Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8)

by Brad Magnarella

  “I lost count of the days, to be honest. Stopped remembering where I’d come from too. Who I was, even. Just kept wishing that whatever day it was would be my last. I was legit funked out. Then one day, I saw this cat.” Gorgantha’s smile broke out again as she nodded toward me. “Just standing there in the audience. Could’ve sworn I knew him, but I couldn’t say how or from where. When you busted the tank, I thought you were a rival of Barnum’s, there to steal me away. That’s how come I fought back. Better the devil you know, and all that. But then you started saying things that were just too damned familiar. And the way you took down those jokers? I figured you had to be a good guy.”

  “I helped,” Bree-yark put in, still starstruck by her.

  “I can’t tell you how stoked I am we found you,” I said.

  Gorgantha gave me a sidelong look. “You’re stoked?”

  “And you haven’t seen any of the others since you’ve been here?” I asked to be sure.

  “Any of the Upholders? No, just you so far.”

  I sent out another signal through the bond, but once again, Gorgantha’s was the only one to respond.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked.

  I turned toward the window. Scores of fire wagons had arrived around Barnum’s, and water arced from hoses—Biggs the ogre was helping man one of them. But most of the museum had already succumbed to the blaze. I checked the watch Maggie had tossed me. Two hours until our meeting.

  “How about we slip out under Caroline’s glamour,” I said, “get you some real food, and then find out who this Lazar is?”

  26

  We rattled up Broadway in a hired carriage, the five of us freshly glamoured. For the whole ride, I stared out the window on my side. I couldn’t help it.

  Beyond the horse-drawn carts and omnibuses, people of every shade and stripe hurried past shops with goods ranging from pineapples to player pianos to giant bolts of fabric. It was like peeking under the modern district of glass and steel skyscrapers at this colorful, noisy ecosystem it had once been—a bridge between the 1776 version, population twenty-five thousand, and my city of more than eight million.

  Scraps of passing conversation entered our carriage, some of it in the blunt, clipped voices that would become the New York accent. The big news was the fire at Barnum’s. The bulk of traffic was headed in the opposite direction as us, New Yorkers wanting to see the spectacle for themselves.

  The upshot is that when we arrived at a restaurant called Crawford House, we had it mostly to ourselves. We ordered platters of boiled cod with beets and potatoes, enough for Gorgantha and Bree-yark to have multiple helpings.

  I ate slowly, partly from not being very hungry and partly to give myself time to think.

  We’d recovered one Upholder, but there were three more to locate, not to mention the St. Martin’s site. If the others had separated—which, knowing Jordan, seemed likely—they could have ended up in different time catches. Something told me there were more than the three periods we’d experienced thus far. That I couldn’t link to my teammates’ bonds in this one suggested they weren’t close enough. Or hadn’t survived. I had to be brutally honest. Either way, that put the identity of “Lazar” as an Upholder in doubt.

  Grandpa? I wondered again. Or demon?

  “When we get to the Old Bell Tavern,” I said to Caroline, “I should go in first and check it out. See who we’re dealing with.”

  “I can cover you,” she said.

  I nodded. That would leave Bree-yark and Gorgantha on outside watch. I peered past Caroline to where Arnaud sat, still glamoured in a thick coat and scarf to hide his restraints and muzzle. A quick check showed me that my wards remained at full strength. But his staring eyes looked more sunken.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  “Warded and entranced,” Caroline said. “He’s also weakening.”

  “How long before he’s critical?”

  “Hard to say with the time deformities. I’ll keep a close eye on him.”

  A grim look of knowing passed between us. If Arnaud did become critical, we’d have to consider allowing some infernal energy back into him. It was either that or risk losing our line back to the present. And I remained convinced that he was somehow the answer to freeing the Order.

  Leaning nearer, Caroline lowered her voice. “You should know that I’ve been cut off too.”

  I looked over in confusion. “From Faerie?”

  She nodded. “My kingdom has denied my lineal rights. I can no longer access certain familial energies.”

