Black Luck (Prof Croft Book 5)

by Brad Magnarella

  “That’s all right. This should be enough.”

  Now it was a matter of tracking them down, breaking the demonic hold over them, and finding out where they’d stashed their infernal bags. Three had already detonated, and Becky had told me the location of her remaining two, which left twelve bags unaccounted for.

  But who knew how much longer they’d remain inert?

  I would contact Pierce, I decided. I could use his help neutralizing that many bags, not to mention the cursed necklace that had kicked off the whole show. There were too many cursed items for me to handle alone. I could admit that to myself—and even Pierce—because I was doing so from a position of strength. I’d been the one to break the case, after all.

  “You’re not going to leave me here?” Becky asked worriedly when I peered toward the door.

  “No, I’m taking you to my apartment. You’ll be safe there. Do you think you can stand now?”

  She nodded. I stooped low to help her up.

  She wrapped an arm around my neck. “I’m sorry about the way I talked to you back at my apartment.”

  “You were possessed.”

  “No, that was pretty much me.”

  “Either way, it’s water under the bridge.”

  I rose with her slowly, but Becky’s legs supported her better than I thought they would, stiletto heels and all. Together, we started toward the door. As we made our way around the casting circle, Becky looked down at it, then suddenly over at me.

  “Oh, shit,” she said.

  “What?”

  “How in the hell did I forget about him?”

  “Who?”

  “There was another member of the Ark, before Jake. His name was Trevor. A couple weeks after the ceremony, he started picking at Quinton over the necklace. Why he was the only one who could wear it, that sort of thing. Over time it got more serious. One night Quinton called out of the blue. He said Damien wanted to do another ceremony. He didn’t say for what, but this time Jake was there instead of Trevor. I didn’t even think to ask why. And then we all just seemed to forget about Trevor, like he’d never existed. How the fuck does that happen? He and I used to date.” She stopped. “Do you think he’s…?”

  I nodded, but more in understanding. By ordering Trevor’s death, Damien had created a hole in the Ark, a hole he needed to plug in order to sustain his power. Hence the hasty ceremony to induct Jake.

  Now, with Becky’s excommunication, the demon had the same problem. He would need to restore the Ark to five, fast, which meant another induction ceremony. Probably tonight.

  “Where was the ceremony held?” I asked. “Here?”

  “No, up in—”

  Something in my coat pocket had been mashing into her side as we walked, and now foul smoke exploded between us. I recoiled from the searing heat, dropping Becky. She screamed and tumbled to the floor. Vibrations rang in my ears as a leather pouch plopped between us.

  Shit. The infernal bag from the deli.

  I swung my cane toward it, shouting an invocation to enclose the bag again, but the golem had already swirled into shape above it. Black fire and smoke washed around the golem’s writhing form. I switched my efforts into placing separate shields around Becky and me.

  “Oh, Becky,” the golem said, looming over her. “I had such high hopes for you.”

  “Go to hell,” she grunted. She was trying to shove herself away while pressing a hand to her ribs where the bag had burned her.

  “Hell?” The golem released a malevolent laugh. “A little late for that.”

  So we were dealing with a demon. With his attention on Becky, I managed to draw my sword and struggle to my feet. Driving the sword into his back, I shouted, “Disfare!”

  I braced for the golem’s dissolution, but the invocation only sent a ripple through his smoke.

  “Have you forgotten our little talk about adaptability?” he teased.

  He hit me with a vicious backhand. My shield dissolved into sparks, and I crashed into one of the old conveyances. When I flopped to the floor, the right side of my face was warm with blood.

  “Now to clean up Quinton’s mess,” the golem said. Angry flames whisked around him like a sandstorm, growing until they enveloped Becky. She released a withering scream.

  I cycled madly through my spells and invocations. In our last two encounters, I’d hit the golems with force, shield, and dissolution invocations. I’d yet to use my coin pendant, though.

