Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8) by Brad Magnarella (best e reader for academics txt) 📕

“No. But considering what’s at stake, I’m prepared to make some sacrifices.”

“Even if it means entering into a bargain with a cracked fae?”

“Depends on the bargain. But for my friends?” I hesitated. “Yeah.”

He exhaled. “Then you’re gonna need someone who knows the terrain.”

I shook my head. “I can’t ask you to come.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you.”

We arrived at my apartment building and hauled Bree-yark’s duffle bags to the fourth floor. Inside my unit, we piled them beside the coat rack. Dropsy, who had ridden atop one of the bags jumped down and began peering around the new space.

Already, I was making a mental list of the things I would need to assemble and prepare for our journey. Bree-yark claimed to know of a passage to the Fae Wilds through the old goblin tunnels in Central Park, and he’d remained stubbornly insistent about going with me, for which I was secretly grateful.

“Where’s your cat?” he asked.

“Huh?” I looked toward Tabitha’s divan, but except for the depression and scattering of orange hair, there was no sign of her. “Good question.”

“Hey, Tabby!” Bree-yark called. “Your favorite goblin’s here!”

When she didn’t answer, I said, “She’s probably on the ledge.”

“That bad, huh?”

I snorted as I began emptying my coat pockets onto the dining room table. “No, she patrols outside now and again. Makes sure no one’s casing the apartment. Magic attracts unwanted attention.”

“Gotcha.” Bree-yark looked around and made percussive sounds with his lips. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have something to nosh on? Gretchen was in the middle of making breakfast when I decided to have our talk, so I haven’t eaten yet.” His stomach let out a low rumble. “Probably bad timing on my part.”

“I haven’t been to the store in forever. Is cereal all right?”

“That’d be great. A few bowls should hold me over.”

“Check the pantry. You’ll find at least two boxes of raisin bran, and there’s some milk in the fridge. Just pour from the plastic jug and not the bottles. That’s Tabitha’s elite stash.”

“No prob—” Bree-yark started to say, then broke off. “Hey, Everson? I think you should get over here.” He’d been rounding the kitchen counter, and now he was staring at something on the floor.

I hustled over. “What’s up?”

He pointed a thick finger at where Tabitha lay in a sprawl, eyes halfcocked, tongue lolling. One of her paws was slung across her belly, while the other stretched overhead. My pulse quickened when I noticed she wasn’t breathing.

“Tabitha?” I called.

All around her were shards of a whiskey bottle, as if she’d batted it from the opened liquor cabinet above the stove. But there should have been spilled alcohol everywhere. My eyes cut back to her swollen belly. She choked on a breath, then resumed breathing in a wet snore. I exhaled. Not dead. Drunk.

“She do this a lot?” Bree-yark asked, coming to the same understanding.

“Never, and I have no idea what possessed her to do it now.” I nudged her with a shoe. “Hey.”

She moaned, then resumed snoring. Dropsy, who had somehow gotten onto the kitchen counter, stared down at Tabitha as if trying to decide what to make of her. She edged a little closer and leaned forward.

“Maybe we should turn her onto her side,” Bree-yark said. “You know, in case she can’t handle her sauce.”

“I have a better idea.” I scooped Tabitha up and cradled her against my stomach. Her body was heavy and warm. As I carried her toward the ladder to my lab, I could hear the whiskey sloshing in her belly.

Her eyelids fluttered. “Evershun?” she slurred. “Is that you, darling?”

“Yeah, just hang tight. I’m going to have you feeling better in a minute.”

“Better? But I feel wonnnderful…”

“I’ll bet,” I muttered as she dragged a sheathed paw down the side of my head.

Her lids slid up from a set of bleary eyes. As she watched me, her mouth leaned into a smile. “Have I ever told you how much I like your lips? Oh, they’re beautiful, darling … Just scrumptious … I could snack on them right now.” She strained toward my face, but the small effort exhausted her, and she collapsed back into my arms.

“Up we go,” I said, scaling the ladder.

Her head lolled so that she was facing behind me. “Yoo-hoo,” she called down to Bree-yark.

“Tabitha,” he grunted.

“Who is that fetching man?” she whispered.

“Bree-yark, and you’ve met him before. He’s a goblin.”

“Goblin, hmm.” She said it as if she were contemplating a new delicacy. “Aren’t you coming?” she called.

“I, um, think I’ll wait down here,” he said.

“The handsome ones aaalways play hard to get,” she sighed.

I set Tabitha on my lab table and dug through my plastic bins of pre-mades until I found what I was looking for: a small vial containing a clear liquid. It was a purification potion designed to eliminate toxins. More than one text claimed it also worked on alcohol, inducing rapid sobriety.

“You know what we need?” Tabitha asked, aiming a wavering paw at my face. “More whiskey.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I spoke an incantation, causing the potion to bubble. “Try this,” I said, bringing the dropper cap toward her mouth.

“Ooh, what is—aack!”

Tabitha gagged and hacked, but enough went down that it was just a matter now of waiting. By the time she finished spitting, I could see her eyes returning to focus. She winced and brought her paws to the sides of her head.

“I feel fucking horrible,” she moaned.

“Better horrible than dead. Care to explain why you lapped up half a bottle of eighty proof?”

“Oh, not now, darling.”

“Yes, now,” I said sternly.

She sighed. “I told you I haven’t been feeling myself the last couple days. Ravenous hunger one minute, complete loss of appetite the next. I thought it was getting better, but after you left this morning, I woke up with the most ungodly sense something was about to happen. Something horrible. I ate, I paced, I went outside, I tried to go back to sleep, but nothing made it better.