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

by Brad Magnarella

  My eyelids fluttered, even as I strained to keep them open.

  No, dammit! No, no, no!

  I felt Arnaud slipping into my mind, growing inside it like a fluid-filled sac. He was turning me into one of his minions. I groped for my mental prism, found it, but couldn’t summon the will to cast through it. Arnaud controlled that will now. And with it, he controlled me.

  Arnaud broke away with a wet gasp.

  He turned me until I was facing him, my blood glistening across his mouth like a lurid lip gloss. His swollen pupils narrowed to pin points. Wizard’s energy pulsed around him.

  I stared back dumbly.

  “Be grateful, Mr. Croft,” he said, releasing my wrist. “I could have taken far more.”

  I saw one of the maces on the floor at my feet. I felt myself stooping for it, seizing the leather-bound grip, swinging the silver-edged flanges into Arnaud’s head. But, in fact, I hadn’t moved, couldn’t move.

  Arnaud tsked. “What a cruel thing to want to do to your master.”

  He’s inside my damn head, my thoughts.

  “Indeed, I am,” he said. “Behold.”

  Arnaud turned and walked toward the vault. I followed, my legs kicking into a series of jerky steps. I couldn’t stop them. The vault swallowed us into its frigid hold. Arnaud stepped aside, and I fell to my knees inside the casting circle, as though thrust down. Arnaud moved in beside me.

  “Cerrare,” a foreign voice spoke.

  No, my voice. The word had been spoken through my mouth.

  Could Arnaud direct my magic? Certainly not. But energy was already pouring through my mental prism and down my body. The casting circle glowed with protective power. Flames sprouted from the candles.

  That’s why he held back, I thought. Not out of charity, but to preserve my prism.

  “Den-lil lugal kur-kur-ra ab-ba.”

  Arnaud moved my lips and tongue around the Sumerian words.

  “Re-ne-ke inim gi-na-ni-ta.”

  Ropey strands of dark energy sprang into being, linking Arnaud to the Scaig Box on the altar. The summoning was starting, and God only knew how it was going to end.

  “Gir-su dsara-bi ki e-ne-sur.”

  The trunk stirred. Something inside strained against the hinges, but they were bound by a powerful magic. Hope found a fingerhold inside me. Maybe the binding magic would be too strong for me to dispel. But the magic was familiar. Like the long-forgotten scent of a childhood home, I felt the magic resonating on a limbic level. I’d sensed it before.

  “Yes,” Arnaud whispered. “Your grandfather sealed this box, centuries ago. Only someone of his bloodline can unseal it. How fortunate that I found you—or more accurately, that you found me.”

  What in the world’s in there?

  “A forebear, Mr. Croft.”

  “Ensi ummaki-ke nam inim-ma.”

  The magical binding released in a pair of audible pops.

  “Soon, the city will look on me as a god.”

  “Diri-diri-se e-ak!”

  The lid cannoned open and a horrible shadow rose. It took form above the trunk, unfurling a pair of ragged black wings. A black bat’s face squinted down at us, fangs jutting up from its lower jaw. I’d been right to be wary. Arnaud had just summoned a shadow fiend.

  “Arnaud Thorne,” the fiend said in a voice that sounded like a rusty nail being drawn from wood. “You dare call me forth after hundreds of years of neglect. Hundreds of years in which I’ve foundered in the blackest shadows. Why should I not destroy you here and now?”

  I expected Arnaud to cower from the towering creature. Instead, he stepped forward.

  “I am protected, for one,” he replied from inside the circle. “And two, I have bound you to me.”

  The fiend’s eyes burned as it raised a taloned hand.

  “Gal bi-su!” Arnaud had me shout.

  The ropey umbilicus connecting him to the fiend looped around the creature’s neck, becoming a barbed collar. The fiend’s hands flew to its throat as Arnaud tugged the cord. Arnaud yanked again, and the massive fiend fell to the floor, as though it were bowing before the vampire.

