mon, guys,” Budge answered for me. “You know a good magician never reveals his secrets.”

“How powerful are you?” someone else shouted.

Budge laughed. “What do you think? I went out and found some weakling wizard? He’s the most powerful in New York. And he’s working for me and my administration.”

I grimaced at the lie—I may not even have been the most powerful on my block—but I saw what Budge was doing. He was fanning the positive interest in me in order to claim the glow for himself.

“Can you give us a demonstration?” another reporter asked.

An excited chorus of “yeah”s followed.

“No, no,” Budge said, waving his hands, “there’ll be none of that. Everson needs to conserve his power for the next phase of the eradication program. And if you thought the ghouls were something, wait till you see what’s coming up.”

“If he’s so powerful,” a female reporter cut in, “what’s to stop him from turning on the city?” I saw the anxiety in the young woman’s eyes—exactly why I kept a low profile. The mood of the assembly seemed to pivot as several reporters around her nodded.

I watched the mayor for his response.

“Look, I’ve known Everson a long time,” he lied. “Besides being a potent wizard, he’s a man of integrity. A man of morals. And hey, he’s a fellow New Yorker. We have a mutual interest in protecting the city that raised us.”

“But there has to be some constraints on him,” the reporter pressed.

“Well, sure,” Budge said, sweeping an arm out. “All of you. If I’ve learned anything in my years of public service, it’s that the press can lift the lowliest to the heavens and drop the mightiest into the gutter. If Everson gets out of line, why, just crack him with a critical column or two. That’ll straighten him up.”

Relieved laughter broke around a fresh burst of questions. But when Budge turned enough for me to see his face, there was no humor in his eyes.

15

“Thanks for being such a good sport,” Budge said, settling behind his office desk. “Can I get you anything?”

“How about some makeup remover?” I grumbled.

I dropped the hat and balled-up cape onto a coffee table and sagged into a deep leather chair across from him. The press conference had gone on for another thirty minutes. Thirty interminable minutes in which I’d stood there, a stage prop, while Budge rattled off superlatives about his program.

It only strengthened my determination to resign.

“You wanted to talk?” Budge pulled out his smartphone and began thumbing through the messages.

“I’m out,” I said.

“Hm?” He raised his eyebrows without looking up.

“I’m resigning from the program.”

The mayor’s eyes joined his brows. “Resigning? What are you talking about?”

“I asked for discretion. That was one