Black Luck (Prof Croft Book 5) Page 10

  But after another minute of resisting, the bag finally sagged, exhausted, at the circle’s center. Black smoke leaked from its cinched mouth.

  “Now to find out who made you,” I whispered.

  Carefully, I drew the smoke along the ribbons of the reveal spell and into my cane. This was the dangerous part. By connecting to the bag, I was exposing myself to an attack.

  As I pulled a little harder, I began to see an image above the leaking bag. It was the residual stamp of the mage who had given the infernal bag life. With no safe way to cast against him, I could only attempt to will his dark, dull image clearer. But after several attempts, I realized Pierce had been right. The mage had taken pains to cover his tracks. Where there should have been a face or aura, I still saw only the vaguest silhouette of a head.

  I had my mage, but he was hidden, dammit.

  I pulled some more, but it was no use. I was preparing to break the spell when the smoky silhouette shifted into another one. I stopped.

  Two mages?

  The silhouette shifted again. And again. And again. It then cycled back to the first shape I’d seen. I watched the merry-go-round of images for a few more cycles, counting the silhouettes.

  Five individuals had a hand in creating the infernal bag?

  I was considering the implications when the next silhouette grew into a hideous head with narrow, blood-red eyes. Something shot through the connection. Powerful taloned fingers raked my throat, trying to grab hold, but they slipped over the potion and lost their grip.

  “Disfare!” I shouted.

  The ribbons of the reveal spell dispersed in a flash, and smoke belched from the infernal bag. My heart thundered as I held up my cane defensively. The bag gave a final hiccup before the last of its magic expired. I felt around my throat, but the potion had done its job. I was unharmed.

  “Holy hell,” I said, releasing my breath.

  I stepped from my casting circle and paced the office on slick feet and trembling legs. Not one mage, but five. And powerful enough to attack me through a dying infernal bag. And I mean attack me. If it hadn’t been for the potion, that thing would have torn out my lungs.

  Time to hit the books.

  I turned toward my shelves. With a Word, the veil of encyclopedias and classical titles dissolved away, revealing my library of magical tomes and grimoires. I wiped my slick hands on my pants—the potion was starting to wear off—selected several titles, and set them in a stack on my desk. Flipping my notepad to a blank page, I started with the topmost book, intent on learning everything I could about infernal bags, innocent souls, and the dark mages who loved them.

  Two hours later I set the final book aside and, tapping my pencil between my teeth, looked over my pages of notes.

  I had jotted down some items about the history of infernal bags, but I was more interested in their use. The bulk of the information confirmed what I already knew. Infernal bags contained ingredients that reacted to magic channeled from the infernal realms. Hence the name.

  The more powerful the mage, the more powerful the infernal bag’s manifestations, and the more control the mage had over them. Judging from the strength and intelligence of the smoke golems I’d encountered, the magic-user in question was pretty damned powerful.

  But what if the reveal spell had been right? What if I was dealing with the collective power of five mages? My research had uncovered several examples of multiple magic-users sharing infernal bags. Besides sounding gross, it worried me. Especially since the mages appeared to be going after souls.

  I thought about the shriveled bodies in the movie house.

  Souls could be used in powerful spells. One only had to go back to Lich for an example. He’d stolen and harvested the souls of countless magic-users to sustain his nightmare portal to the Whisperer. I feared the five mages had something similarly awful planned.

  Then again, the mages could be feeding the souls to a demon.

  My final page of notes was devoted to this second theory. It wasn’t any more reassuring, though. I had come across a case of a demon taking control of a cult devoted to his worship in Medieval Europe. Through them, the demon directed assaults on countless settlements, emerging to claim the souls of the victims and grow his power. A member of the Order had ultimately broken up the cult and banished the demon, but it had been close.

