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

“And what about his class size?” Snodgrass continued, arms pumping. “Six students!” His titter verged on hysterical. “And his grants? We haven’t seen any of those lately!”

“Oh, that reminds me.” At the door, Chairman Cowper turned his head. “Just this morning, the college received its largest grant to date—double the amount, in fact, that Professor Croft requested.” He nodded at me, appreciation gleaming in his eyes. “It seems someone is very taken with your work.”

“A grant from who!” Snodgrass demanded.

“Whom,” the chairman corrected him, then smacked his lips in recall. “Ah, yes, the Obadiah Rockledge Department for Esoteric Research. Or was it Rutledge?” He waved a hand as though it hardly mattered.

I worked out the acronym and smiled openly this time. ORDER. It seemed I was back in my magical society’s good graces.

Before I could work my lips straight, Snodgrass’s eyes jerked from the departing board members to me. “Oh, there’s something funny going on, all right,” he said. Without dropping his menacing gaze, he gathered his papers into a sloppy pile. “I’m going to be watching you, Croft. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And you are not going to be smiling when I do.”

I leaned toward him. “A little advice, Snodgrass? Next time you want to crap on someone, try pulling your pants down first.”

His lips screwed up so tightly, I thought he was going to foul himself right there. Instead, he jerked the papers to his chest, stood abruptly, and marched from the room. When the door slammed behind him, I sagged in my chair, triumph giving over to weariness.

So I had my life, my job, a future with the NYPD that didn’t involve a probation officer, and the blessings of the inscrutable Order. Was there anything that hadn’t fixed itself in the last hour? Arnaud and the ring remained a point of contention, I guessed, and there might be some issues with Bashi, though I had dealt with the spell supplier. Word would get to Bashi eventually, if it hadn’t already. The vampire I would worry about another time.

I patted the bandage on my left shoulder. Though it seemed the energy at St. Martin’s Cathedral had jump-started the healing, I had my injuries to take care of. There was also the matter of a trashed apartment and exhausted wards, not to mention a succubus cat expecting goat’s milk. With a deep sigh, I pushed myself up from the chair. The more things changed…

“I’m proud of you.”

I wheeled in surprise. Caroline Reid, who must have been in the audience, smiled as she made her way toward me. Golden hair spilling over her shoulders, she looked angelic. I felt my cheeks flush as I remembered the pledge I’d made to myself while in the clutches of Sathanas—telling Caroline how I really felt. It had seemed such a good idea at the time.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” I said.

She looked me over, fingers touching the bandage on my forehead. “Should I ask?”

“Probably not.”

“Word at City Hall is that there was a break in the St. Martin’s murder case.” She laced her fingers into my right hand and swung it lightly. “Thanks to a mysterious consultant.”

“I had some help,” I said, squeezing her hand. If there was a moment to tell her, it was right now.

Her dimples reappeared. “So, where are you off to?”

She released my hand, and with the lost contact went most of my nerve.

“Um, I was planning to head home to take care of a few things. Change of clothes, of course,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “Then I’ll be back for my afternoon class. I promised one of my students I’d be there.” I thought of Meredith, hoping she’d made it home safely.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I glanced around to where I’d been sitting.

“Right here, sport,” she said. “You owe this girl a lunch.”

“Ahh, in that case…” I looked at my wristwatch. It was just shy of noon. “How does now sound?”

“It’s a date.”

We left the college together, stepping out into the stir of Midtown. Not running late for a change, I had a moment to inhale and take everything in. The sky was a bold blue for the first time in what seemed months, and warm sunlight sparkled up and down the block. Whether it was from the brilliance of the fall day or Caroline holding my arm, chatting happily, or the lingering high of whatever pain medication the nurses had shot me up with—or the simple fact I was alive—I loved my beautiful, broken city more than ever.

“Wow, stunning day,” Caroline said.

“Perfect,” I agreed, admiring the sun against her face.

As we entered the thick of the lunchtime crowd, though, I caught myself gripping my cane a little more tightly, invocations at the ready. After all, even on the finest of days you never knew who—or what—might be prowling the streets. And wizards made tempting targets.

Especially the wiseass kind.

Blood Deal

Book 2

1

“Vigore!” I shouted, my cane aimed at the lock.

In a burst of beveled wood, the lock exploded. Shouldering through the door, I stumbled into a living room. The ivory-white carpet and crowd of expensive décor gave me pause. Most amateurs were either those with a genuine interest in the esoteric or those who believed magic would pave the way to wealth and power. The already wealthy tended not to dabble. And yet, from down a corridor lined with gilded wine racks, the screaming picked up again, becoming a woman’s pleas.

“For God’s sake, do something, Morty! Do something!”

“Christ, Gert, can’t you see I’m trying?” Morty’s muffled response sounded more fed up than fearful.

I checked my hunting spell. Did I have the right apartment?

At the end of the corridor, I poked my head into a dining room. An aging woman who I took to be Gert was standing on a dining room table that would seat ten, white pumps kicking around a mess of books and casting items. She had both