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

firebird emblem spreading its golden wings across the hood. The inside smelled of oil. James barely waited for me to buckle in before gunning the engine and performing a squalling U. Though the car slewed sideways, I sensed he was in control. He threw it into second as the car straightened.

“Port Gurney,” he said, tapping a finger against the steering wheel as though consulting a mental map. “North central Long Island? We could take the interstate up through the Bronx, avoid the city.”

“Yeah, except that the rioting and fires started in the Bronx. There’s no telling what kind of shape the interstate’s in now.” I imagined lanes clogged with piles of burning vehicles and debris. “I think our best bet is to take the Lincoln Tunnel and go straight across to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, hope the chaos hasn’t reached the center of the city yet.”

James chuckled. “Rolling the dice. I like it.”

The car engine rose an octave as he shifted again. Houses blurred past on the empty streets. People had either evacuated the area or locked themselves inside for the night. Before long, we were dropping into the Lincoln Tunnel and then cresting again, emerging into Midtown. Black smoke billowed past the Firebird’s headlights, and I could hear sirens in the distance.

I was in the middle of wondering how Vega was faring when she paged me.

“Hey, would you mind pulling over up there,” I said, pointing out a payphone. “It’s Detective Vega. Probably wants an update, but she can also advise us on the best route through the city.”

“Vega?” James said, easing up to the curb. “You mean that Puerto Rican mamma? Talk about a hot ticket.” He grinned at me in a way that made me wonder whether Vega’s eye roll from earlier had meant more than just James being an arrogant ass. Had he tried to hit on her?

“Hey, let’s keep it professional,” I said, a knot twisting in my gut.

He showed his hands. “I just call ’em like I see ’em.”

“Well, she’s a friend, all right? A … good friend.”

His grin broadened. “How good?”

“Just…” I felt my face warming over. “Just drop it.”

Flustered, I got out of the car. Breathing through my shirt collar to filter the acrid smoke, I made my way to the payphone, pushed in two quarters, and punched Vega’s number. A pair of helicopters batted past.

“It’s Everson,” I said when she answered.

“What do you have?”

“The perp is Chicory,” I said. “Not Marlow. Not my father.”

The relief at being able to say that washed through me like a strong surf. I was still adjusting to the idea that Marlow—a good and powerful wizard—was my father. If only the timing had been better.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“West Midtown, south of Forty-second.” I filled her in on where we were going and why. “Are we okay driving straight to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, or should we try another route?”

“You should be all right if you hurry,” she said. “There are rioters all along Forty-second Street, and they’re moving south. Another group is coming up from Gramercy.” I could actually hear them: shouts and screams punctured by the sounds of things breaking. I could also hear the strain in Vega’s voice.

“How’s the NYPD holding up?” I asked.

“We don’t have enough officers to contain them. The rioters are charging the cordons and breaking through. We’ve tried gas, rubber bullets, real bullets. Nothing’s deterring them. And the one’s we’ve hauled in are going absolutely nuts. Budge is asking the president for National Guard troops, but I’m starting to wonder if that will be enough. Croft … whatever’s happening out there, it’s starting to affect normal people.”

I remembered the aging woman in the pants suit at the gas station, the way her pupils had seemed to flatten as she lowered the lighter toward the pool of gasoline…

“Once we find the Banebrand weapon, we’re going to the source,” I promised her.

“And that will end this?”

I considered the odds: venturing into Lich’s turf, where he was expecting us, surviving long enough to find his glass pendant and destroy it—all assuming, of course, we obtained the Banebrand weapon first. So, a thousand to one? Ten thousand to one?

“Only if we succeed,” I answered honestly.

I waited for Vega to ask me the likelihood of that success, but she only blew out her breath. I glanced back at the car and caught James puffing a joint. I turned up a hand and mouthed, The hell are you doing? He smirked and shot me with a finger pistol.

“I should let you go then,” Vega said.

“Is your son someplace safe?”

“He’s at the apartment with Camilla.”

She hadn’t really answered my question, but I picked up the undercurrent of worry. Her apartment was too close to the city, the chaos.

“We’ll swing by on our way back,” I said. “Check in on them.”

“No, Croft, that’s not—”

“I’m not asking,” I interrupted.

Behind me, James laid on the horn. When I looked, he was stubbing out the joint in the ashtray and jabbing a finger past me. I craned my neck around the phone stand. “Crap,” I said. Then to Vega, “I’ll call you later.”

I hung up and backed away from the mob running toward us, their screams an insane squall. Windows broke in their wake; awnings burst into flames. Men and women shimmied light poles, rocking them until they crashed over the street. A hydrant burst, jetting water twenty feet into the air.

I climbed into the car and slammed and locked the door. “Protezione,” I called.

A glimmering shield grew around the Firebird, which James had already thrown into gear. He sped toward the mob, a hailstorm of bottles, concrete chunks, and other thrown objects breaking around us. A blue USPS mailbox landed on the shielded hood and tumbled over the roof. Within seconds we were close enough that I could pick out the crazed faces.

James wasn’t slowing.

“Hey, wh-what are you doing?” I shouted, throwing my forearms to my face.

But instead of clunking through bodies, the car took a hard right, rear wheels screaming,