The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) 📕

I backed off. “That’s just a taste,” I lied. I had pushed hard enough to make Thelonious stir. “Now tell me about Angelus.”

She lowered her arms with a scowl. “What about him?”

“First, who is he?”

“He’s a prince.” Her lips puckered around the word.

“In the faerie realm?” I thought about that. The fae didn’t carry royal titles in the city. They were more like the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers: old, wealthy families, but without the name recognition, which was how they seemed to like it. “What does he do in the city? Where does he live?”

“How should I know?”

“I’ve seen you pushing your shopping cart up and down the sidewalks. How many centuries have you been in New York? And you’re going to sit there and tell me you have no idea what a prince from your realm does in the city or where he lives?”

“I don’t know what he does.”

I upped the energy until her warts began to sizzle and burst.

“I don’t!” she insisted. “But he lives near the Park.”

“Where near the Park?”

“East Side! Seventieth Street! Now release me!”

I eyed the hideous creature. Stealer of souls, robber of cradles. I could try to destroy her, but that would mean expending energy that might not even be sufficient to the task. And if Thelonious made a visit, things would go from very bad to much worse. No, I couldn’t risk it.

“Fine,” I said, pulling power from the coin. “I release you.”

The hag growled and gained her feet. I eyed her loose grip on her sack.

“Liberare!” I cried, thrusting the coin toward it. The force tore the sack from her grasp and flipped it, releasing the trapped souls. They streamed away, like celestial eels into a great ocean.

“Nooo!” the night hag shrieked. “Come back! Don’t run away!”

The night hag grabbed her sack and ran after the streaming souls, leaping up in fruitless attempts to reclaim them. She soon became lost among the trees, her wretched cries trailing after her.

And I had an address.

14

I stepped from the cab where Seventieth Street met Central Park, flipping up my jacket collar to block the cold wind. The street the night hag had given me was in one of the city’s wealthier pockets, though something told me I wouldn’t find the fae in any of the ornate towers facing the Park. That would be too obvious.

Opening my senses, I headed east at a fast walk, dodging New Yorkers in thick hats and scarves, while eyeing the passing buildings. Though none featured ethereal auras, I began to pick up a low white noise after several blocks, like soft static. The static grew as I hastened my pace—then it receded. I backed up until I was standing where the static was at its peak. I found myself beside a stone staircase leading up to an emerald-green door. Somehow I had missed both just a few seconds before.

A subtle, intricate magic was at play, blending the edifice with the buildings on either side so it wouldn’t stand out. Only a steady eye brought the door into full focus. I moved my gaze up the narrow townhouse, counting four floors, each with a window and simple decorative balcony.

Yes, this was the place.

I climbed the steps. Finding no bell, I knocked on the door, the dense wood seeming to swallow the sound. But a moment later, the door opened onto a slight man in traditional butler’s attire, silver hair combed to one side. Though he appeared fully human, I immediately recognized him as a fae. His aura was calmer than Angel’s, tempered by age, but not weaker.

Definitely not weaker.

If he was surprised to see me—or anyone—at his door, the emotion remained folded in a drawer behind his placid face. I tried to peer past him, but against the light from outside, the space registered dimly, perhaps from another veiling. All I could make out was the beginning of parquet hallway, too wide, it seemed, to fit inside the narrow building.

The butler cleared his throat. “Yes?”

I decided to forego etiquette. “Where’s Angelus?”

“I’m afraid he’s not in, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” His gray eyes, which seemed to eddy at their depths with ancient knowledge, gave up nothing.

“I need to talk to him.”

“It would appear so.”

“Listen,” I said, fighting to control my voice, “Angelus left a party with a friend of mine last night, and no one’s seen her since. Do you know anything about that?”

“Angelus isn’t in, sir,” he repeated.

His head turned slightly. Somewhere behind him a door opened, and an impossible number of voices spilled into the hallway before the door closed again. How many people were back there? Was Caroline among them?

“I’m sorry, sir,” the butler said, “but I must return to my duties.”

“No, wait.” I went to jam a foot against the closing door, but a force kicked it back out. A threshold.

“Good day, sir.” He closed the door.

I tried the knob then pounded on the door. When it didn’t open again, I descended to the sidewalk and peered up at the townhouse. If Caroline was inside, it would explain why my tracking spell had fizzled out as well as why her phone couldn’t receive a signal, the protective energies of the building breaking apart both.

I balled my hands into helpless fists. The defenses here were too complex for someone of my wizarding grade. Even the butler seemed to know this, regarding me more as a minor nuisance than a threat. I considered appealing to the Order to intervene, but I knew that had about as high a probability of getting a response as winning the New York lottery.

The pager in my pocket began to vibrate. Vega was probably ready to follow up on Arnaud’s bogus lead. I left the townhouse in search of a payphone, eventually finding one on Third Avenue.

“What’s up?” I asked when Vega answered.

“There’s a diner two blocks from Ferguson Towers called Firpo’s. How soon can you be here?”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“We have some new information.”

My heart sped up as