“Read the fine print.” He clapped my shoulder three times. “All transactions final.”
My face burned at the man’s laughter, but I didn’t have time to argue. A block behind me, shouts were breaking from Midtown College, and I knew what that meant. Without turning, I assumed the staggering walk of the homeless. Plenty of those in Midtown, which was unfortunate for them, but very fortunate for me. The police would be looking for a professor.
“Good luck,” the man called after me, and laughed some more.
23
Police cars crawled past, canvassing the streets around the college. I continued my shuffling walk, eyes alert behind my sunglasses for signs of danger—such as the pair of officers up ahead, sticking their heads into businesses and taking a close look at the foot traffic.
Can’t appear alarmed, I thought, my pulse racing. Have to keep walking.
When the officers were almost to me, I staggered toward a man in business attire and petitioned him for change. The man grumbled, and a quarter landed in my palm. The police officers glanced at the exchange but kept walking. I needed to get the hell out of Midtown.
But where to go?
I squeezed the quarter as I considered my options. The apartment was out; NYPD would be all over the building. Thankfully, Tabitha would be okay on her own for a few days. She couldn’t get into the fridge, but she’d be able to access the pantry and run the water taps. Worst case, there were pigeons. She wouldn’t be happy about it, but she’d survive.
I shuffled through a short list of alternate destinations.
The East Village again? I shook my head. The abandoned buildings might hide me from mobsters but not from a determined police force that numbered in the tens of thousands. That went for any of the crumbling neighborhoods. I didn’t just need a hiding place this time; I needed protection.
I considered the two who had already offered me safe houses: Caroline and Arnaud.
I hated both options, frankly. The fae townhouse in the Upper East Side was closer, about thirty blocks north, but there was the Gazette article. If the fae had been the source of the fabricated story, regardless of Caroline’s role, I wouldn’t find safe haven among them now.
That left Arnaud and his fortified Financial District.
I swore at the fact I was even considering him. That would be another awful move, though. Besides the fact that Arnaud would only protect me to the extent he could use me, running to the vampires would slap a “guilty” moniker beside my name and ring it in bright red lights.
No, there had to be a third option.
More police cruisers appeared. Another foot patrol hurried along the sidewalk across the street from me. I continued my homeless shuffle, pausing to paw through a trashcan. Far down the valley of buildings, the smoky sky opened over the Hudson River, New Jersey on its far shore.
Something Chicory had told me years before suddenly came back.
If you need to flee the city for any reason, he’d said, there’s a spot on Gehr Place, just over the river. Little blue house on a short street. You can’t miss it. Chicory didn’t elaborate other than to say the house was to be used in life or death situations only. This seemed to meet that requirement.
To get there, though, I’d need money.
I looked at the quarter I’d been handed. Well short of cab fare, but for a bus through the Lincoln Tunnel I’d only need a dollar fifty more. I knew where a stop was, too. Tacking north and west, I petitioned more pedestrians. Two blocks later, I had enough—and just as a Jersey-bound bus was pulling up to the stop.
Thank God.
I hurried toward the bus and boarded, two foot patrols converging on the sidewalk behind me.
I took a seat near the bus’s rear door and looked out the grimy window. The police officers stopped to talk. A couple of them pointed back toward the east. With a grunt, the bus pulled from the stop in the opposite direction. I snuck a look around. The handful of passengers jouncing in their seats weren’t interested in me. I relaxed back into the fumes of my coat.
Almost home free, I thought. Thanks to Vega.
She must have seen I was being set up and rushed to the college to beat the police there, probably after trying me at my apartment. When she found me in their custody, she had improvised, pretending to want some one-on-one time to tear into me. And, man, had she sold it.
If I ever got out of this, I owed that woman. Big time.
Right now, though, I had to consider my next move. After Chicory had told me about the house, I’d located Gehr Place on a map. I pulled up the mental equivalent. Should be easy enough to reach, I thought, working out the route for when I got off the bus. Then I’ll find the blue house and see what’s what. I couldn’t imagine the Order would be upset. I had received permission from Chicory to participate in the eradication program, after all. The lie about working with the vampires could hardly be blamed on me. Then again, we were talking about the Order.
“Oh, fer chrissake,” the bus driver complained above the sharp hiss of air brakes.
Seizing the pole beside me, I rose and peered out the front window. We had just crossed Seventh Avenue, and for the next block and a half, red brake lights stared back at us through the smoke. I peered beyond the backup and felt my heart climb into my throat. The police had set up a checkpoint.
I blew out a hard sigh. Of course they did.
Up ahead, officers were interrogating drivers and opening trunks and van doors. I pictured a large cordon around Midtown, the college at the epicenter. Probably had the subway stations manned as well.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
As the bus inched forward, I could make out the uniforms of government security guards. The frigging werewolves were in on the hunt. Which meant that no matter how good my disguise or how foul smelling my coat, I wouldn’t escape their detection. I had to get off. Now.
I pulled the yellow bell cord. A sharp ding sounded. When the driver didn’t stop, I yanked the cord twice more.
“Heard you the first time, pal,” he growled. “The stop isn’t for another block.”
“Here’s fine,” I insisted.
