Demon Moon (Prof Croft Book 1) (30 page)

Snodgrass met my gaze with a haughty
this should be good
look.

“If I can say something first,” a voice intervened. I turned to Chairman Cowper, a bald man with large, sagging lips that smacked every few words. The chairman of the board directed his smacking lips to Snodgrass. “For all of our sakes, I wish you would have been a little more thorough.”

Snodgrass blinked rapidly. “More thorough, sir?” he asked. “I’m not sure I understand. It’s all in the—”

“A follow-up phone call at the least,” Chairman Cowper continued. “When I spoke to the detective of record this morning, she said that Professor Croft here…” He smacked again as he opened a hand toward me. “…has no criminal history. His arrest was in error, and it is all being taken care of, per the detective’s own words. She admitted that it should have been expunged a long time ago, but the court system being in its present state…”

I suppressed a smile.
Detective Vega, you little lynx.

Professor Snodgrass’s lips began to twitch between his reddening cheeks, but the chairman showed his palm. “Your motion that he be terminated, Professor, is based on the assertion that he is on probation. Well, that is hardly the case, now is it? Some due diligence would have established this—and spared us all the toil of yet another pointless meeting,” he added in a mutter.

“I spoke with the detective just the other week!” Snodgrass exclaimed.

But Cowper had already started to stand, the other board members joining him.

“And what about his class size?” Snodgrass continued, arms pumping. “Six students!” His titter verged on hysterical. “And his grants? We haven’t seen any of those lately!”

“Oh, that reminds me.” At the door, Chairman Cowper turned his head. “Just this morning, the college received its largest grant to date—double the amount, in fact, that Professor Croft requested.” He nodded at me, appreciation gleaming in his eyes. “It seems someone is very taken with your work.”

“A grant from who!” Snodgrass demanded.

“Whom,”
the chairman corrected him, then smacked his lips in recall. “Ah, yes, the Obadiah Rockledge Department for Esoteric Research. Or was it Rutledge?” He waved a hand as though it hardly mattered.

I worked out the acronym and smiled openly this time. It seemed I was back in my magical society’s good graces.

Before I could work my lips straight, Snodgrass’s eyes jerked from the departing board members to me. “Oh, there’s something funny going on, all right,” he said. Without dropping his menacing gaze, he gathered his papers into a sloppy pile. “I’m going to be watching you, Croft. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And you are
not
going to be smiling when I do.”

I leaned toward him. “A little advice, Snodgrass? Next time you want to crap on someone, try pulling your pants down first.”

His lips screwed up so tightly, I thought he was going to foul himself right there. Instead, he jerked the papers to his chest, stood abruptly, and marched from the room. When the door slammed behind him, I sagged in my chair, triumph giving over to weariness.

So I had my life, my job, a future with the NYPD that didn’t involve a probation officer, and the blessings of the inscrutable Order. Was there anything that
hadn’t
fixed itself in the last hour? Arnaud and the ring remained a point of contention, I guessed, and there might be some issues with Bashi, though I
had
dealt with the spell supplier. Word would get to Bashi eventually, if it hadn’t already. The vampire I would worry about another time.

I patted the bandage on my left shoulder. Though it seemed the energy at St. Martin’s Cathedral had jump-started the healing, I had my injuries to take care of. There was also the matter of a trashed apartment and exhausted wards, not to mention a succubus cat expecting goat’s milk. With a deep sigh, I pushed myself up from the chair. The more things changed…

“I’m proud of you.”

I wheeled in surprise. Caroline Reid, who must have been in the audience, smiled as she made her way toward me. Golden hair spilling over one shoulder, she looked angelic. I felt my cheeks flush as I remembered the pledge I’d made to myself while in the clutches of Sathanas—telling Caroline how I really felt. It had seemed such a good idea at the time.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” I said.

She looked me over, fingers touching the bandage on my forehead. “Should I ask?”

“Probably not.”

“Word at City Hall is that there was a break in the St. Martin’s murder case.” She laced her fingers into my right hand and swung it lightly. “Thanks to a mysterious consultant.”

“I had some help,” I said, squeezing her hand. If there was a moment to tell her, it was right now.

Her dimples reappeared. “So, where are you off to?”

She released my hand, and with the lost contact went most of my nerve.

“Um, I was planning to head home to take care of a few things. Change of clothes, of course,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “Then I’ll be back for my afternoon class. I promised one of my students I’d be there.” I thought of Meredith, hoping she’d made it home safely.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I glanced around to where I’d been sitting.

“Right here, sport,” she said. “You owe this girl a lunch.”

“Ahh, in that case…” I looked at my wristwatch. It was just shy of noon. “How does now sound?”

“It’s a date.”

We left the college together, stepping out into the stir of Midtown. Not running late for a change, I had a moment to inhale and take everything in. The sky was a bold blue for the first time in what seemed months, and warm sunlight sparkled up and down the block. Whether it was from the brilliance of the fall day or Caroline holding my arm, chatting happily, or the lingering high of whatever pain medication the nurses had shot me up with—or the simple fact I was alive—I loved my beautiful, broken city more than ever.

“Wow, stunning day,” Caroline said.

“Perfect,” I agreed, admiring the sun against her face.

As we entered the thick of the lunchtime crowd, though, I caught myself gripping my cane a little more tightly, invocations at the ready. After all, even on the finest of days you never knew who—or what—might be prowling the streets. And wizards made tempting targets.

Especially the wiseass kind.

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