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

couldn’t afford to let Thelonious through the door. Not tonight, and definitely not out here, where night hags were rumored to wander. Thelonious had chased skirts more putrid, believe me.

“All right,” I said, shaking my arms loose.

I was about to attempt a projection spell, one that would manifest a walking, talking likeness of me at the target. Besides requiring a healthy dose of energy, they were tough as hell to get right, especially over long distances. Even then, they were ephemeral. Though I’d practiced the spell countless times, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d put it into actual practice.

Let’s just say the results had been a mixed bag.

I stepped into the center of the circle and, feet together, began to chant an ancient Word that translated into home. As the sound vibrated in my core, I pictured the inside of my door as vividly as I could: the molding, the glass peephole, the brass knob. I imagined the feel of the shag rug under my feet, the cavernous space of the loft at my back.

With every chant, ley energy surged voltage-like through my mental prism, down my body, and into the casting circle. There it coursed along the lines of my symbol, glowing whiter, gaining strength.

Within minutes, it became a self-sustaining force.

“Oikos,” I repeated.

A high resonance began to ring from the door keys. A moment later, the inside of my door wavered into being, a ghost image over the blacked-out park. I was taking shape in my apartment. I channeled more energy, imagining away my bulky attire, replacing it with the cottony feel of pajamas and the loose grip of tube socks.

“Oikos.”

I was putting the finishing touches on my bed-headed coif when a knock sounded.

“Mr. Croft?”

I’d managed to beat the police officers, but only just. I waited the requisite ten seconds for them to imagine me waking up, climbing out of bed, crossing the room…

A harder bout of pounding. “Mr. Croft, it’s the police.”

“Coming,” I called, my voice strange-sounding, as though I were hearing myself from the opposite end of a tunnel.

I extended a pajama-clad arm forward and twisted the bolts, the hard feel of them also seeming to arrive from a hollow distance. The two officers I’d been hiding from only a short time before appeared in the opening doorway. I blinked between them blearily.

“Mr. Croft?” the larger one asked from a lumpy boxer’s face.

“Last time I checked…” I read his name tag. “Officer Dempsey.”

The two officers took a moment to examine me, no doubt lining up my features with the stats and mug shot on their dashboard computer. The other one’s name was Dipinski, which also seemed to fit him. Something in their stares told me I wasn’t dealing with the department’s sharpest tacks. From experience, I knew that could cut either way.

“Help you with something?” I asked.

Dipinski, whose eight-point police hat barely reached the height of my chin, stepped forward. “Have you been home all night?”

“I have, in fact.” I stifled a fake yawn and gestured vaguely behind me. “Was grading papers till about ten and then conked out.”

Their eyes darted past me as though eager to find something amiss. I turned with them, mostly out of curiosity. The apartment, superimposed over the park’s boulders, was as neat as I’d left it, Tabitha curled up on her divan, dead to the world. That was one less worry, anyway.

“Well, consider this a random audit,” Dempsey said.

His partner aimed a finger up at me. “We come after eight at night and you’re not in, you’re in violation of your probation, bud. And then guess what? We’re going to take a little ride.”

Yeah, and had I goosed you with my cane back there, dipshit, you’d be duck-walking in those little polyester pants.

“Got it,” I said.

Dipinski glared at me as though trying to decide whether my curt response was meant as an insult. While it was true I held him in roughly the same regard as a peanut, I just needed these guys gone.

At last he lowered his finger and began to back off. That was when the image wavered.

Spent energy was leaving the spell, dammit, and I was in no position to resume incanting. Though I managed to steady the projection by force of will, Dipinski had caught the disruption. His small, freckled face pinched into a squint. Once more, the spell tried to tremble away.

“I don’t believe it!” his partner exclaimed, seeming to choke on his own breath.

I drew back before realizing he wasn’t looking at me. Following his floating finger, I found Tabitha stretching and rising to her haunches.

“Is that a … cat?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, struggling to hold the spell together. “Name’s Tabitha.”

“Good gawd!” The fit of laughter that seized Dempsey sounded like dry heaving.

Dipinski gave a mean smirk. “You’ve got a real chubber there, Croft.” Apparently, my plus-sized cat trumped a man flickering in and out of existence. As noted, not the sharpest tacks.

“Chubber?” Dempsey said, coming up for air. “That’s the biggest fucking cat I’ve ever seen!”

That got Dipinski giggling.

Tabitha dropped from the divan, ears pinned.

“Hey, look, fellas,” I whispered, trying to close the door enough to block her from their view and vice versa. “The cat gets a little weird around … you know … people she doesn’t know.”

Dipinski wiped an eye with a finger. “Bet that’d change if I showed up with a Christmas ham.”

Their laughter verged on hysterical now.

“You’d better bring the whole damn pig!” his large partner wheezed.

“You’ll do nicely,” Tabitha hissed from right behind me.

“All right, thanks for stopping by.” With what energy remained in my failing projection, I slammed and locked the door on the officers before Tabitha could sink her claws into them.

The image buckled and broke apart. I fell from the circle and landed seat-down in the dirt, blinking around at the sudden darkness. The scent of burnt copper hung in the cool air.

I sat a moment, waiting to see whether Thelonious would be paying our world a visit. But though