  Chewing on my pencil, I thought about the final silhouette that had taken shape through the reveal spell. The way it had attempted to seize my throat, my soul. At first I’d assumed it was a manifestation of the infernal bag. But I’d been in the clutches of a demon before—a greater demon—and this had felt too damned familiar.

  With enough power, a greater demon could enter our world. How many souls that would require depended on the demon in question. A lower-level demon might only need a handful. But for a greater demon, it could mean hundreds or thousands. And cults tended not to worship the weak ones. That would mean lots of infernal bags—and lots more attacks.

  I hovered the tip of my pencil over my last line of notes, which dealt with the Medieval cult that had called forth the demon. “All the cultists were mortal,” I read aloud. “No magic-users.”

  I underlined the last sentence twice. No magic-users. If that was the case now, my job had just become infinitely more difficult. There couldn’t have been more than a few true magic-users in New York City, but there were millions of mortals. And I still only had Mr. Han’s description of a man with a lisp to go on.

  No names of the five people I’d seen in the reveal spell, no faces…

  The thought trailed off as I remembered what Vega had said about the woman who’d been fired from the theater. I’d dismissed her as a candidate because she didn’t sound like a magic-user. But she didn’t need to be. Though the woman remained a long shot, she was the best lead I had.

  I just hoped Vega hadn’t executed the search warrant yet.

  I stood and tested my footing. The oil had dissipated with the potion, and my skin was no longer slick.

  Halfway down the ladder, I slipped anyway and landed awkwardly. Pain speared through my right knee. I grimaced and gripped the leg as I limped toward the kitchen. Too minor to waste healing magic on. I considered grabbing an ice pack from the freezer, but the kitchen floor remained littered with the detritus from Gretchen’s breakfast, and I didn’t want to risk another fall. Instead, I propped myself against the counter and called Ricki.

  “Vega,” she answered formally.

  I hesitated. Hadn’t she seen it was me on her phone’s display? Then I remembered the way our last call had ended, with me raising my voice and then practically hanging up on her.

  “Hey,” I said carefully. “Sorry about losing my temper earlier.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time right now. Is there something you want?”

  I could tell by her tone I was in a hole, one that was going to take time to dig out of. Because of our closeness, it felt worse than the old days when she just thought I murdered people. But just like the old days, my first job was to make sure I didn’t make my hole any deeper.

  “There is actually,” I said. “That search warrant on the former theater employee? Has it been executed yet?”

  “No, but we’re about to head over.”

  “Can I come with?”

  Vega gave a tired sigh. “If this is about wanting to make up, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “I do want to make up, but this isn’t about that. I took a look at the infernal bag this afternoon, the one from Mr. Han’s? I might have hit on some new information. It’s pretty vague, I admit, but if the woman’s place turns up anything, this case could be blown wide open.”

  I was pretty sure it would get me out of my hole with Vega too.

  “Can I say something about Pierce without you hanging up?” she asked.

  My stomach tightened into an acid fist, but I managed a neutral-sounding “Sure.”

  “He called not too long ago. Apparently he’s seeing some things too.
Thinks he might have a lead.”

  I felt my pulse quicken. “Oh? Did he say what it was?”

  “Just that we might be looking at multiple perps. Does that jibe with your findings?”

  I couldn’t frigging believe this. “It might,” I hedged. “Why? Does he want to come too?”

  “No. He said he needs to tease out more info.”

  I relaxed at little. Pierce was chasing something else.

  “So, do you have an address for me?” I asked.

  Vega hesitated before answering. “It’s in that apartment tower on Madison and Sixty-Eighth. The Sophia.” She gave me the street and apartment numbers. “Her name’s Becky McKay.”

  “A former ticket-ripper on Madison Ave?” I whistled in amazement.

  “Yeah, I thought the same thing. We’ll be pulling up in about fifteen minutes.” Even though Vega’s voice had thawed, she usually offered to pick me up in these situations, or at the very least to send a car. Right now, though, I’d take what I could get. And that meant a cab.

  “I’ll meet you there,” I said.