  As I’d guessed, the demonic influence went high up the chain. Though Caroline maintained a stoic expression, the small crescent beneath her mouth deepened in either determination or sadness, maybe both.

  “What does that mean for your casting?” I asked.

  “I can draw from other sources, but they’re not nearly as potent. I still have a reserve of familial energy. I just need to be judicious.”

  “Keep me posted on how you’re doing.”

  “I will.” She looked at me intently now. “I’ve missed you, Everson.”

  The quiet words arrived like a surprise blow to the chest. I glanced over at Bree-yark and Gorgantha, who were making garbled conversation between ravenous mouthfuls of their dinner. My neck warmed under the collar of my glamoured trench coat as I struggled for how to respond.

  “I didn’t think that was possible,” I said at last.

  But being cut off from her fae line probably explained why she’d seemed more human. Was it also weakening the bargain under which she’d sacrificed her feelings for me? As I considered the question, I shifted over, putting a little more space between us.

  “I’m not telling you this to make things awkward,” she said. “If anything, it’s to clear the air.” Her hands withdrew from the table to her lap. “I understand that you have your own life now, but in the small reservoir that’s remained Caroline Reid, you’ve never stopped being special to me. I wanted you to know that.”

  A part of me let out a little. “I’ll always consider you a close friend.”

  “The feeling’s very mutual,” she said. “Just don’t ask me to cover your classes.”

  When she smirked, I chuckled. “How about running the occasional interference on Snodgrass?”

  “God, I almost forgot about him. How’s that going?”

  “Better since he had me over for dinner a few weeks back.”

  Her eyes widened. “At his house?”

  “Yeah, his wife insisted. Turns out she needed my magical expertise. She also wears the pants in the family. I never thought I’d feel bad for Snodgrass, but seeing him grovel was actually kind of painful. He’s avoided me ever since.”

  She snorted a laugh. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

  I very nearly agreed, only because she had history with Snodgrass too. But though Caroline’s admission had helped clear the air, I couldn’t get too comfortable. Vega’s parting words—I trust you—were layered. She was trusting me with Caroline, but she was also counting on me to be cautious.

  “Speaking of the fae,” I said, changing the subject. “Are you expecting them?”

  Caroline’s smile turned introspective. “Back when I was deciding between remaining human or claiming my fae blood, I would take long drives, always at night. Not to think, but to get out of my apartment, my head. One night I might end up in White Plains, another in Edison. Places I’d never been, no idea how I’d arrived there. But the same intelligence that steered me to these towns, often dangerous shells of places, would always bring me safely home. This experience feels a little like that.”

  Not sure whether she’d missed my question or was just being evasive, I said, “You’re listening to your faeness.”

  She’d seemed to blur a little as she spoke, but now the lines of her face sharpened. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  I poked a small potato around my plate with a fork. “I’m trying to do the same with my magic, but it’s not saying mu
ch. The only hard assertion I’ve gotten so far is to come to the time catch, that this place is the key to … well, everything. The St. Martin’s site feels like the epicenter, the answer to all the questions.”

  “That’s where the fae will be waiting.” It took me a beat to realize she was answering my question from a minute earlier. “One advantage of this mess with the time catches is that I’m much harder to find. But they know where I’m going to be.”

  “And this mess will give them time to get there,” I murmured before gathering myself. “Listen, Seay and Jordan have half-fae and druids with them. By the time we arrive at the site, we’re going to be a small army.”

  “A kickass one,” Gorgantha agreed between bites, catching the last part.

  I was trying not to think about how formidable Angelus had looked debarking from his giant roc and striding up to me, power radiating from his green eyes and tossing hair. He’d had others with him too.

  “What does your magic say about me?” Caroline asked.

  Her pointed question caught me off guard. “Well, it’s yet to tell me to run,” I joked, a part of me wincing at having shown my hand. “No, it’s been in this contemplative state all day,” I hurried to explain.

  “Do you trust your magic?”

