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

street-level businesses. Though we were still in a time catch, and in one of the most dismal periods in New York’s recent history, a part of me embraced the familiarity. I squinted out my window, lining up the date with my personal timeline.

After Romania, meaning I’ve already been trained and inducted into the supposed Order. The true Order, headed by my father and Arianna, was still in hiding. Vega will be an NYPD officer, pre-Homicide, whom I’ve yet to meet.

I thought back to the night I’d failed to get to a conjurer in time and then exhausted my powers banishing the creature he’d called up. Before I could flee the scene, my incubus, Thelonious, came calling and raided the liquor cabinet. The police found me passed out on the apartment’s couch with the victim’s blood on my hands.

Vega handled the investigation. She knew I was withholding info—she’d always been good at spotting that—but without a weapon or apparent motive, she pushed obstruction. That got me a two-year probation. But it also led to us working our first case together, at St. Martin’s Cathedral.

The rest, as the saying went, was history.

And let’s see, I’m teaching at Midtown College. Caroline will be there too, still a few years away from marrying Angelus and becoming fae.

The day was Wednesday, meaning we would be on campus. The thought that a fifteen-minute ride could put us face-to-face with ourselves from five years earlier sent a wave of unreality through me. But there was no point and even less time. Our objective was to recover Jordan, hope to hell Malachi, Seay, and the half-fae showed up, and then get to the St. Martin’s site and finish this.

The cabbie pulled up in front of the steps leading to the museum’s columned main entrance. “The Met,” he said wearily.

“Actually, would you mind taking us down a few blocks?” I asked.

Grumbling, he honked his way back into traffic. As the massive museum scrolled past the window, I thought about Gretchen transporting me to its back lawn earlier. You want my help? she’d asked. Beyond the museum, Central Park appeared. A line of cement barricades blocked street access at Seventy-ninth.

“Here’s good,” I said.

As I paid him, the driver looked from the park back to me. “You really are going to Belvedere, aren’t you?” When I didn’t answer, he muttered something about a group discount on coffins and drove away.

The paved pathway that entered the park was roped off and flanked by an AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY sign and another warning that the city wouldn’t be responsible for anyone who trespassed.

We filed around the barrier and entered a dark tunnel of overgrowth that put me on immediate guard. Large gouges in the paved path looked claw-like. I pulled my cane into sword and staff and conjured a shield around us.

“Lots of baddies in here,” I said. “Including a race of goblin that’s especially warmongery. No relation to Bree-yark, though.”

I looked over, surprised to find he’d fallen behind. He had been gimpy ever since landing in the time catch, but now his limp appeared more pronounced. With each step, his face drew into a sharp wince.

“You all right, dawg?” Gorgantha called back.

We slowed so he could catch up. “Need some healing magic?” I asked.

“Naw,” he grunted. “Just need to walk it off.” But when he waved the hand that had been clutching his hip, it was stained a dark red. And he was bracing the left hip, not the one he’d been favoring earlier.

“Whoa, hold it,” I said. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, that punk’s bullet grazed me. No biggie.”

“That’s no graze,” Gorgantha said. “I can smell the blood. Lots of it.”

When Caroline dissolved his glamour, his left pant leg was soaked.

“C’mon,” I said, supporting him under his left arm. “No more tough-guying this.” I led him grumbling past a flattened section of iron fencing and into a small clearing beside the path. The others followed.

“Aw, this is ridiculous,” he complained.

“Bree-yark, you’ve been shot,” I said. “There’s a frigging bullet in you.”

“Yeah, and now I’m slowing everyone down.”

“Just shut it and do what the man says,” Gorgantha scolded.

I lowered him onto his good side and pulled his pants down past his bikini briefs. There was a sopping hole near his hip where the round had entered. “You’re in luck,” I said. “I’ve done this before. All you have to do is relax.”

While Bree-yark protested, I removed Dropsy from his pouch so I could stuff it under the side of his head. The lantern hopped around to Bree-yark’s front. When she saw his wound, she began flashing in distress. Caroline coaxed the lantern toward her and picked her up. Dropsy watched the procedure from Caroline’s arms.

I began by touching my cane to Bree-yark’s forehead to prompt an endorphin dump. As his eyelids turned heavy, I tented my fingers over the wound. I connected with the bullet energetically before snapping a Word off my tongue. The round dislodged from the bone where it had embedded and landed in my palm. I tossed it aside. Hovering my cane over the wound now, I spoke words of healing. The opal glowed, forcing a thick plug of blood from the hole before filling it with cottony light.

I sat back on my heels. “He’s going to need some healing time before he can walk.”

“How much?” Gorgantha asked.

“Considering that the round hit bone, at least a couple hours.”

As I stood, Caroline knelt down in my former spot. “I can halve that, and without expending much magic.”

I nodded for her to go ahead, time being at least as precious a commodity now as her magic.

“Maybe you and me could check out the castle,” Gorgantha said. “Try and bring Jordan around like you did Seay?”

I peered west into the thick growth. Caroline had put up a light glamour to screen our clearing from outside view, obviating the need for Gorgantha’s and the others’ disguises. “Under different circumstances, I’d agree,” I replied. “But we have no idea what we’re walking into. I’d rather we go as