  15

  I had more trouble than usual catching a cab, and once I did, we seemed to hit every red light going north. When we finally pulled up to the address, the skies opened in a late-afternoon thunderstorm. Making an umbrella of my coat collar, I hobbled from the cab toward the armed doormen. Like most of the apartment towers on the Upper East Side, the Sofia was palatial.

  I showed the doormen my NYPD identification card, and they opened the doors. Safely inside the lobby, I stepped in a puddle and went straight down. My cane clattered from my outflung arm.

  Oh, for chrissake.

  One of the doormen rushed in to help me up.

  “That’s funny,” he said, handing me back my cane. “These floors are supposed to be slip proof.”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to the floor.” I rubbed my tailbone, but my ego was bruised more than anything. Two falls in the last half hour, and I couldn’t blame them on the Slick Willie potion. It had expired more than an hour ago.

  The young man straightened my coat. “Can I help you to where you’re going?”

  “I’ll manage, thanks. Why don’t you clean up that puddle before someone else steps in it and breaks their neck?”

  While the doorman radioed a janitor, I staggered my way to the elevators and pressed the up button. In the polished reflection of the brass doors, I watched a pair of elderly women enter the lobby. Before I could spin and warn them, they walked right through the same puddle in high heels—and kept right on walking.

  I exhaled and lowered my arm.

  Becky’s apartment turned out to be on the top floor. Ahead of me, about halfway down the corridor, several police officers were clustered. I saw Vega talking to a young woman, whom I guessed to be the suspect. She was short with a Mohawk that went from dark purple at the base to neon pink at the tips. And she did not look happy about having her penthouse tossed.

  I walked toward them, relying heavily on my cane. I’d been worried I was too late, but from the bits I was picking up, it didn’t sound like the search had started yet.

  “If you don’t calm down,” Vega was saying, “we’re taking you to the precinct.”

  “Am I under arrest?” Becky demanded. “Huh? Am I?”

  Hoffman, who was beside Vega, muttered, “Not yet.”

  “We’ve already explained everything to you,” Vega replied. “No, we’re not arresting you. We’re executing a search warrant. That’s the copy in your hands. I’m giving you the choice of remaining out here with the officers, or they can give you a lift to a precinct. Your call.”

  “This is because of my neighbors, isn’t it?” Becky said. “Can’t stand someone like me invading their sheltered sanctum.”

  “While we’re on the subject,” Hoffman said. “How is it that you can afford a place like this?”

  “I inherited some money,” she said defiantly. “Is that against the law now too?”

  Vega stepped up beside Hoffman and spoke into the ear Becky couldn’t see. “Check it out,” I saw her mouth.

  But Becky’s attention had been diverted by my arrival. As Hoffman separated from the group and pulled out his phone, the suspect gave me a critical up and down. “Oh, look,” she said. “Another member of the goon squad.”

  I gave her my most charming smile, which only deepened the scowl across her pierced lips. I opened my wizard’s senses and assessed her in return. She wasn’t a magic-user or supernatural—I could see that right off. I focused on her aura, where I caught ashy bits of gray orbiting. But that could have been her anger. Nothing screamed black magic or demon.

  “Stay or go,” Vega said to her. “This is the last time I’ll ask.”

  Becky sighed and waved a hand. “Do whatever you want.”

  “All right, but no more problems. Understood?”

  Becky looked away with a scowl.

  Vega nodded at me and a pair of officers, and we followed her into the apartment. The other two officers remained in the hallway with the suspect.

  “Whoa,” I said as the door closed behind us. The main room was an enormous open plan, stocked with brand-new furniture and one of the largest entertainment centers I’d ever seen. The speakers alone were taller than me. Posters of obscure movies and indie punk bands covered the walls. Little in the room really went together, but I doubted Becky cared.

