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

this morning’s sell-off is gonna be a whimper compared to the coming shitshow. And without that funding, we can kiss our redevelopment plans goodbye. We’ll have to cut services, including police. Next thing you know, the tax base is fleeing, which means even less money. Then we really will be Murder City again. Christ, guys. I need something by the end of the day. Can you do that?” he pled.

I didn’t want that future for the city or my family. It sounded too much like the shadow present. “We’ll keep at it,” I assured him.

Hoffman grumbled something incoherent.

“Gotta run, guys,” the mayor said suddenly and clicked off.

I was about to end the call myself when Hoffman growled, “Croft.”

I sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to be a pain in your ass. You drew a really bizarre pair of cases, and I’m doing everything I can to help. That’s why you brought me in, right?”

“I just got a message that Mims left his place,” he said.

“What?”

“Walked out. The officers on duty lost him in the subway. Thought you’d wanna know before heading over.” Hoffman sounded as if the mayor’s parting words had emptied his resolve, but my own was ramping up.

“Where was he last seen?”

“The Jefferson Street station.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“If you get something solid, let me know.”

Hoffman may have wanted to stomp me for challenging him in front of the mayor, but he wasn’t going to sever a lifeline. Before I could reply, he hung up.

“What’s going on?” Bree-yark asked as I started to swear.

“Walter isn’t at his apartment. He’s gone AWOL.”

“You think he’s behind the murders?”

“Either that or he’s being a dipshit.”

With the phone pressed to my chin, I considered the mayor’s plea and the Doideag’s verses about a coming war. I also considered that I could be yanked into the shadow present at any moment.

“No more fucking around,” I muttered.

“Oh, you’re free to use that word when it suits you, I see,” Tabitha said from the back seat.

I called Vega, who had left the apartment for work shortly before me and Bree-yark.

“How’s it going?” she answered.

“I need a favor.”

A half hour later, the building superintendent was unlocking Walter Mims’s door for me and a pair of NYPD officers. Vega had arranged the “wellness check” on the pretext that Walter wasn’t answering his phone and that the officers on duty might have been mistaken about seeing him leave.

We stepped into an untidy apartment whose living room had been transformed into an office, a large computer desk holding court, surrounded by several bookcases.

“Walter?” one of the officers called.

Leading with her sidearm, she and her partner disappeared into the back.

I nodded at the superintendent that we could take it from here, and he closed the door behind me. Legally, we were in a gray zone. Once the police ascertained Walter wasn’t home, and there were no signs of foul play, we were required to leave.

Wasting no time, I activated my hunting spell while scanning the apartment on the physical and astral planes. Planetary models stood here and there while photos of colorful galaxies adorned the walls.

Nothing atypical, and my cane wasn’t picking up anything.

“Place is empty,” the officer said, reholstering her sidearm. “Let’s go.”

“Okay, just give me a sec,” I said, ducking into the bathroom. “Nature calls.”

“Croft, we’re not supposed to—”

I snapped on the ventilation fan, cutting her off. I’d already sighted the brush sitting on the edge of the sink. Closer inspection revealed snagged strands of thin brown hair. Got you, you son of a bitch.

I was pulling several free when my phone rang. It was Vega.

“I’m at the apartment,” I said, speaking above the fan while trying not to be heard through the door. “Place is clean, but I’ve got some good material for a hunting spell. Shouldn’t take too long to locate him.”

“Don’t bother,” she said.

I stopped, a knot already forming in my gut. “Why not?”

“His body was just found.”

28

By the time I arrived at Morningside Park, Hoffman was there, looking even more haggard than he’d sounded on the phone. He led me wearily past the police tape. In front of a park bench, a covered body lay flat on its back.

“First responders were trying to resuscitate him when I got here,” Hoffman said. “Torso wasn’t inflating.”

“His lungs are gone,” I said more than asked.

“Yup, and no cuts, like with the others.” Standing unevenly on his ortho boot, he held up a photo. “This is how they found him.”

I studied the image of Walter Mims sitting on the wrought-iron bench, neck craned back, the mouth below his inverted V mustache hanging open. His lips were deep blue, and his eyes stared from his crooked glasses in shock. Being suddenly without your lungs would do that, I thought grimly. Not a fate I would wish on anyone.

My cane wiggled, indicating Walter’s body. At some point following last night’s meeting, someone had slipped him the bonding potion and killed his shadow self. I glanced at the crowd gathered beyond the police perimeter.

“Was anyone with him?” I asked.

“Eyewitnesses say he came solo.”

“Why would he leave the safety of his apartment and go to a random park?”

“To feed the birdies? The hell should I know?” Hoffman said irritably. “We’re working on the warrant for his phone. Gonna see if he communicated with anyone before his death.”

I was weighing different possibilities when Bree-yark called me. “Uh, Everson?”

I looked over to find him jerking his head toward a growing commotion. Gretchen was bumping and shouldering her way through the onlookers. She’d dolled up again, this time topping her outfit with an obscenely large sun hat. Oblivious to the crowd’s complaints, she rose onto her tiptoes and peered around.

“There you are!” she called, spotting me.

“One sec,” I said to Hoffman and ducked back under the police tape before Gretchen could barge into the crime scene.

I attempted to steer her from Bree-yark and Tabitha, but she used subtle enchantments to ensure we met right in front of them. “Oh, hi, Bree-yark,” she said, affecting surprise. “Hello,