The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1)

by Brad Magnarella

  “Yes,” Sathanas said. “I saw into your feeble mind. I turned your wrath into mine.”

  Feeble, indeed. Believing you could outwit a demon was like believing you could best the guy on the subway platform at three-card Monte. Sathanas had laid a trap inside of a trap. First by manipulating my wrath, then by getting me to believe the power of that wrath could harm him. Instead, he absorbed it. Now he commanded the strength to break the cathedral’s hold.

  And I was all that stood in his way.

  “Stop,” I shouted, setting my spent legs apart, sword and staff held out.

  Sathanas stormed closer. “Do you wish to make me stronger still?”

  Before I realized he’d thrashed it, his tail was driving toward me. I grunted out a “Protezione,” but my summoned shield shattered before the barbed tail. The hooked tip, diving for my heart, sunk beneath my left clavicle instead. With a sick crunch, it punched out my upper back.

  I screamed, hands wringing my sword and staff, forearms hugging the tail.

  Sathanas laughed as his tail lifted me from my feet and slammed me into the corridor wall. Remains tumbled around me as the pain cast me into a gray world between excruciating waking and bone-aching sleep. From far away came the piercing cries of shriekers.

  “Do your hear that?” he asked. “My legion is circling.”

  With another lash, he slammed me into the opposite wall.

  “Soon, your world will belong to me.”

  Into another wall I went, the corridor flickering in and out.

  Sathanas curled his tail around until I was struggling to hold his looming horned face in focus. “You will be gone in a moment, wizard. But be reassured, when I emerge into the world, it will be known that Everson Croft freed me. What power you lacked in your pathetic life, I will grant you in death. A demon may not give selflessly, but he gives.”

  In my hazy state, I could see the ley energy coursing up around us, warping the air. Any attempt to channel it would be suicide. The flow was too pure for me, too potent. It would blow my prism before destroying my mind. But if I wanted to slow Sathanas, it was the only option left.

  Anyway, I thought with a wince, I’m already toast.

  But first I needed to forgive all those I had sworn vengeance and death upon. Detective Vega, Chicory, the Church, even Professor Snodgrass. I would never wish on them what would befall humanity with Sathanas’s escape.

  I also thought of my friend and fellow professor, Caroline Reid. A woman who, I could freely admit now, I was kind of, sort of in love with. If I somehow managed to get out of this, I would tell her. But whatever happened, I hoped Caroline would have some sense that I tried. That I never gave up.

  That determined, a pervasive calm settled over me. It was time.

  “Hey, Sathanas,” I mumbled, holding his blazing eyes, “Take your gift…”

  I drove my sword arm forward and watched the blade plunge into the demon’s throat.

  “…and choke on it.”

  I threw open my prism to the torrent of ley energy. It smashed through me, white and raging, like dam waters. I strained with all I had to contain it, to channel it into the demon, whose angry eyes flared wide. But my prism was breaking up like a paper straw. I didn’t know how much longer—

  Silence hit me.

  I was a young boy again, sitting in the middle row of pews, looking on the great stained glass window. My gaze had come to a stop at Michael. He was depicted as an angel, but I knew that wasn’t quite right. He had been an elemental, a First Saint. Someone occupied the seat beside me, but not my grandmother. I tried to turn my head, but I was in the stained glass now, light pouring through me.

  Sathanas’s horrid scream wrenched me back to the present. Or maybe that was my own cry, the final expression of a blown mind, because I felt myself crashing into a blackness of collapsing bones.

  49

  I woke up to a cliché, which was to say in a hospital room. I did blink around, but no confused murmurings leaked from my lips. The antiseptic smell, sounds of distant monitors, and blue curtain that encircled my raised bed cued me in immediately.

  I looked down to the right, where a pair of IV tubes fed blood and saline into the crook of my arm. On my left side, thick padding hugged my chest and shoulder, a spot of red striking through its center.

  I remembered Sathanas’s tail piercing me and struggled to sit up, but something restrained my left wrist. I pulled the cover away. I was handcuffed to the bedrail.

  “Do you know the punishment for imprisoning a cop?”

  Someone stood from a chair beside the head of my bed. A second later, Detective Vega stepped into view. I looked her up and down. Same serious face, pulled-back hair, and black suit as just about every time I’d ever seen her, but man did she look stunning. Maybe it was just the fact she was alive.

  “You’re all right,” was all I could think to say.

  “Are you?” she asked.

  Except for a little pounding in the back of my head, I wasn’t in nearly as much pain as I should have been, considering. “Just foggy,” I said. “How in the hell did I end up here?”

  A corner of her mouth smirked. “Your buddies brought you in.”

  “Buddies?”

  “Dempsey and Dipinski. The acolyte at the cathedral called my office late last night and spoke to Hoffman. When Dempsey and Dipinski arrived to pick the kid up—in a taxi, for some reason—the whole cathedral shook. Like a bomb had gone off, they said. This kid, Malachi, insisted on going back inside for you. They dug you out of a boneyard in the subbasement. Boy, the officers just loved that.”

  “And the…?” I almost said demon, but stopped myself. That Detective Vega was alive—that I was alive—told me all I needed to know. Somehow, someway, Sathanas had been destroyed.

  My body relaxed into the mattress.

  “Do you want to tell me more about my visitors last night?” Vega asked. “Or should we save it for another time?”

  “Definitely another time,” I said wearily. “But you were … protected?”

  She looked at me a long moment before nodding. “Around the same time the cathedral would’ve been shaking, those screaming creatures fell apart, evaporated. And then that field, or whatever you put up, disappeared.”

