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

“Apri—” I cleared my throat. “Aprire.”

As had happened when I’d spoken the word earlier, a current passed through me, and a pressure in the room seemed to release, like when your ears popped after an airplane flight. Grandpa blinked twice. He peered at the door for a full minute, then closed his eyes and exhaled through his large nostrils, as though he had just arrived at a grave conclusion.

“You should not hide up here,” he repeated, releasing my wrist and straightening. “You should not even be in here. Ever.”

I pulled my hand toward my chest, wounded finger extended, tears standing in my eyes. “Okay.”

I flinched when he reached down, but it was only to wipe the blood away with his large thumb. He uttered something as he ran the blood-smeared thumb up and down the flat of the sword before sliding it back into the cane. He strode to the door, his dark linen suit stiff on his tall frame.

I followed, casting wary glances at the trunk, silent now, and the bookshelves that held encyclopedias and reference books once more. Had I imagined everything?

“You are curious,” Grandpa said as he opened the door for me. “But you must not be foolish. Things heard cannot be unheard. Things seen unseen. Things spoken unspoken. And it is this last that is most important for those of our blood.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, not knowing what in the hell he was talking about.

He stared at me sternly for another moment, then dismissed me with a nod.

I pattered down the narrow staircase, scared and confused. I had been in Nana and Grandpa’s care ever since my mother had died, which was ever since I could remember, and neither had ever hurt me. And on my birthday?

Arriving in my room, I closed the door behind me with a foot, blind to the opened presents spread over my bed. He sliced my finger, I thought. I was afraid to look, already anticipating the flayed fat pad, maybe even a bloody knot of bone. The slice had felt that deep.

But when I looked down, all I saw was a faint white line.

7

The wolf calls grew in number with the fading light. They volleyed back and forth, as though several had picked up our scent and were telling the others. When an especially loud cry rent the air, I jogged to catch up to James and Flor.

“I say we make camp,” I blurted. “Build a nice fire, set up some kind of watch.” My heart beat hard in my chest as I pointed off to the right. “There’s a flat spot over there, plenty of fallen limbs.”

James nodded his approval, then turned to Flor.

She looked at her watch and sighed. “Fine.”

I went to work on the fire while James and Flor set up their tents. Using hand sanitizer as starter fuel, I got a decent-sized blaze going before dusk became full dark. After gathering up a reserve of limbs to last the night, the three of us ate our dinners around the fire. I noticed Flor didn’t have my homemade repellent at hand.

“Where’s your bottle?” I asked.

“I left it at the pension.”

“On purpose?”

“The wolves will not come close to the fire.”

Deeper in the forest, above her right shoulder, a golden pair of eyes flashed and disappeared. And they weren’t the only ones. More sets of eyes winked in and out of the trees, like coins from a dark well. “Better rethink that logic,” I said, “because they’re already here.”

I shot to my feet, fingers wrapping the trigger of my spray bottle—which suddenly felt puny to the task. James rose with his bottle as well, but more in curiosity than fear, it seemed.

Flor remained seated. “That is as close as they will come.”

“Don’t know about that, love,” James said. “At least one of them sounds determined to make a fireside appearance.”

I turned to where James was aiming his bottle, away from the flashing of eyes. Then I heard it too: the sound of something large running through wet leaves, coming straight for us. A moment later, a shadow broke into the light.

Squinting, I rapid-fired the plastic trigger.

Shouts went up. Too late, I saw the figure wasn’t a wolf, but a person. The aerosol of pepper spray that enveloped the man sent him shrieking to the ground, hands to his eyes. I noted the hair flapping from his slipping hood, and then the lumpy pack on the man’s back.

“My God, is that Bertrand?” James asked.

If there was any doubt, his stuffy voice removed it. “You animals!” Bertrand cried. “What kind of poison have you put into my eyes?”

“Just stop rubbing them,” I said with the annoyance of someone who’s just had the crap needlessly scared from him. I hurried to my pack and returned with a bottle of milk, which I’d stowed in the event of an accident.

“What are you doing?” Bertrand sputtered, as the milk splashed over his face.

“Neutralizing the pepper, you idiot. Now hold still and let it flush everything out.”

He stopped slapping and writhing long enough to blink the milk into his bloodshot eyes.

“There,” I said, recapping the bottle with a sigh. “Give it a few seconds.”

James offered him a handkerchief, which Bertrand snatched away and used to mop his face and then pinch into the corners of his eyes. I noticed Flor had remained on her side of the fire the whole time, a smile slanting her lips. My face flushed as I imagined how slap-sticky we must have looked. But the commotion must also have scared the wolves away, because I could no longer see their eyes.

I turned back to Bertrand, who was pushing himself to his knees.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “but was that you fleeing for your life?” I was still bristling over the American-is-afraid jab. Not to mention his whole intellectual façade. “It couldn’t have had anything to do with those wolf tales, as you called them last night, could it?”

“Don’t be preposterous,”