Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9)

Greek myths when I was six, and it took off from there. I wasn’t trying to be rude earlier. I just think about this stuff a lot.”
“No, no, I get it.”
I looked him over just long enough for it not to be weird, but there was something about him I couldn’t quite put a finger on. Something almost otherworldly, though nothing showed in his aura. I decided it was his youth and intensity and the way his dusky features seemed to blend with his gray hoodie and jeans.
“How are you with computers?” I asked.
He shrugged. “As competent as anyone, I guess.”
“Good, I’m going to give you access to our departmental forum. I need you to scan it daily and print off anything that seems relevant.”
“Shouldn’t be hard.”
“I also want you to go through the syllabus and come up with a lesson plan for each class. How you’d instruct it, in other words.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
“I’m assuming you’d like to teach at some point? This is one way to get experience, not to mention good references.” I probably should have felt guiltier than I did about sloughing off my responsibilities to a student, not to mention throwing in a bribe, but the lesson plan requirement was horseshit. I would teach how I always taught. Short of Snodgrass auditing my course, he’d never know.
“Okay,” Sven said. “What else?”
“That’s it. Have the lesson plans to me by Friday, keep an eye on the forum, and I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign for the rest of the term.”
I waited for Sven to go on his stoked way—I was basically giving him free tuition money—but he remained seated, eyes narrowing as though weighing the proposal. “What about research assistance?”
I hadn’t even considered that, but if he was willing, I could find some things for him to do. “All right, there are a couple papers I’m about to tackle. You could help me gather the source material.”
“And two hours of your time a week,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“Because I came to Midtown College specifically to learn from you.”
Really? I thought. Because for a second there, I thought you were intent on teaching me. “Well, that’s what my classes are for. But sure, anything else you want to discuss, my office hours are in the syllabus.”
“I’d like an exclusive block.”
Now I understood what had struck me about him. It wasn’t just his intensity or dusky features, though that was part of it. He was a younger, more ambitious version of myself. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
What had I gotten myself into?
“Look, Sven, there’s really no point. Few students take advantage of my office hours. You could probably have all of them if you wanted. Anytime you want to talk mythology, just stop on in.”
“I’m not referring to mythology.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m not referring to mythology.” He looked meaningfully from me to my cane, which I’d leaned beside the desk.
I groaned inwardly. My second life as a magic-user was no secret, not after I’d been the public face of Mayor “Budge” Lowder’s eradication program. But that had been two years ago, and the fanfare had died down. I was rarely recognized on the street anymore—thanks in part to an enchantment the Order had installed in the citywide wards. But I still got the occasional student who remembered and wanted more.
“I don’t teach that here,” I said.
“So where do you teach it?”
“I don’t teach it, period.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t,” I said, pushing power into my wizard’s voice.
“The work study requirement for a graduate assistantship is fifteen hours a week. I’m just asking for two.”
My voice hadn’t fazed him. And here I thought I was so clever selecting the loudest, most brazen student in the class.
“Look, maybe this was a bad idea,” I said, standing.
He stood with me, his intense eyes turning earnest. “Professor Croft, I want to learn. I’m ready.”
I took a calming breath. “I can’t just teach the kind of magic I practice to anyone. Attempting to instruct you, even introducing you to the basic tenets, would be irresponsible and dangerous. Most of my work involves undoing the work of lay casters—and I don’t always reach them in time. I’ve seen way more disembowelments than anyone should have to.” Probably oversharing, but I needed to get my point across. He was exactly the kind of kid who would dabble in a powerful spell book. “My kind of magic requires a certain bloodline, understand? And it’s not a bloodline you and I share.”
Before he could reply, my flip phone rang. I checked the caller. Vega.
“Hold on a sec,” I told Sven, turning and opening the phone. “What’s up?”
“You busy?” By her tone, she was asking in her capacity as an NYPD officer versus my wife.
“Not really. Do you need me for something?”
“There’s a body we’d like you to take a look at.”
“I thought you were on light duty in another department.”
“This was Hoffman’s call.”
“Hoffman asked for me personally?” Though Vega’s partner in Homicide had come around to me and my magic in the last year or so, he’d never brought me in on a case. He usually pushed back.
“Right? Miracles and wonders,” she deadpanned. “From what I can gather, the circumstances are unusual, and the vic is some sort of VIP. I’m guessing Hoffman’s under pressure to deliver a suspect.”
“Just text me the address, and I’ll head over.”
“How’s your first day going?” she asked above the sound of tapping.
“Well, it hasn’t been dull,” I said, thinking of Snodgrass and then Sven. “Yours?”
“Wish I could say the same. I wasn’t built for desk work.”
“No, you weren’t,” I agreed. “But I’m sure the bad guys appreciate the break.”
She snorted. “Address is sent.”
My phone chimed. “Got it. I’ll see you tonight.”
As we ended the call, I turned back, surprised to find that Sven had left. A folded note sat on the corner of the desk. I strolled over and opened it.
“I’M READY,” he’d written, and underlined for emphasis.
Below, he’d rendered a sigil-enhanced circle using what looked like a silver-flecked grease pencil.
Great, so the