  Inside the growing maelstrom, Becky’s Mohawk burst into black flames, and her skin began to crease. I took the coin pendant in my hand and held it out. Stumbling forward, I shouted, “Liberare!”

  A shaft of blue light shot from the coin. The golem, who had been delighting in Becky’s torture, received the full brunt of the blast. He arced his back to the burst of blue flames and screamed.

  I’d hurt the bastard.

  He whipped around to face me.

  “I’ll remember that,” he seethed. “And you remember this, wizard. I’m everywhere. Everywhere.”

  He lunged toward me. I instinctively threw up a shield invocation, but the words had been meant as a parting shot. The golem broke apart, the magic that had remained in the infernal bag fully spent.

  Slowly, I lowered my sword and staff.

  Beyond the dead infernal bag, Becky was on her back, the stubs of her Mohawk smoking.

  “Becky,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

  She didn’t respond, but her chest was rising and falling in shallow gasps. Burns and bloody scoring covered her body. I wrapped her in another healing spell. That would repair her physical injuries, but she’d just suffered a soul attack—and that was beyond my abilities.

  I needed her to recover, and not just for her own sake. I had the names and addresses of the four other members of the Ark, but there was a good chance they wouldn’t be home. They would be en route to the ceremony to restore the Ark so that Damien could get his program back on track.

  Only Becky could tell me where that ceremony was.

  Kneeling, I covered her with my coat and lifted her sagging body into my arms.

  19

  I burst into the apartment and slammed the door behind me with a foot.

  “Is Gretchen back?”

  Tabitha stirred at the commotion, then looked up at me in puzzlement. I’d gotten a few of those looks on the way here. I moved Becky from my right shoulder to a two-armed underhanded grip. The young woman sagged against my stomach, smoke still drifting from what remained of her Mohawk. Tabitha sighed and lowered her head back to her paws.

  “Desperate even for you,” she muttered.

  I ignored the dig. “Gretchen!”

  I carried Becky into my bedroom. Using my foot again, I shoved as much of Gretchen’s crap off the bed as I could before lowering Becky. She looked slightly better than when we’d left the packing plant, but she was still in bad shape. I arranged the sheets and comforter to keep her warm while my magic worked on her body. I would need to figure out a way to convince Gretchen to mend her soul. Problem was, I didn’t have a way to contact my “mentor.”

  I emerged from my room. “Did Gretchen say which play she was going to see?” I was already moving toward the phone and the massive city directory. If I knew which theater, I could call and have her paged.

  But Tabitha shook her head. “She doesn’t talk to me.”

  “I thought she shared her dinner with you.”

  “God, don’t remind me. Yes, she said she couldn’t finish, so here, would the kitty like the rest? But, no, it didn’t amount to a conversation. And she didn’t say what play she was going to.”

  “Not even what it was about?”

  When Tabitha shook her head, I picked up the phone and dialed Vega’s cell from habit before hanging up and calling her office instead.

  “Homicide,” Hoffman’s gruff voice answered.

  “It’s Everson. Is she in?”

  He snorted. “Listen, buddy. There’s the doghouse, and then there�
��s the doghouse. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m pretty sure you’re in the second. If I was you—”

  “Well, you’re not,” I interrupted. “Anyway, this has nothing to do with us. It’s about the case.”

  “She ain’t in.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Went to meet that other wizard.”

  “Who? Pierce?”

  “Don’t care for the guy myself, but did you catch the way the ladies were checking him out last night?” I didn’t, but I remembered Vega’s flushing cheeks. “Looks like you’ve got some competition, buddy.”

  Hoffman was trying to get under my skin, and he’d succeeded. My jealousy returned in a burning rush, incinerating the earlier confidence I’d felt at being able to ask Pierce for help from a position of strength.

  “Where?” I demanded. “His place?”

  “I think so.” He chuckled. “I’m almost tempted to follow you over there. I’ve never seen a wizard fight. All I can picture are the long robes, pointed hats, and a lot of slapping.”

