Demon Moon (Prof Croft Book 1)

by Brad Magnarella

  Vega lowered her voice. “So what happened down there, Croft?”

  I thought back to the experience of becoming Michael in the stained glass window. In that final instant, the power of the cathedral and my magical bloodline had aligned. And it was all because…

  “I forgave,” I said.

  “Forgave?” Her face scrunched up. “Who?”

  “Um…” I looked down. “A few people. But I had help, too.”

  “There was someone with you?”

  “Yeah. Father Vick.”

  His had been the presence beside me on the pew. I was certain of that now. Like strong hands over the backs of mine, he had helped me hold the prism together long enough to destroy the demon. Without him, I was sure I would have perished instead. And Sathanas would be loose in the world. I took a moment to compose my face before raising it again.

  I expected Vega to say something skeptical—she had that look in her eyes—but she sighed in what sounded like accession. “The bishop told me what happened. Father Vick … the demon … how you saved her butt.”

  “Then what’s with the handcuffs?” I gave them a little rattle.

  Vega snorted and shook her head. “You woke up a few hours ago and tried to dance a tango with the night nurse.” She separated a small key from the others on her chain as she circled the bed. “The cuffs were put on for her sake as much as yours. She wasn’t amused.”

  Thelonious, I thought with an inward groan. At least it settled the question of whether I owed him a night out.

  I watched Vega unlock the cuffs, conflict furrowing her brow. I didn’t need to read her mind to know what was going on upstairs. She was considering just how in the hell she was going to explain to her higher ups what had happened at the cathedral. I didn’t envy her.

  “You were right,” I said.

  She looked up, eyes bright with surprise. “About what?”

  “The evidence leading you to Father Vick. I don’t blame you for that. Two very different approaches led us to the same person, though for different reasons. When you write up your report, I hope you’ll consider that.”

  The last thing I wanted was for Father Vick to be vilified, especially after having made the ultimate sacrifice. I doubted Vega would be given a choice, though. But as she pocketed the cuffs in her jacket, she looked as if she was debating whether or not to tell me something. She stepped back, establishing a professional distance.

  “I’m working on a request,” she said at last, “for a special unit in Homicide. Crimes that don’t fit the typical mold, that sort of thing.” She hesitated. “I could use a consultant.”

  “Well, that all depends on what you’re offering, Detective,” I said with a smirk.

  She folded her arms. “How about not citing you for trashing my vehicle?”

  Heh. I’d forgotten about that.

  “No, look, I’d be honored,” I said, as her face relaxed into an almost-smile. “I’m just not sure what kind of a future I have in the city.” Or whether I have a future, period. I glanced down at my left wrist, finding a hospital band instead of a watch. “What time is it?”

  Vega consulted her own wrist. “Quarter till eleven.”

  “Monday morning?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I drew the IV tubes from my arm, lowered the right bedrail, swung my legs over the bedside, and stood.

  “Croft!” Vega whispered. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  I steadied myself, not nearly as weak or sore as I had expected, then realized with a flush my gown was wide open in back. No wonder Vega had thrown a forearm to her wincing face. “I’m, ah…” I said, holding the flaps closed behind me with one hand and batting past the curtain with the other in search of my clothes and personals. “I’m late for something.”

  50

  The hearing was already underway when I arrived at the conference room at Midtown College. The distinguished faces of the board members turned at my entrance. And then there was Professor Snodgrass, who I had apparently caught in the middle of his presentation.

  He cleared his throat and peered over his little oval glasses. “How nice of you to join us, Mr. Croft. Wardrobe problems?” He gave a self-satisfied sniff. “Well, go on, have a seat.”

  I looked down at my bandaged shins poking beneath the hem of my coat. With my clothes blood-stained and filthy, I’d donned a second gown on my back instead, then buttoned my punctured coat to the throat. At least it wasn’t inside out. I grunted and took the empty seat at the end of the table, hanging my cane over the armrest. In my peripheral vision, I noticed several faculty members seated around the edge of the room. I felt like I’d walked into a trial.

  “As I was saying,” Snodgrass continued, with a final glance of reproach my way, “Mr. Croft’s criminal status, coupled with his failure to disclose said status to you, the esteemed board, is more than sufficient, I should think, to have him terminated from the college and forbidden from teaching or conducting research here ever again. I urge you to also consider that since the college renewed his contract under the false impression Mr. Croft had a clean record, he be fined the equivalent of his salary going back to his arrest date.”

  Ouch. That would definitely land me in a cardboard box beneath the underpass. I watched the board members flip through the stapled packets in front of them—copies of my arrest record and court papers—and tried to read their expressions. That all eight were frowning wasn’t encouraging.

  “May I say something?” I asked, raising a hand half way.

  I wasn’t going to try to convince the board of anything. My plan was to give a brief account of the events that had led to my arrest, leaving out the magical parts, of course, admit fault for not informing the board, and then ask that they consider probation instead of termination. I would even accept a pay cut. If they terminated me anyway, I had tried. I think Caroline would look on that at least somewhat kindly.

  When my gaze returned to Snodgrass, I remembered my other reason for racing over here in a pair of hospital gowns. I had forgiven him last night, sure, but it didn’t mean I was going to allow the twerp the last word.

  Snodgrass met my gaze with a haughty this should be good look.

  “If I can say something first,” a voice intervened. I turned to Chairman Cowper, a bald man with large, sagging lips that smacked every few words. The chairman of the board directed his smacking lips to Snodgrass. “For all of our sakes, I wish you would have been a little more thorough.”

  Snodgrass blinked rapidly. “More thorough, sir?” he asked. “I’m not sure I understand. It’s all in the—”

  “A follow-up phone call at the least,” Chairman Cowper continued. “When I spoke to the detective of record this morning, she said that Professor Croft here…” He smacked again as he opened a hand toward me. “…has no criminal history. His arrest was in error, and it is all being taken care of, per the detective’s own words. She admitted that it should have been expunged a long time ago, but the court system being in its present state…”

  I suppressed a smile. Detective Vega, you little lynx.

  Professor Snodgrass’s lips began to twitch between his reddening cheeks, but the chairman showed his palm. “Your motion that he be terminated, Professor, is based on the assertion that he is on probation. Well, that is hardly the case, now is it? Some due diligence would have established this—and spared us all the toil of yet another pointless meeting,” he added in a mutter.

  “I spoke with the detective just the other week!” Snodgrass exclaimed.

  But Cowper had already started to stand, the other board members joining him.

  “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 requ
ested.” 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. 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 one shoulder, 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.

  Prof Croft Mailing List

  Sign up and receive a free copy of the prequel novella Magic Born, due out Sept 2016: http://bit.ly/profcroft

  You will also be the very first to learn about subsequent releases.

  Follow the author on Facebook: facebook.com/bdmagna

  Books by Brad Magnarella

  PROF CROFT

  Demon Moon

  XGENERATION

  You Don’t Know Me

  The Watchers

  Silent Generation

  Pressure Drop

  Cry Little Sister

  Greatest Good

  Dead Hand