  “Generally, yeah. It hasn’t let me down so far.”

  “Maybe that’s why it seems to be in an ambiguous place.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “It could be that it’s talking, but you’re not ready to hear what it has to say. But if it always leads you home…”

  As Caroline returned to her meal, I considered her words.

  Something about them resonated.

  By the time we left the restaurant, dusk had fallen and gaslights flickered up and down the street.

  I felt better as I stepped forward to hail a carriage. Better about Caroline, better about the uncertainty ahead, better about our chances. We also had a sound plan for Lazar. This wasn’t going to be another headlong adventure where we could only react to whatever the time catch threw at us.

  A spiky wave tore through me, and I pitched to the ground.

  “Everson?” Bree-yark said, rushing up to me. “What the heck’s going on?”

  I tried to speak, but it felt like my guts were being twisted with a set of subzero skewers. I clawed at the sidewalk, panting protective Words through a fog-like scent of death. Hoofs clopped and axles groaned as a carriage pulled up in front of us. For a moment, I pictured a black hearse being driven by the Grim Reaper.

  “Get him inside,” Caroline said.

  Gorgantha lifted me under the arms and Bree-yark got my legs. Together they lifted me into the carriage. I curled beside the far window and clutched the drapes, praying for the agony to end. Caroline gave the driver our destination, Old Bell Tavern, and the horses began clopping us toward Broadway.

  Fae magic we couldn’t spare stirred around me, and the gut-twisting sensation faded by degrees. Several more minutes past before I was able to release the drapes and push myself upright, my hairline cold with sweat. The inside of the carriage rotated once before steadying.

  “I’m all right,” I said faintly.

  Gorgantha leaned forward. “What the hell happened?” She was sitting opposite me, glamoured to look like a large man.

  From beside her hunkered head, Caroline’s knowing eyes met mine.

  I stole another look out the window. “Something’s hunting me. Something from the present. I’m pretty sure it came to my apartment while I was out this morning, and I sensed it later in the Upper East Side.”

  “That thing followed you here?” Bree-yark asked.

  “It looks that way.” I wasn’t sure whether to be freaked out or super annoyed.

  Bree-yark squinted between me and Caroline. Earlier, he’d accused her of creating the threat. Now he appeared uncertain. If her intention had been to rush my decision to use Arnaud, there was no reason to keep up the ruse.

  “But how?” he barked. “I thought coming here took serious magic or a connection to one of these guys.” He hooked a thumb at Arnaud.

  “It’s from the realm of the dead, and it’s locked onto Everson,” Caroline said. “It will go where he goes. I’ve fashioned a glamour to hide him. Not a strong one,” she added, anticipating my protest. “Just enough to muddle the connection, make it much harder for this entity to draw a bead on him.”

  “It’s not a gatekeeper, I hope,” I said.

  Gatekeepers were powerful entities that guarded the realm between the living and the dead. I’d foolishly tried to trap one a couple years earlier while searching for info on my mother. Now I wondered whether the same gatekeeper had built up enough vacation time to come after me. It ticked a lot of the boxes.

  “No, not a gatekeeper,” Caroline said.

  “That’s a relief.”

  “A revenant.”

  I straightened. “A revenant?”

  “The hell’s a revenant?” Gorgantha asked.

  “A spirit that returns to the world to track down and destroy its killer,” I said. “Are you sure?”

  Caroline returned a solemn nod. “The being was close enough that I could sense its undead fixation on you. It’s powerful enough to ford planes, and it won’t stop hunting until either you’re dead or it’s destroyed.”

  “Then we destroy it,” Bree-yark said as if that settled that.

  I dug a thumb and finger into the corners of my eyes. “Much easier said than done, buddy. Besides retaining whatever abilities they had in life, revenants are a special kind of nasty. Undead powers and immunities out the wazoo.”

  “How many suckas have you plugged?” Gorgantha asked.

  I thought for a moment before replying, “A lot.”

  “Well, which ones would still have beef with you?”