  “There’s not going to be a wizard fight,” I said, struggling to control my voice. “Is there a number I can reach her at.”

  “You tried her cell?”

  “It’s…” I saw it in flames on the floor. “It’s not working.”

  “Then she probably grabbed one from the pool. Couldn’t tell you which one, though.”

  “Then I need to give you a message, in case I can’t reach her.”

  “I’m a little busy over here,” he said. “’Cause of you frigging wizards, we’ve got a citywide dragnet going for more of those bags. Every venue you can name, public and private.”

  “I might be able to save you some time, then. I have the names and addresses of four suspects.”

  “Suspects based on what?”

  “Based on Becky, the woman whose apartment we searched. She just confessed.”

  “Thought you guys didn’t find anything,” he said suspiciously. But I could hear an edge of hunger in his voice. Homicide’s priority was clearing cases. That’s where the promotions happened. Some, like Vega, cleared them ethically. And then there was Hoffman, who would clear cases however he could. Even if it meant working with someone he despised.

  “Do you want their info or not?” I pressed.

  “Yeah, yeah, all right. If nothing else, it’ll prove how useless you are.”

  I gave him the names and addresses. When I finished, I said, “But I don’t want anyone moving on them yet.”

  “The hell are you talking about? You just said they were suspects.”

  “They’re also possessed, and their places could be booby trapped.” You couldn’t rule out anything with a demon. Hoffman started to grumble, but I talked over him. “Right now it’s about locating the suspects and keeping tabs on them. I need to head out, but I’ll have my pager. Fill Vega in as soon as you hear from her, then have her call my pager.”

  “What about Becky?” he asked.

  I thought about the unconscious woman in my bedroom. I didn’t want the police getting involved until Gretchen had restored her soul and I’d found out where the ceremony to restore the Ark was being held. Or maybe I just wanted to keep that information from Pierce.

  “Let me worry about her.”

  “I know you get off acting like a detective,” Hoffman growled, “but you’re not.”

  “Then I’m in good company.”

  Before he could fire back, I thumbed the switch hook and dialed Pierce’s number. His assistant, Sora, answered.

  “Is Pierce or Detective Vega there?”

  “They just left.”

  “Together?” The jealous burn again. “Do you know where?”

  “To a crime scene in Midtown. A delicatessen.”

  A part of me relaxed. Pierce really was behind the eight ball on this.

  “I have some important info I need to give Vega,” I said. “Could you contact Pierce and tell him to tell her to call my pager?” This was getting complicated, but I didn’t want to deal with him directly. Not yet. I’d wait until the suspects I’d identified were apprehended and had given up the locations of the remaining infernal bags. Then we’d see how superior he felt.

  I gave Sora my number. She hung up before I could thank her.

  I climbed to my library/lab and loaded my coat pockets with spell items. With Becky still soul-torn, I needed to move on the two infernal bags she’d told me about and cancel them out.

  I activated one of my pre-mades, a neutralizing potion, and funneled it into a tall water bottle. My heart beat anxiously as I worked. I knew the bags could go off at any moment. I kept one eye on my hologram of the city, but except for the lingering glows where the smoke golems had appeared, and a pinpoint of light in Harlem, Mae’s pet, the hologram was clean. Nothing was breaching.

  Back downstairs, I poked my head into the bedroom. Becky was how I’d left her, the covers to her chin. As my magic shifted around her, I saw that the burns on her face were healing.

  I walked over and gave her a gentle shake. “Becky,” I whispered.

  She opened her eyes and spoke a sentence of gibberish before closing them again. Her soul was in as bad shape as I’d thought. Damn. And no Gretchen. I considered fishing my teacher’s hair from the sink drain and casting a hunting spell, but there was no telling what kind of defensive magic she used. If it was fae-based, I could lose my own magic—or worse. Plus, there wasn’t time.

  I scrawled a quick message in my pocket-sized notepad, tore out the sheet, and set it on Becky’s chest where Gretchen would be sure to see it. I repeated the message to Tabitha, who gave a weary paw wave.

