Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9) by Brad Magnarella (ereader with android .txt) 📕

“Reminds me of the time my battalion was on a night march through the Ungling Bog. Our lead was this goblin named Cuirk. Strange kid, but had a nose like you wouldn’t believe. Anyway, it was coming on midnight when we heard him shout, ‘Hag!’ The rest of us scattered. Never did see Cuirk again, though a salamander turned up at camp that night and wouldn’t leave. Might’ve been coincidence, but who knows? We kept the thing just in case.”

I finished activating a pair of pre-made potions, popped the tops off, and handed one to Bree-yark.

His nostrils wrinkled from the steam. “What’s this?”

“Neutralizing potion,” I said. “So we don’t end up like Cuirk.”

He shrugged and drank it down. I grabbed the empty tube before he could chuck it out the window, then drank mine. As the potion tingled through my system, I checked my coat pockets to ensure my casting implements were at hand before grabbing my cane.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, tightening the buckle of a blade strapped to his lower leg.

We made our way down the warped boardwalk toward the main building. Bree-yark was right about the stench. It was rank, and the midday sun on the stagnant water wasn’t helping. Farther back in the reeds, I spotted three squat houses. In addition to their antiques business, the sisters also called the swamp home.

At the door to the main building, I stopped between a pair of potted shrubs and turned to Bree-yark. Though he hadn’t brought it up on the ride here, I could tell the encounter with Gretchen and her boyfriend had bothered him. And there was no telling how that might manifest under stress.

“Listen, there can’t be any outbursts,” I said. “Not with these three. I’m going to have my hands full as it is.”

“No, no, I get it.”

We’d discussed the plan on the way here. It basically amounted to me taking the brunt of their viciousness until they wearied and told me what they wanted in exchange for the info on the tanzanite. That they would want something was guaranteed. And it wouldn’t be hair and fingernail clippings.

“With any luck, two are out sick today,” I muttered.

“No, they’re all here,” someone said. “Unfortunately.”

Bree-yark and I looked around, but we were the only ones on the boardwalk.

“A little lower.”

“Holy thunder!” Bree-yark exclaimed, jumping back.

The voice was coming from the scraggly two-foot-tall shrub to the right of the door. Except for appearing in need of water, it looked commonplace. I couldn’t even see where a mouth would go.

I followed Bree-yark’s gaze to the other shrub.

“That one doesn’t talk,” the first shrub said. “Just me.”

“Must be some sort of enchanted growth,” I told Bree-yark. “Probably for security.”

“I wish,” the shrub said. “No, a few months back I tried to haggle the sisters down on a rocking chair. They didn’t react very well.”

“They turned you into this for trying to haggle?” Bree-yark asked, incredulous.

“Well, I was being sort of an ass about it.”

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I forget it now. Plant memory isn’t the same as human. Doug, I think. Anyway, I overheard you talking about the sisters, and I wanted to warn you that they’re in a really weird mood today. Might want to come back another time.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Bree-yark said, jerking his eyes back toward the lot.

“Unfortunately, we need something from them,” I said. “And it’s time sensitive.”

Doug blew out his breath.

“Any advice?” Bree-yark asked.

“You want advice from a shrub? I mean, what can I say? Don’t be me?”

I lowered my voice. “Listen, I have friends in the magical community who might be able to restore you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure?”

“I may not remember my old life, but I know I’m a lot less stressed. And my buddy over there isn’t bad company.” Bree-yark and I followed his subtle twist to the other shrub. It was half dead and listing to one side.

“Can we at least get you some water?” Bree-yark asked.

“A Diet Coke would be nice, actually. Haven’t had one of those in ages. There’s a machine in the store.”

“You’ve got it,” I said. “Well… good meeting you, Doug.”

“Yeah,” Bree-yark put in. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Be careful,” he called.

We entered the main building. The large space was filled from floor to ceiling with furniture, framed paintings, vintage collectibles, and memorabilia—everything well organized and in excellent condition. Thanks to hag magic, it was also illusory. Within a year of the purchase of a Gowdie rarity, the varnish would start to thin, the paint to flake, and rot to set in. Just enough time that the buyer would question their own care for the now-worthless item rather than blame the sisters.

The hags also dealt in hard-to-find ingredients, but those they didn’t dare sully. Most magic types would spot the fraud and peg the blame where it actually belonged. The sisters hadn’t remained in business for more than a century by pissing off customers they couldn’t turn into shrubs.

“Place is kinda cool,” Bree-yark said. “I mean, enchantments aside.”

A door opened in back, and ominous footsteps approached. The elderly sisters had been wearing Victorian-era funeral dresses the last time I was here, so I expected something similar. Definitely not the prep school diva who stepped into view.

She was wearing knee high socks with a pleated green skirt and matching jacket. Blond hair fell neatly past her shoulders. But it was the face that nailed it. Besides the teenage smoothness, she’d mastered the snobbishness. Her two sisters fell in behind her, both similarly glamoured, though with brunette and auburn hair to accent their own bitch-faces.

“Weird is right,” Bree-yark muttered, recalling what Doug had said.

The lead hag looked me up and down critically. “Can I help you?” she demanded in a Valley Girl voice.

“It’s Everson,” I said.

She squinted before the angles of her face softened, and she broke into a brilliant smile. “Everson Croft? Where have you been, babe? It’s been, like, forevs.”

“Grizela,” I said in greeting, then nodded