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

“Allow New Amsterdam to grow and flourish,” he finished, “to become a city that rivals London or Constantinople. Then perhaps we can revisit the question of what’s allowed within its walls and what is forbidden.”

“We’ll leave, then,” Caroline said. “No harm done.”

“But who’s to say you won’t be back?” He arched an eyebrow. “And under a different guise? No, no, that won’t do at all. We must make assurances to our fledgling city. Isn’t that right, Zarko?”

“Yes, master,” he hissed through his grinning teeth.

“Did you know there’s been a demon about?” Arnaud asked abruptly.

I’d been bracing my mind against his insinuative power, but now I faltered. “A demon?”

“Oh, yes. A nasty, nasty character. I’ve had to run the devil out several times myself.”

This had to be Malphas’s time jumper, setting the stage for his master’s arrival. But what could he have been doing in 1660?

Trying not to sound overly interested, I asked, “What did he want?”

Arnaud chuckled. “What do all demons want? But that’s no concern of yours.”

“We’re hunting a demon,” Caroline said. “It could be the same one.”

“Well, I’m afraid the hunt is over for you, my love. Magic is an egregious offense, on par with conjuring.”

He spoke as if he were closing and bolting a door. He wasn’t going to give us anything else on the question of the demon. When he reached for Caroline’s arm, I thrust out my fist with Grandpa’s ring.

“Back off, or I’ll smoke your ass right here.”

The vampire sprang behind his servant. But as he looked at the silver ingot with the rearing dragon, he relaxed and released a soft chuckle. “I thought your magic felt familiar. A fellow veteran of the war against the Inquisition. I believe we have an agreement not to meddle in the other’s affairs. Your name, please?”

“Sure, it’s We Go Our Way And You Go Yours.”

“Cleverly spoken, but your affront is against New Amsterdam, not me. This is for the governor to settle.”

“Keep talking,” I said, holding the ring steady. “This baby is just itching to go boom.”

“If I understand your unusual speech, you’re threatening my life.” He tsked twice. “Attempt it, and the city will become a savage dog pack. Especially with you being hostile natives. Even were you to escape its walls, all of New Amsterdam would be on the hunt, leaving you nowhere to hide. Even glamoured.”

He’d called my bluff. Incinerating him would endanger our hideout as well as Seay’s chances of reaching us.

And while we’d been talking, the town’s patrolmen had returned. Stuyvesant was behind them, shouting and pointing. I remembered reading that he’d commanded an attack on a Caribbean island, and he looked the part now. Arnaud’s blood slaves made their way to the front of a crowd that was fanning to the sides in a clamor. Amid the shouting, I kept hearing a single word: “Executiepeloton.”

Firing squad.

“They’re preparing our execution,” I told Caroline. And with the fluctuating nature of the ley energy, I didn’t know how many musket balls my shield could repel before we’d be able to get out of range.

“Or,” Arnaud stressed above the commotion, “you can work for me.”

As he turned to ply another affirmative from Zarko, I glanced at Caroline. Her eyes cut meaningfully to the left. The patrolmen, eight of them now, were standing and kneeling in two rows, muskets in firing position. Stuyvesant stood beside them, poised as though preparing to give the command. But that’s not what Caroline was indicating. At the back of the crowd that had amassed behind the firing squad were several of Seay’s friends. When Arnaud caught my nod at Caroline, he mistook it for acceptance.

“A wise choice,” he purred. “Now, relinquish the ring, and I’ll call them off.”

I looked between Stuyvesant’s firing squad and Arnaud and his blood slaves. The second group was the bigger threat. And the easier to eliminate.

“All right,” I said.

I brought the fingers of my left hand to the ring, twisted the ingot, and held out my fist.

“Zarko?” Arnaud said through grinning lips. The blood slave stepped forward. But when I opened my hand, nothing fell into his waiting palm. I had an instant to relish the surprise on Arnaud’s face as I aimed my right fist at his chest. Sleight of Hand 101. The ring had never left my finger.

“Balaur!” I shouted.

The power of the Brasov Pact gathered in the silver face and released with a ground-shaking whoomp. A storm of force and fire enveloped the vampire, flinging him through the air. He attempted to land nimbly, but I’d put everything into that Word, and the momentum carried him ass over ankles. He slammed against one of the counting houses and collapsed in a swirl of flames.

A moment of profound silence followed where you could hear the soft brush of landing snowfall, then all hell broke loose. Amid the screaming, shouting, and scrambling, a voice belonging to Stuyvesant rose into a single, sharp command.

“Schiet!”

Smoke billowed from the shooters’ position in a collective crackle.

My shield was up, and I’d been pumping as much energy into it as I could, bracing for the inevitable volley, but not a single musket ball impacted. The patrolmen had aimed past us, toward the water, where I could see the likenesses of the Algonquin Caroline and me fleeing. As the patrolmen reloaded, Stuyvesant watched the glamours—courtesy of Seay’s friends—with vindictive eyes.

Caroline pulled my arm. “This way.”

She’d become a Dutchwoman in a pink petticoat and gown, a bonnet covering her pulled-back hair. I’d been glamoured into her male counterpart, minus the pink. We hurried from the wharf as part of the scattering crowd, making for a street that ran past the fort.

“This leads to Broadway,” Caroline panted. “And Broadway will take us north, out of the city.”

Another series of shots sounded. I looked back in time to see the likenesses of Caroline and me succumbing to a volley of musket balls. We fell from the pier’s edge into the East River, the water carrying us under and away. Stuyvesant nodded