“Can’t do it.”
Another block would put me too close to the checkpoint. And depending on which way the wind was blowing… Crap. Outside my window, the triangular flaps from a theater awning were batting westward. If I disembarked any nearer, the wolves would definitely pick up my scent.
I slapped at the back door. “C’mon, man. I’ve gotta go.”
“Cross your legs and clench.”
Several passengers chuckled at the driver’s quip, but it gave me an idea.
“Fine,” I said, pretending to unbuckle my pants as I squatted. “It’s your mess.”
The ruse worked. The driver’s eyes started in the rearview mirror, and he stomped the brakes. The back door flopped open. I wasted no time jumping from the bus, the driver’s colorful threats trailing after me.
I waited until I was halfway down the block before peeking over a shoulder. At the checkpoint, one of the wolves had straightened from a car he’d been inspecting. His head was tilted back in a sniffing posture. Through the smoke and exhaust, a slip of my scent had reached him.
Swearing, I hastened my pace.
At the far end of the block, I spotted the four officers I’d seen from the bus. They were turning back in my direction, one of them speaking into his shoulder mike. Wonderful. The werewolf must have radioed to tell them I was near. I slowed as more officers appeared. They were stopping pedestrians now, herding everyone toward the checkpoint with shouts and pistol motions.
Several officers remained behind to watch buildings—no doubt until a wolf arrived to clear them. I took a hard right into a Korean grocery store. There would be a rear exit, maybe an alleyway, a fence I could jump. But I had barely made it past a stand of colorful snack bags when a squat woman charged from behind the register and blocked my way.
“You leave!” she shouted up at me. “No steal food!”<
br />
My disguise was a little too good, apparently. “No, no, I’m not here to take anything. I just wanted to see if you have a back door.” My hope was to slip out before the officers could cover the rear of the building. I pointed past the woman and spoke slowly. “Back door?”
“No steal food!” she repeated, jabbing me in the stomach with a pair of fingers.
“Hey! Ow!”
All right, this wasn’t working. Not wanting to draw any more attention, I retreated back onto the sidewalk. To one side of me, the police were continuing to drive the crowd forward. On the other, two wolves were approaching from the checkpoint, closing in on my scent. No way I’d be able to challenge them without my staff and sword.
Trapped mid block, I dug an arm into a trashcan, pretending to look for food. My thoughts scrambled madly. The second a wolf got close enough to ID me, I’d be grabbed. And given the severity of the accusations, the best I could hope for was life without parole.
Assuming I wasn’t torn apart.
Need to calm down, I thought above my pounding heart. Need to think.
Shoes clanged over metal as the first wave of distressed pedestrians moved past, the herding officers at their rear.
I honed in on the clanging sound.
There’s my escape.
I yanked my arm from the trashcan. Using the pedestrians as cover, I stayed low and wended my way toward the noise. Soon, a rectangular opening in the sidewalk appeared, covered by sections of metal grating. The final section rattled under the growing footfalls.
I hustled ahead of the barking calls of the officers, shouldered several pedestrians aside, and pulled the grate free. A few complaints went up around me, but I was quickly inside and hanging from a shelf beneath the lip of the opening. I pulled the grating back into place and looked down between my dangling feet. It was a decent drop, about twenty feet to the tracks below, but it could have been worse. Some of the holes went down five stories.
Still, going underground was going underground—something I hated worse than tax time. A pressure was already building against my chest, thinning my breaths. I closed my eyes.
Let’s just hope a train isn’t coming, I thought, and let go.
I swung my arms around until my palms were aimed at the up-rushing ground and shouted, “Vigore!”
Energy ripped through me and hit the ground with enough force to stall my descent. I landed in a crouch as though I’d only dropped five feet, pocketed my beard and sunglasses, and peered up at the shadows passing over the grate. One of the shadows stopped. A light glared and swept across my face.
“Hey!” an officer shouted. “Stay right there!”
Great, some goody two shoes must’ve alerted them to my plunge.
I hurried down the tracks until I was out of view of the grate. Jumping the thrumming third rail, I climbed onto a service walkway that paralleled the tracks. The tunnel stretched north and south into blackness.
I dug through the bum’s coat pockets, hoping to find a lighter, but all I came up with was a sizeable collection of cigarette butts and a Honey Bun wrapper. That left my coin pendant. I loosened the coat and unbuttoned my shirt until the pendant dangled into view.
“Illuminare,” I said.
Energy crackled around the coin. Moments later, a soft blue light suffused it, illuminating the space for several feet ahead of me.
I took a moment to get my bearings. That the rail was active told me I was in the Seventh Avenue line. Unfortunately it didn’t feature any branches to Jersey. None of the subway lines did. Meaning I could either head north, in the direction of the Bronx, or south, toward lower Manhattan. I grimaced at the thought of entering Arnaud’s district before understanding I wouldn’t get that far, even if I wanted to. My pursuers knew I was down here. At this moment, officers would be descending into the stations on both sides of me, hemming me in.
As if to affirm the claustrophobic thought, to the north flashlight beams swam against a distant bend in the tunnel.
