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

“Stay behind me,” Arnaud said, raising his sword.

The wolves’ grizzly snouts peeled from their fanged teeth.

I threw up a shield invocation, knowing it would only buy us a few minutes. There were too damned many. They charged en masse—then stuttered to a stop. Muzzles lifted to the scents of death and carnage, then began to sniff one another, growls rippling in their chests.

“It seems you were right,” Arnaud said. “I just received word the captain was taken out. An inter-pack alliance on this scale is unnatural. I suspect we’re about to see it unravel.”

A savage bark sounded, and a wolf seized another by the throat. More barks erupted as wolves from rival packs clashed, claws and teeth ripping into one another.

“Encircle them!” Arnaud called to the surviving blood slaves.

The slaves complied, several limping into position on mangled legs. The battle among the wolves was as brutal as it was quick. As maimed wolves attempted to escape their attackers, the blood slaves drove silver weapons into them. This went on until the final wolf was slain.

I relaxed my tensed arms as my gaze ranged over the slaughter. At the edge of the park, the Undertaker’s mount had been dismembered, the Undertaker no doubt somewhere among the remains.

“Poor Luther,” Arnaud said without a trace of sympathy. “It seems the rest of us will have to divide his assets.” He looked down at me. “Well done, Mr. Croft. The assault on the Wall has disintegrated as well, I’m told.”

“So … what now?” I asked.

“We return to my offices and await the mayor’s call.”

“It’s over?”

“Listen. Do you hear that?”

I stopped breathing and immediately understood what he meant. No shooting. No explosions. No shouts, snarls, or death cries. A deep, snowy silence had descended over lower Manhattan.

“It’s the sound of success,” he said, grinning. “Come, let us negotiate the terms of our future. Swiftly now.”

Arnaud extended an arm toward me.

Ready for the alliance to end, I clasped his blood-caked hand and straddled the mount.

“Let’s go,” I said.

28

Trailed by the remaining blood slaves in Arnaud’s battalion, we rode back to Wall Street. Fires burned here and there. Chunks of building littered several of the streets. But except for the crackling of the horse’s hooves over glass, the downtown remained eerily silent.

We turned a corner and came up on Federal Hall, with its pillared façade and bronze statue of George Washington. Blood slaves and private security forces still ringed the building. A handful of carcasses lay across the street—bullet-riddled wolves reverted to their human forms—telling me the bulk of their attack had not penetrated the core of the Financial District.

“Anything?” Arnaud called up.

Several of the security forces stared back with shield sunglasses and shook their heads.

It looked as though the fae had stayed out of this one, which was not overly surprising. When it came to human affairs, their M.O. was to operate just out of sight, advising here, injecting money there. And they tended not to use magic unless threatened. The anxiety that Caroline and I might become actual adversaries let out a little. I exhaled a shaky breath as two more depleted slave battalions appeared, both led by vampires on horseback.

Arnaud trotted up to the closer group. “I understand we lost two defending the Wall.”

The mounted vampire, who was too battle spattered for me to recognize, nodded. “Francis went down near the West Side Highway,” he said. “Gordon was impaled on Maiden Lane.”

“Victory always comes at a cost.” Arnaud said.

The vampire farther back galloped forward. “Why stop here?” he demanded, eyes blazing inside his helmet. I recognized the young vampire, Damien, by his voice. “There remains a city to conquer!”

Arnaud looked as though he was going to respond, no doubt to talk him down, but he canted his head suddenly. I followed the vampire’s gaze toward Federal Hall, where the security forces had fallen into crouches, automatic weapons aimed at the building. And then I heard it too—a dull, concussive sound, like something trying to pound its way out of a giant tomb.

The horses grunted and drew back.

“What’s going on?” I asked, peering around.

The blood slaves looked jittery, eyes fixed on the building. A deep snap sounded, and then another. A member of the private security team emerged from beyond the pillars. “The slabs are fracturing,” he barked. “Whatever’s coming up is moving ten tons of reinforced concrete.”

Coming up? The fae were sending something through the portal?

“Hold your positions!” Arnaud said severely, but I caught an odd strain in his voice. When his horse shuffled back another foot, Arnaud cracked its head with the pommel of his sword. “You too, cursed beast.”

Arnaud must have had the portal sealed, but all manner of powerful beings dwelt in the faerie realm. Another pair of snaps sounded, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy stone grating against heavy stone. From inside Federal Hall gunfire exploded. Other automatic weapons joined in. A man’s scream rose above the noise and was just as suddenly strangled.

Anxiety sawed on my insides as I flipped through a mental reference of fae creatures.

Arnaud’s men backed out between the pillars, guns cracking. A giant shadow pursued them. It wasn’t until the shadow ducked beneath the pediment and rose to its full height that I recognized the iron-haired monstrosity.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered.

“Does this present a problem, Mr. Croft?” Arnaud asked, holding his slaves back.

“A mountain troll?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Only if you expect to kill it.”

I glimpsed the troll’s volcanic gray face before he hefted an arm to keep the gunfire from his recessed eyes. With a grunt, he seized George Washington’s upper body. Stone erupted from the foundation as the ten-foot-tall statue broke free. The troll wielded it overhead like a club, then swung it in a fierce arc, taking out two of the gunmen.

“Attack!” Arnaud called to his slaves.

Regenerated from their fight against the werewolves, the slaves surrounded the troll, blades glinting. Half a dozen of them slipped behind the creature, darted in—and exploded into flames.

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