  My loaded trench coat clinked as I hurried from the apartment.

  At Café Agora, I tried to appear inconspicuous as I waited outside the women’s bathroom. The Greek restaurant was more crowded than I would have expected for a Sunday night, but it wasn’t terrible. I heard the toilet flush, and now I waited for the patron to wash and dry her hands. When the middle-aged woman emerged, she startled back at seeing a man in flasher attire hovering.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just looking for my wife.”

  “Well, there’s no one else in there,” she snapped.

  “That so?”

  I waited for the woman to leave before slipping inside. The door lacked a locking mechanism, so I sealed it with magic, then surveyed the smallish restroom: a sink and two stalls. I entered the far stall and climbed onto the toilet to reach the foam ceiling tile Becky had described. It lifted easily. I pawed around until my fingers closed over a small leather sack.

  Yes!

  In my anxiousness to get back down, my foot slipped and landed in the toilet bowl. I yanked it out with a splash, my shoe, sock, and pant leg from the shin down soaked through. I swore silently before returning my attention to the bag. It was heavy with black magic.

  I couldn’t waste any time.

  I set it gingerly in the still-sloshing toilet water and then pulled out my neutralizing potion. I was in the process of centering myself when voices sounded outside the bathroom door.

  “Are you sure?” a man was asking.

  “Yes, I watched him walk right in,” a woman insisted.

  Oh, for chrissake…

  “Sir?” A tentative knock. “Do you know this is the ladies’ room?”

  I tilted the bottle over the toilet. As the purplish potion streamed into the water and around the bobbing infernal bag, I began to incant.

  The door shook. “Sir?”

  I jerked slightly, splashing potion around before righting my aim.

  “Did you hear that?” the woman whispered. “He’s urinating all over the seat!”

  “Blocked the door too,” the man muttered.

  The voices retreated, allowing me to concentrate on what was happening in my makeshift laboratory. As the potion activated, it turned the water an intense indigo. Capillaries glimmered into being and explored toward the infernal bag. As though sensing what was happening,
the bag clenched into a tight fist to protect its murderous contents.

  It was frightening how much magic Damien had managed to channel through Quinton and the others.

  When the bottle was half empty, I stopped pouring. I would need the rest for the other bag. The infernal bag splashed as it tried to escape, but the thickening capillaries were penetrating the leather now. A cloudy blackness seeped through the vessels and into the water: the evil being drained.

  I pushed more power into the incantation.

  The potion pumped out more and more of the infernal magic, blackening the water. The bag continued to thrash, kicking water up over the edges of the bowl. And then the commotion stopped. I waited several moments before leaning forward. Too late, I saw the bobbing bag draw in for one last gasp.

  “Protezione!” I called, willing a shield into being and shape.

  But the bag had already exploded in a spectacular burst. Black toilet water erupted in founts, one of them hitting me in the face. My shield took form an instant later, sparing me a full soaking.

  As I spat and dried my dripping face, I heard something spattering over my shield. I lowered the front of my shirt. The bag had been mined with spiny imps. Their dead and dying bodies littered the tile floor like a strange breed of fish. I’d read some grisly stories about that class of imp, and as I watched them deflate into flaccid bags, I shuddered that they’d nearly been set loose in a crowded restaurant—along with another smoke golem powered by Damien.

  I leaned over the toilet and checked to make sure the infernal magic had been neutralized before flushing. The spent bag swirled down with the black water until it all disappeared with a throaty glug.

  I dispersed my shield, yanked several paper towels from the dispenser to finish drying my hands and face, and then killed the locking spell. I opened the bathroom door to a small crowd of managers.

  “What the hell were you doing in there?” the biggest one demanded.

  I combed a cowlick of wet hair from my brow and peered over a shoulder. A half inch of black water and a few dozen imps covered the bathroom floor. The imps would soon break down into phlegmy puddles, but for now they looked like a bizarre deep-sea haul.