Adrenaline screaming through my body, I dimmed the light in the coin pendant and hurried south along the walkway. There were no light beams coming from the tunnel ahead of me—yet. But if wolves had joined the posse at my back, they would be on me in short time.
Think, Croft. Think goddammit.
The defunct Broadway line was only a block or so to the east of me, the stations all barricaded. If only I could find some way to—
There!
A metal door appeared in the wall to my left. I pulled the handle, surprised when a crust of rust broke off and the door swung open. A service tunnel plunged into darkness. I scooted inside and closed the door as a powerful flashlight beam shot past. The south-bound team had arrived. I broke into a run, faded graffiti art on the tunnel’s brickwork whizzing past.
I’d gone about a hundred feet when a cinderblock wall reared up in front of me.
Wha—?
I got my arms up a split second before impact. The violent rebound threw me onto my back, head cracking against the floor. Stars wheeled around my staring gaze. I struggled into a kneeling position, then stood, catching myself against the wall. The cinderblocks glowed gray-blue in the light of my coin. When the Transit Authority had closed the Broadway line, they’d apparently sealed off all of the access tunnels. That could be remedied. Aiming my palms at the wall, I called power to my prism—or tried to. The collision had shrouded it in fog. I began a rapid centering chant to restore my ability to cast.
I didn’t get very far. A deep growl rumbled behind me.
I spun, the mantra breaking off. A second growl sounded, this one from a different body. Down the tunnel, two sets of eyes shone into view, their orange irises fiery with anger.
Beyond them, a small army of footsteps echoed toward the service tunnel entrance. I pressed my back to the wall like a cornered cat and squinted as a flashlight beam hit me in the eyes.
“We’ve got him!” an officer shouted.
24
With one hand blocking the flashlight beam, I could make out the advancing werewolves. They were still in human form, but the chase had aroused their lupine natures. Beneath wrinkling nostrils, lips peeled from fanged teeth. Muscles bulged underneath their uniforms.
Just need some time, I thought.
Summoning what meager power I could to my wizard’s voice, I shouted, “Stop!”
The wolves hesitated, startled more than enthralled, it seemed. Without taking my eyes off them, I removed my necklace, palming the large coin pendant, which continued to glow a pale blue, and held it out in front of me.
“This is silver,” I lied, the iron cold in my grip. “If I cast through it, it will burn you alive.”
When the wolves’ nostrils flared, I drew the coin back inside the bouquet of my coat to cloak its scent. The wolves would pick out the iron eventually, but not before my prism was restored.
I hoped.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said. “I just want to negotiate the terms of my surrender.” The pressure of being underground was stifling my voice, stealing its power. The words themselves would have to convince them.
“We don’t negotiate with cop-killing pieces of shit,” someone called back.
“Yeah, how about we just stick a few bullets between your eyes?” someone else put in.
I squinted toward the multiplying beams of light. Though I couldn’t see the police officers holding the flashlights, it wasn’t hard to imagine their hostile faces—or the guns they were aiming. If the wolves and NYPD had something in common, it was their belief that I had willfully murdered members of their brotherhood. Like blood spreading through water, a scarlet aura of vengeance united them. I would have to tread really damned carefully.
“I just have one request for my surrender,” I said.
“Lower your weapon!” an officer ordered.
“That Detective Hoffman make the arrest,” I persisted.
There was nothing special about Detective Hoffman. He just happened to be one
of the few officers I knew by name, other than Vega. And I didn’t want to get Vega any more involved than she already was. Requesting Hoffman was a stalling tactic, something to buy me a precious minute or two.
“We’re not gonna warn you again, Croft! Lower your fucking weapon and get on the ground!”
I could practically feel the tension on their triggers.
I swallowed. “Just contact him, let me know he’s on the way, and I’ll do everything you say, I promise. No one gets hurt.”
The wolves growled in the silence that followed. Like the officers, they had heard rumors of my powers, the feats I was capable of. Publicity had its perks. It was this more than anything, I suspected, that held them at bay. If they knew how defenseless I was, my face would’ve been eating concrete by now. I blinked sweat from my lashes as I chanted softly and awaited the verdict.
Hopefully it wouldn’t come in the form of a firing squad.
The officers must have been consulting in whispers because one of them finally said, “We’re calling him now.”
My legs buckled in relief, but I steeled myself. I still had work to do. I closed my eyes to the wolves, the flashlight beams—pushed them to the back of my thoughts—and returned to my training with Lazlo.
This may be the most important lesson I ever teach you, my first teacher had said. If you lose your prism, you must retain your focus. A wizard who cannot cast is a dead wizard.
I remembered the way Lazlo’s cloudy, wolf-torn eye had stared into mine.
In the tunnels beneath New York, I whispered and re-whispered the centering mantra.
Deep in my mind, the prism vibrated. Power eddied through my body. I repeated the chant until the prism’s contours appeared through the fog, glowing as they returned to form.
“Hoffman’s on the way,” an officer barked. “Now surrender your weapon and get facedown on the floor, like you promised.” The flashlights advanced above a careful procession of footsteps.
I watched the wolves stalk closer too, the lead one sniffing the air.
Purge City (Prof Croft Book 3) Page 15