  Across the room, a massive window overlooked south Central Park. Budge was still promising the city a new, improved park, but following last summer’s slash and napalm campaign, it remained a mostly brown lot. His priority right now was rebuilding Lower Manhattan. That’s where the money was.

  “Look for any computers or devices,” Vega was telling the officers. Then to me, “What do you see?”

  “Someone who has more money than she knows what to do with.”

  Vega frowned. “You know what I mean.”

  Her look and tone reminded me I was still in her doghouse. I nodded and paced around the room for the next several minutes. There was no evidence of casting circles or spell items. No esoteric books or ingredients for an infernal bag. And no matter how wide I threw my wizard senses, I wasn’t feeling anything.

  I grew anxious as I remembered what Vega had said about Pierce pursuing another lead. I needed this to be the lead, dammit.

  “Let me check the bedrooms,” I said.

  Three of them were completely empty, while the one Becky had claimed for herself held an obscenely large bed with black satin sheets. Her belongings were slung everywhere: mostly ratty clothes that reeked of cigarette smoke. I started to poke through them before deciding I was wasting my time. If I was in close proximity to something magical or demonic, I would feel it. And the only thing I felt was a young woman’s rebellion.

  Poof. There went my lead.

  I checked the kitchen to make sure, but it was mostly bare. Empty take-out cartons and soy sauce packets littered the massive central island.

  I reentered the main room to tell Vega I had nada and ran into a standing lamp. When I lunged forward to catch it, my cane became entangled in my legs somehow, and I went over. Hollering, I grabbed for a speaker. The end result was that the lamp, speaker, and I ended up on the floor.

  “Oh, for…” Vega muttered.

  Embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet. Something clunked inside the speaker as I righted it. The lamp’s decorative shade was shattered. Shards of stained glass glinted over the hardwood floor.

  “That’s coming out of our department budget,” Vega said. “You know that, right?”

  “Crap, sorry about that. The lamp sort of ambushed me.”

  I wasn’t always the smoothest number, but I honestly couldn’t remember a streak of clumsiness like the one I was having this afternoon. Had the months of marinating caused the Slick Willie potion to stay in my system longer than usual? I rubbed my hands to double check, but they felt dry.

  “Well?” Vega said, raising her eyebrows.

  I l
ooked around a final time. “Nothing,” I admitted. “Becky doesn’t seem to have been involved in the attack.”

  Vega turned to the two officers. One was holding a laptop and the other a computer tablet and smartphone. Vega shook her head, and the men returned the items to where they’d found them.

  “Then let’s tell her we’re done here,” she said.

  “What?” Becky said when we emerged. “Didn’t find my secret plans for world domination?”

  “Thanks for your cooperation,” Vega told her in what I recognized as her official voice. “In the process of the search, one of your lamps was damaged. Our department will reimburse you the full cost of the item.” She reached into her pocket and produced a card. “If you call this number—”

  “Keep your number,” Becky interrupted, drawing her hand from the offered card. “I’ll gladly pay for a new lamp if it means never seeing you again. Can I go back inside my own apartment now?”

  Vega pressed her lips together as she returned the card to her pocket. She jerked her head for the officers to back off. “Yeah, we’re all done here.”

  “The Nazi fucking Gestapo,” Becky muttered as she returned to her penthouse. She slammed and locked the door behind her.

  “Wow, touchy,” I said before hustling to catch up to Vega.

  I reached her as Hoffman was walking up to meet us. He’d been hanging around the elevators, making calls. Now he pocketed his phone.

  “Story checks out,” he said to Vega. “She had a couple wealthy grandparents out West. Had the foresight to invest in precious metals, apparently. When gold jumped, so did their net worth. They died a few months ago. Within a few days of each other, in fact. Heart attack and stroke. One of those freak things. Anyway, it all went to Miss Charming over there.”

  “Thanks, Hoffman,” she said. “I’ll join you downstairs in a minute.”

  As Hoffman and the officers boarded the elevator, Vega turned to me.