Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8) by Brad Magnarella (best e reader for academics txt) 📕

who’d taken over Arnaud duty and was watching the door from the outside. He had a line of sight on Gorgantha, who was keeping tabs on the side and back of the tavern.

Three men in aprons and drab shirts tended the bar, sleeves rolled to the elbows. While two of them busied themselves filling tumblers and steins, the oldest stood off to the side, a towel over one shoulder. He was tall with a lean, somber face and a widow’s peak of iron-colored hair. I pegged him as the tavern keeper and the other two his sons. He seemed to be searching the tavern for someone.

An instant later, his eyes fixed on mine. I glanced away as if I hadn’t been watching him. I waited several beats before walking my gaze back toward him. His eyes hadn’t moved. He’d singled me out.

Lazar?

Before entering, I’d tightened my magical aura to avoid detection from supernatural types. Now I risked the use of my wizard’s senses. Colorful arrays of astral energy overlaid the tavern. The man stood out for his subdued patterns, which was probably just sobriety. Nothing preternatural. But by moving to one side, arms folded, he was signaling to the thirsty bar crowd that he was no longer serving. They’d responded by pinching toward his sons, creating a narrow lane along the wall for me to traverse.

I edged along the opening until I was standing opposite him. The man regarded me for a moment, tongue searching a rear molar, before unfolding his arms.

“What’ll you be having?” he asked in an English accent.

“Whiskey.”

He prepared it quietly and set the small glass on the bar. Patrons shoved around me now, shouting out drink orders. The man raised a hand for their silence, his sober eyes remaining on mine. Though there was no magic in them, I saw an intelligence honed by decades of studying people.

“What else?” he asked, less a question than an observation.

“I’m looking for someone named Lazar.”

“And what are you wanting with him?”

I sensed everything depended on how I answered.

“Someone believes we know each other.”

“And who is this someone?”

“Hellcat Maggie.”

His slow blink may have been a reaction—I couldn’t tell. He walked over to his sons, leaned close to tell them something, then returned to me. He lifted a plank of bar and stepped aside for me to pass.

I sensed Caroline behind me, still watching.

As I joined the man, he lowered the plank again. Taking an oil lantern from the bar, he stepped out a back door and led the way across a small yard. I followed, reassured by having seen Gorgantha near the road. Given the dearth of ley energy, I was going to need backup if this were an ambush. The man stopped at an outbuilding, its door outlined in light.

“Lazar?” he called.

From inside came a moan and the sound of straw rustling.

The man turned to me. “He started early today, so I’m not sure how clearheaded he is.”

It took me a moment to get that he meant drinking. When the man reached for the knob, I stopped him.

“Look, I’m not sure what I’m walking into here.”

He lowered his hand. “Hm. Maggie’s boy indicated as much.”

That explained why the tavern keeper had been keeping an eye out for me. Maggie had sent one of her blood slaves to arrange the meeting, probably even including a description of what I looked like.

“I’m Everson, by the way.”

I didn’t bother with an alias since Maggie had already overheard my name.

“Jack,” he replied, gripping my hand. “What’re you wanting to know?”

“Well, who Lazar is, for starters.”

“No one can say. Turned up when a tenement house caught fire. Lazar delivered several women and children from the blaze, but got burned awful bad himself. When he pulled through, he was given the name Lazar, short for Lazarus. We gave him work here, mostly out of charity. He’s still not well.” He tapped his temple. “Helps out during the day, cleaning and such. But he drinks sometimes. When he does, he ends up like this. Other times, he wanders off. Sometimes for months.”

“Where does he go?”

Jack shrugged, which had me thinking about the time catches. “Makes his way back eventually,” he said, “but each time looking considerably worse for the wear. When Maggie’s boy said someone was coming to see about him, I’d hoped it was family. At this point, the old man needs caring after.”

Old man?

“I’ll leave you two,” Jack said, and before I was ready, he opened the door.

Inside, a lit lantern hung from a peg. Against the opposite wall of a simple room, a man lay on a bed of straw-ticking. He was curled on his side, facing away from the door. A mass of gray hair burst from the top of his covers. I turned toward Jack, but he was already crossing the yard back to the tavern.

“Lazar?” I ventured.

The mattress rustled, and the man craned his neck around. A dirty hand emerged and cleared the hair from his face. The left half had been badly burned. A weeping gray eye peered from a bed of scar tissue.

I could see right away that I didn’t know this person from Adam—if he was even a person. I gripped the handle of my cane sword. When the man’s eye sharpened, he drew a sharp breath that triggered a coughing fit from deep in his chest.

I took a tentative step forward. “Are you all right?”

He nodded as he got control of his hacks, then rasped, “That you, Everson?”

I stopped and stared. Did he just say my name?

The old man pushed his covers aside and sat on the edge of the mattress. He was dressed in tattered clothes, dirty bare feet crossed at the ankles. “You remember me, right?” he pled. “You haven’t forgotten?”

He gathered hair from his face with both hands now. The scarring on the left half extended from his hairline down to a threadbare chin. He tilted his head so the good half caught more lantern light. I examined the gaunt angles and leathery