The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) π
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- Author: Brad Magnarella
Read book online Β«The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) πΒ». Author - Brad Magnarella
βI think so, yeah,β I replied, my heart beating urgently. Like Olgaβs rock salt, sometimes the best magic was no magic at all. βHow soon can we leave for the train station?β
βAs soon as you are ready,β she said.
I stood quickly. βGive me five minutes.β
Iβve got a gold cup to hack.
18
Somewhere over Spain it occurred to me that I might not have to hack Chicoryβs cup. My own cup required an incantation to send messages, but not to receive them. As long as my cup was jetting a flame, the messages arrived on their own. Hopefully, Chicoryβs cup operated the same wayβin which case, it would just be a matter of igniting the oil crystal.
By the time the plane touched down at Newark International, I was running on unhealthy levels of adrenaline and caffeine and little else. I shouldered my way through the crowds and stood in the taxi line outside.
βWhere to?β a cabbie asked when my turn came.
I climbed into his backseat with my pack. βGehr Place. Near 495.β
He nodded and shifted his ample bulk as he put the cab in gear and reset the meter. βWhere you coming in from?β
βEastern Europe.β
He snorted. βSurprised you were in a hurry to get back.β
βWhat do you mean?β
βYou havenβt been following? The cityβs a flipping zoo. Last night, we had maniacs running around the streets, climbing buildings, breaking windows. A couple of βem tried tipping over my taxi on East Fourteenth. Told dispatch I was done for the night. Screw that.β
βWho were they?β I asked.
βFrom the looks of βem? Vagrants and junkies. The police eventually rounded them up, but it took all night. Like some kind of frigging Night of the Living Dead. Cost a few officers their lives too.β He shook his balding head. βMust be a nasty new drug on the streets.β
Or a nasty new magic, I thought. One I potentially let through.
If Whisperer magic was coming through, it might not have been powerful enough to influence sound mindsβyetβbut it looked as if it was worming its way into those already afflicted, dragging them into deeper madness. I thought about the patients in the psych ward Vega had mentioned, Olgaβs alcoholic father, and now junkies.
βYouβre my last drop of the evening.β
βOh, yeah?β I said absently.
βGonna return the cab and go straight home to the missus. Bar the doors. No way Iβm gonna be out and about with crap like this going on. Not worth it for a few extra bucks, you know?β
I nodded as, with stinging, sleep-deprived eyes, I peered out the windows. We were climbing onto I-78, the setting sun throwing final, long shadows over the interstate. The west-bound lanes were clogged. It looked like the afternoon rush, but it was almost eight p.m.
The cabbie snapped on the radio.
ββ¦mobs and mobs of them,β a woman said in a breathless voice. It sounded as though she was speaking through a telephone. βTheyβre going block by block, setting fire to anything thatβll light. Weβve got cars on fire, buildings on fireβ¦β She took a sobbing breath. ββ¦people on fire. Me and my husband barely got away. Theyβre β¦ theyβre crazy.β
βAw, Christ,β the cabbie said. βYou hearing this?β
βAre you somewhere safe now?β the male talk show host asked.
βYeah, I think so,β the woman replied, not sounding at all certain.
βIf youβre just joining us, ladies and gentlemen,β the host said in a grave voice, βthe Bronx is burning. I repeat, the Bronx is burning. Roving gangs with no apparent affiliation began setting fire to the south Bronx about an hour ago, and their numbers have only grown despite the arrival of police on the scene. Something similar is happening in Staten Island and east Brooklyn, weβre being told, but the details at this time are sketchy. The mayor has declared a state of emergency and is recommending that those who can safely evacuate the city do so at this time. Everyone else should remain inside with their doors and windows locked.β
I looked over at the lines of bumper-to-bumper cars in the opposite lanes. Even from my distance, I could see the fear and tension on the driversβ faces, several of them with children in the back seats. I squinted and craned my neck until I could make out a brown haze rising in the north.
βEvacuate the city?β the cabbie complained. βHow am I gonna do that? My wife weighs five hundred plus. Sheβs practically bedbound.β
My pager began to go off. Its signal had come back on in the airport in Romania, but no one had sent any pages. I dug into my pocket, pushing past the Ziploc bag of Romanian salt Olga had given me for protection, and found the pager. I pulled it out and checked the number. Vegaβs.
βHey,β I said, βmind making a quick stop so I can make a call?β
βYouβre not carrying a phone?β he asked.
βNo.β
I thought he was going to offer me his, which I would have had to turn down or risk exploding it, but he sighed and said, βI should probably fill up anyway. Letβs make it quick, though, huh?β He turned off the next exit ramp and pulled into a gas station with a payphone.
I ran up to the phone and called.
βVega,β she answered.
βHey, itβs Everson. Whatβs going on?β
βThatβs what Iβd like to know,β she said. βAre you back in the States?β
βYeah, just got in.β
βThe nuttiness I told you about yesterday? Itβs gone into overdrive. Mayor Lowderβs been asking about you. He wants to know if thereβs something supernatural at work and, if so, what you can do about it.β
βIβm hoping Iβll have an answer shortly,β I said.
βOne thatβll put an end to this?β
βEventually.β I hoped.
Off to my left, stupid laughter filled the inside of a parked Plymouth station wagon, its windows cloudy with smoke. When the skunky smell of pot reached me, I turned the other way and blocked the fumes with my collar.
βEventually?β The rawness in Detective Vegaβs voice told me she hadnβt gotten
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