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

“I like to keep my activities quiet, you see.” He took another sip of scotch. “The brutal murder of one as exalted as Father Richard is anything but. Not that I regret what happened. If his death presents me with someone more amenable to financial pressure, well … let’s just say I won’t demur.”

“So you had nothing to do with the murder?”

“I believe I’ve answered your question, my boy.”

He spoke with the self-possession of someone with nothing to hide, and I caught myself nodding.

“What about Black Earth?” I asked.

He turned to face me. “What about them?”

Them? I straightened.

“Are they a group?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

Arnaud’s lips stretched into a wicked smile. Damn. He strolled back to his chair, this time sitting with his legs neatly crossed. He draped a wrist over his knee and jiggled his drained glass, making the ice clink.

“It seems I have something you want,” he said.

“Not necessarily. I mean, if you know something about Black Earth that I don’t, then—”

He silenced me with a raised hand. “The cat is already out of its foul little bag, Mr. Croft. Why, there it is now, scampering about, the rascal.” His eyes darted around as though tracking it, then returned to mine. He studied me for a long moment, his gaze dipping once to my hand.

“The ring,” he said.

I curled my fingers protectively. “Huh?”

“Yes. The ring for the information.”

Though he sounded like someone proposing a simple business transaction, I sensed an underlying urgency. He didn’t like the idea of an enchanted item out there that could hurt him. For my part, I didn’t like the idea of not having that item. But with less than twenty-four hours to point Detective Vega in the direction of the killer, I needed to know what Black Earth meant.

“A renewed truce?” I counter-offered.

“The ring or nothing.”

I studied the dragon embossed in the face of dark silver. I hadn’t thought the ring was anything more than symbolic. In fact, I’d only brought it to get inside and, once here, to remind Arnaud of the Pact. Fortunately for my immortal soul, the power of the Pact had been bound inside the ring through enchantment. It was a powerful artifact, and one I might need again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give this up,” I said.

“Then it appears we’re done.”

Before I could come up with another offer, Arnaud stood and clapped his hands sharply. The blood slave who had ushered me in opened the door.

“Zarko,” Arnaud said. “Please show Mr. Croft down and return his belongings.” He rotated back to the window as though I had already been escorted out. Knowing further appeals would fall on deaf ears, I stood from my chair, drink untouched, and headed for the door.

I was nearly to the threshold when Arnaud spoke again. “I’ve become fond of you in our short time together this afternoon, Mr. Croft.” The way his voice warped the word fond told me he’d become anything but. I turned anyway, alert in anticipation. “As such, I will tell you this. While the Pact may forbid me from coming after you, I cannot be held liable for the actions of my employees. No offense to good Zarko here, but they are rather mindless, after all. There is no telling what they might do if provoked.”

“And what might provoke them?” I asked, edging from Zarko, whose pale lips had turned up at the corners.

“Remain on your side of the Wall, my boy, and I doubt you’ll ever need know.”

I clenched my jaw. In exchange for the vaguest acknowledgment that a group called Black Earth did exist, possibly even somewhere in the city, I’d relinquished my access to the bulk of downtown Manhattan—where St. Martin’s just happened to sit.

“I won’t make any promises,” I muttered as I crossed the threshold.

“Well, then neither will I,” Arnaud answered.

20

I left the Financial District on foot, dumping the bag of rice at the first garbage bin I encountered.

As I stepped from the Wall’s shadow, I squinted around. I was still recovering from Arnaud’s poisonous presence (the dull afternoon light outside his building had nearly blinded me), but part of my splintering headache arose from irritation at myself. That was what risking my life for nothing tended to do.

Well, not nothing, I thought as I tapped north. I felt I could safely cross Arnaud off the list of suspects. He was right. His survival had as much to do with amassing wealth and influence as keeping his vampiric activities on the down low. As badly as he wanted St. Martin’s out of his district, he was resigned to doing so through legal action and bribery.

That left Wang Gang and the White Hand. Perhaps Black Earth was the name of an inner circle Caroline hadn’t known about? I still thought it was a long shot, given the language of the message, but Chinatown was all I had. One small problem, however—I didn’t have an in with the White Hand like I did with Arnaud. No family connections or…

The thought trailed off as an idea took hold.

Fifteen minutes later I was stepping beneath a string of paper lanterns and opening a door to a sharp tring.

A familiar pungency met me as I peered around. It had been years since I’d set foot inside Mr. Han’s Apothecary (Midge’s Medicinals in the West Village was more convenient), but it was much as I remembered. A tight maze work of shelves and small drawers packed with just about anything a spell-caster could want: roots, rare stones, ground bones, dried arachnids, some as large as my hand, seemingly empty bottles with labels like GOOD HOPE and INSANITY.

I could browse in here all day.

“That Mr. Croft?” an accented voice asked.

I turned to the small register in the front of the store to find a late middle-aged man with jet-black hair, a collared shirt buttoned to his narrow throat. Just the fellow I was looking for.

“Mr. Han! Hey, how are you?”

“Oh, you