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

down to Shadow Duel. At some point during their graduate assistantship meeting, I heard Sven make the surprising declaration to Croft, and I knew I’d just written the ending.

Yet further proof that characters live much more interesting lives than their authors.

My research for this installment was mostly internet-based. That usually includes a perusal of the spell list on Roll20, various mythology sites, as well as interesting New York City locations. This time, I focused on the Explorer’s Club, an actual institution on East 70th Street, which is much as it’s described in the book (minus the shadow doorman and bonding potions, of course), and Track 61, where Sven hides out.

Fun fact: Track 61 was famously used by Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1944, when he gave an address at the Waldorf Astoria. Contrary to a popular myth, the car where Croft finds Sven is not FDR’s car, but lowly Baggage Car 002, which transported crane rigging throughout Grand Central before being abandoned. It housed a ghoul family for a short time before becoming Sven’s hideout.

As I write this, I have several ideas for the subsequent books—which may or may not survive first contact with the characters. (See above.) Though I can’t help but think Croft will encounter shadow Vega again. There’s a story there, and with our Vega on light duty, now seems a good time to explore it.

I have several people to thank for their help in bringing Shadow Duel into the world.

Thank you to the team at Damonza.com for designing another stellar cover. Kudos to my beta and advanced readers, including Beverly Collie, Mark Denman, Linda Ash, Erin Halbmaier, Susie Johnson, and Bob Singer, who provided valuable feedback during the writing process. And thanks to Sharlene Magnarella and Donna Rich for taking on the painstaking task of final proofing. Naturally, any errors that remain are this author’s alone.

I also want to give a shout out to James Patrick Cronin, who brings all the books in the Croftverse to life through his gifted narration on the audio editions. Those books, including samples, can be found at Audible.com.

Prof Croft 9 was written in Guanajuato, Mexico. Thanks to the owners and staff at my preferred work spots for tolerating this laptop-toting gringo and serving up excellent coffee: Café Tal, Vivo Café, and Cueva Café.

And none of this would be possible without the Strange Brigade, my dedicated fan group whose enthusiasm serves as motivation jet fuel, book after book.

Last but not least, thank you, fearless reader, for taking another ride with the Prof.

Till the next one…

Best Wishes,

Brad Magnarella

P.S. Be sure to check out my website to learn more about the Croftverse, download a pair of free prequels, and find out what’s coming! That’s all at bradmagnarella.com

Preview of Blue Curse

Blue Wolf Book 1

I watched the burqa-clad figure drift from one side of the dirt road to the other, coming nearer. She looked like a green specter through my night-vision goggles. A singing green specter. As she drew even with the compound two blocks from my position, I could hear the wavering notes rising above the clamor of the compound’s generator.

“Nice pipes,” I muttered.

Curling a finger over the trigger of my M4, I raised the rifle from the woman toward the rooftop of the cement building that stood above the compound’s high walls.

A magnified guard appeared in my sight picture. He leaned over the north side of the rooftop, an AK-47 propped against his shoulder, then called to a second guard behind him. The two peered down on the woman, unescorted and apparently drunk, out in the middle of the night. In the suburb of the conservative Waristani city, that would draw anyone’s attention.

Which was the whole point.

I centered the crosshairs on the nearer guard’s head. “Mario in sight,” I whispered into my headset.

“Roger that, Captain,” Segundo, my team sergeant and second-in-command, answered. “I have Luigi.”

“On three, two, one…”

Our M4s coughed a single round apiece, Segundo’s from three blocks away. In sprays of glowing green mist, the guards we’d nicknamed Mario and Luigi dropped from sight.

“Move,” I ordered, stepping from the corner of my building.

Four men in black camos and body armor followed me, weapons at the ready. We crossed the road and jogged the next block at a crouch, then proceeded single file along the compound’s outer wall. The woman who had distracted the guards met us. She shed her burqa and became Sergeant Calvin Parker.

The lankiest member of Team 5, Parker was the only one who could have passed for a female. I nodded at my cultural affairs officer to tell him good job. The young black man gave me a wry look as he ditched the burqa and readied his rifle and gear. He hadn’t been thrilled about the role.

I gave the signal, and two of my men dropped off to establish perimeter security. On the other side of the compound two men from the split team were doing the same. Ten feet from the compound’s north gate, my senior engineer moved to the front, pulling out C-4 charges to place on the hinges.

“Hot on the north,” he said over his radio.

“Hot on the south,” an engineer on the split team answered.

We crouched away, and both doors detonated. The hammering of the compound’s generator helped cover the dry bangs, but we needed to move fast.

I took the lead, rushing low through the smoky doorway, three men following. We were in the compound’s west outer courtyard. I spotted the two guards. They were beside a small outbuilding, fumbling their AK-47s into firing positions. We had interrupted their smoke break—one of many that aerial surveillance had shown us. Our rifles coughed. Each guard was hit at least twice before he collapsed to the ground. At the same time, suppressed shots echoed from the east courtyard. Not a single burst of answering gunfire so far.

Good. Execution is on point.

I led my team to the southern end of the courtyard where Segundo’s team was mining the metal door to the inner courtyard. The engineers