  “Since things tend not to like getting killed, all of them.”

  I flipped through the opponents I’d faced over the years. While most, if not all, had the motivation to come back for me, only a few would have possessed the means. Turning revenant required powerful magic.

  “Old Bell Tavern,” the driver called from outside.

  “Listen, guys,” I said. “I appreciate your concern, but our focus right now is Lazar. Let me worry about the revenant.”

  For starters, our time here was limited. I also didn’t want to involve my teammates in something that freaking deadly. When our work was finished and we were back home, I’d deal with it myself. The one silver lining with a revenant was that it was only interested in its target. It wouldn’t go after Vega or anyone close to me in the meantime.

  But did it have to be hunting me now, dammit?

  And here?

  27

  I declined Gorgantha’s help down from the carriage, even though I was still queasy and my legs felt uncertain. Bree-yark pulled Dropsy from his pouch, but told her to keep her glow on the down-low. As the carriage U-turned across the dirt lane, Caroline came to my side.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Much better. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re hidden now,” she assured me, referring to the revenant.

  I nodded, even though I hated being a sink on her finite powers. “Just let me know how you’re doing.”

  “We’re in what will become New York’s Upper West Side,” she said, changing the subject.

  As the horses clopped away, I looked around at the farmland that had been cleared and converted into building lots. For now, the result was a grid of dirt lanes, where ley energy trickled weakly. Plank homes were scattered here and there—squatter housing, most likely—but the city was clearly planning its thrust northward.

  “Central Park is under construction to the east,” Caroline continued. “Many of the laborers live around here, so that’s who we can expect to find in the Old Bell.” She nodded at the building catty-corner to us, a two-story tavern with a hanging sign out front. A mass of figures crowded beyond the windows, the rise and f
all of their murmuring voices breaking into occasional bouts of shouting and laughter.

  I checked the pocket watch. Seven o’clock on the nose. By the time I looked up, Caroline was back in her male guise. She had altered our glamours so that we looked like laborers now, dusty coats and sweat-stained shirts.

  “Good work,” I said. “Let’s move.”

  I crossed the road, skirted a post tethered with horses, and opened the tavern door. A rowdy wall of noise hit me first, followed by a yeasty wave of beer and body odor that made my eyes water. Every surface on which one could conceivably sit was taken, the bar in the tavern’s back a solid five men deep.

  I edged over to a plastered wall darkened by lantern smoke for a better vantage. My gaze went face to face in search of anyone I recognized. The place was mostly men, laborers as Caroline had guessed, the majority looking as if they’d come straight from their shift at Central Park. They were Germans, Irish, and Italians, all talking at once, their dialects as rough as their ruddy faces. No one stood out for me.

  I peered back. Caroline had entered and was standing in an inconspicuous spot near a window. From there she could see Bree-yark, who’d taken over Arnaud duty and was watching the door from the outside. He had a line of sight on Gorgantha, who was keeping tabs on the side and back of the tavern.

  Three men in aprons and drab shirts tended the bar, sleeves rolled to the elbows. While two of them busied themselves filling tumblers and steins, the oldest stood off to the side, a towel over one shoulder. He was tall with a lean, somber face and a widow’s peak of iron-colored hair. I pegged him as the tavern keeper and the other two his sons. He seemed to be searching the tavern for someone.

  An instant later, his eyes fixed on mine. I glanced away as if I hadn’t been watching him. I waited several beats before walking my gaze back toward him. His eyes hadn’t moved. He’d singled me out.

  Lazar?

  Before entering, I’d tightened my magical aura to avoid detection from supernatural types. Now I risked the use of my wizard’s senses. Colorful arrays of astral energy overlaid the tavern. The man stood out for his subdued patterns, which was probably just sobriety. Nothing preternatural. But by moving to one side, arms folded, he was signaling to the thirsty bar crowd that he was no longer serving. They’d responded by pinching toward his sons, creating a narrow lane along the wall for me to traverse.