  “And your son?”

  “Safe as can be.”

  I nodded at her softening expression. The dissolution of the shriekers occurred when their source, Sathanas, was destroyed. The subsequent breakdown of the shield was me tumbling into la-la land—and under a pile of bones, apparently. I remembered the centipede I’d seen crawling out of the ear canal of one of those skulls and fought the urge now to check my own.

  Vega lowered her voice. “So what happened down there, Croft?”

  I thought back to the experience of becoming Michael in the stained glass window. In that final instant, the power of the cathedral and my magical bloodline had aligned. And it was all because…

  “I forgave,” I said.

  “Forgave?” Her face scrunched up. “Who?”

  “Um…” I looked down. “A few people. But I had help, too.”

  “There was someone with you?”

  “Yeah. Father Vick.”

  His had been the presence beside me on the pew. I was certain of that now. Like strong hands over the backs of mine, he had helped me hold the prism together long enough to destroy the demon. Without him, I was sure I would have perished instead. And Sathanas would be loose in the world. I took a moment to compose my face before raising it again.

  I expected Vega to say something skeptical—she had that look in her eyes—but she sighed in what sounded like accession. “The bishop told me what happened. Father Vick … the demon … how you saved her butt.”

  “Then what’s with the handcuffs?” I gave them a little rattle.

  Vega snorted and shook her head. “You woke up a few hours ago and tried to dance a tango with the night nurse.” She separated a small key from the others on her chain as she cir
cled the bed. “The cuffs were put on for her sake as much as yours. She wasn’t amused.”

  Thelonious, I thought with an inward groan. At least it settled the question of whether I owed him a night out.

  I watched Vega unlock the cuffs, conflict furrowing her brow. I didn’t need to read her mind to know what was going on upstairs. She was considering just how in the hell she was going to explain to her higher ups what had happened at the cathedral. I didn’t envy her.

  “You were right,” I said.

  She looked up, eyes bright with surprise. “About what?”

  “The evidence leading you to Father Vick. I don’t blame you for that. Two very different approaches led us to the same person, though for different reasons. When you write up your report, I hope you’ll consider that.”

  The last thing I wanted was for Father Vick to be vilified, especially after having made the ultimate sacrifice. I doubted Vega would be given a choice, though. But as she pocketed the cuffs in her jacket, she looked as if she was debating whether or not to tell me something. She stepped back, establishing a professional distance.

  “I’ve put in a request,” she said at last, “to get first crack at these kinds of cases in the future. Crimes that don’t fit the typical pattern, that sort of thing.” She hesitated. “I could use a … specialist.”

  “Well, that all depends on what you’re offering, Detective,” I said with a smirk.

  She folded her arms. “How about not citing you for trashing my vehicle?”

  Heh. I’d forgotten about that.

  “No, look, I’d be honored,” I said, as her face relaxed into an almost-smile. “I’m just not sure what kind of a future I have in the city.” Or whether I have a future, period. I glanced down at my left wrist, finding a hospital band instead of a watch. “What time is it?”

  Vega consulted her own wrist. “Quarter till eleven.”

  “Monday morning?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I drew the IV tubes from my arm, lowered the right bedrail, swung my legs over the bedside, and stood.

  “Croft,” Vega whispered. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  I steadied myself, not nearly as weak or sore as I had expected, then realized with a flush my gown was wide open in back. No wonder Vega had thrown a forearm to her wincing face. “I’m, ah…” I said, holding the flaps closed behind me with one hand and batting past the curtain with the other in search of my clothes and personals. “I’m late for something.”

  50

  The hearing was already underway when I arrived at the conference room at Midtown College. The distinguished faces of the board members turned at my entrance. And then there was Professor Snodgrass, who I had apparently caught in the middle of his presentation.

  He cleared his throat and peered over his little oval glasses. “How nice of you to join us, Mr. Croft. Wardrobe problems?” He gave a self-satisfied sniff. “Well, go on, have a seat.”

  I looked down at my bandaged shins poking beneath the hem of my coat. With my clothes blood-stained and filthy, I’d donned a second gown on my back instead, then buttoned my punctured coat to the throat. At least it wasn’t inside out.

  Grunting, I took the empty seat at the end of the table, hanging my cane over the armrest. In my peripheral vision, I noticed several faculty members seated around the edge of the room. I felt like I’d walked into a trial.

  “As I was saying,” Snodgrass continued, with a final glance of reproach my way, “Mr. Croft’s criminal status, coupled with his failure to disclose said status to you, the esteemed board, is more than sufficient, I should think, to have him terminated from the college and forbidden from teaching or conducting research here ever again. I urge you to also consider that since the college renewed his contract under the false impression Mr. Croft had a clean record, he be fined the equivalent of his salary going back to his arrest date.”

  Ouch. That would definitely land me in a cardboard box beneath the underpass. I watched the board members flip through the stapled packets in front of them—copies of my arrest record and court papers—and tried to read their expressions. That all eight were frowning wasn’t encouraging.

  “May I say something?” I asked, raising a hand half way.

  I wasn’t going to try to convince the board of anything. My plan was to give a brief account of the events that had led to my arrest, leaving out the magical parts, of course, admit fault for not informing the board, and then ask that they consider probation instead of termination. I would even accept a pay cut. If they terminated me anyway, I had tried. I think Caroline would look on that at least somewhat kindly.

  When my gaze returned to Snodgrass, I remembered my other reason for racing over here in a pair of hospital gowns. I had forgiven him last night, sure, but it didn’t mean I was going to allow the twerp the last word.

  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. ORDER. 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 her shoulders, 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.