  “Any attempt to harm me will redound on you a hundredfold,” Arnaud said. “Are we clear?”

  The fiend’s face twisted in evident pain. “I will obey.”

  I looked on, horrified. Combining the ancient ritual with my power, Arnaud had taken complete control over the entity. And something told me Arnaud had larger ambitions beyond troll killing.

  “Get up,” he commanded.

  The being flapped to its feet. “What is your bidding?”

  Arnaud’s eyes cut toward me, and I could see the calculation in them. He had what he wanted: the Scaig Box opened, the shadow fiend in his command. He was no longer dependent on my magic. And that wasn’t all. Arnaud’s access to my thoughts ran both ways. Before he could cover the keyhole on his end, I saw the full extent to which he had manipulated me.

  Everson, I thought, you ever-loving idiot.

  Late last night, Arnaud learned the mayor’s wife had succumbed to the bullet I’d lodged in her aorta. Penelope Lowder was dead. With the head of the werewolves gone, he saw an opportunity. The false story about me working for the vampires hadn’t been planted by the fae and City Hall. The timing of the story—on the heels of the Central Park disaster—had only made it seem that way.

  The story had been planted by Arnaud.

  It was brilliant, really. Drive me to him, force the city into a confrontation, and then use my powers to unleash his fiend. The coordinated werewolf attack had surprised him. He hadn’t known Cole was the second wolf in command. The captain had fooled us both, apparently. But with that battle won, Arnaud’s plan was back on track. And the fae’s response helped—or so he thought. He had believed the trolls would convince me to summon the shadow fiend.

  They hadn’t, and so here we were.

  “The mayor was already threatening to end my empire,” Arnaud said, having followed my thoughts. “I merely forced his hand. And now that he has sown the wind, his city shall reap the whirlwind. Remember what I told you, Mr. Croft. ‘War is the continuation of politics by other means.’ So too is terror. Rise, please.” When he gestured, my body jerked like a marionette, and I was on my feet. “And step outside the circle.”

  I fought with everything I had—the circle was my only defense against the shadow fiend—but it was no use. My right leg broke through the circle’s humming border, breaking it. My left leg followed.

  Arnaud had his control over the creature to protect him, but I was exposed now. Nightmare images ripped through my mind as the fiend crawled toward me, its dreadful eyes boring into mine. It reeked of sulfur and carrion. I tried to squint away but couldn’t even do that.

  Beyond the vault’s entrance, gunfire erupted in fresh bursts. A large stone shot past.

  Arnaud sighed. “It seems the trolls have made their way inside. Come,” he said, jerking the fiend by the collar toward the vault door. “I have work for you.”

  I could only stare as the immense being rose and drifted past me.

  “We shouldn’t be long, Mr. Croft,” Arnaud said. “Call if you need anything.”

  His fangs grinned through my drying blood as he slammed the door closed, extinguishing the candles and sealing me in blackness.

  30

  I’d read that an attack from a shadow fiend was like being disemboweled while having your brains sucked out through the back of your skull—the victim conscious the entire time. I almost pitied the trolls. Beyond the thick wall of the vault, I heard the first one being set upon, his grunts and roars followed by an unearthly scream and then a foundation-shaking collapse.

  In the darkness, I felt over the metal door. Arnaud was no longer in direct control of me, but I couldn’t cast, dammit. It was as though my prism was stranded in the middle of a huge chasm. I doubted I’d be able to raise a hand against Arnaud, either. I was his slave now. Maybe not to the degree of the others, but still doomed to serve him.
Until his fiend killed me.

  The inside of the door was smooth metal, nothing to grasp or turn. I put my shoulder to it and shoved, but I’d heard the giant magnets engage after the door had swung closed. It wasn’t going anywhere.

  Another troll screamed. The vault shook with his collapse.

  Okay, calm down, I told myself. Relax. Remember your training.

  I heard Lazlo’s voice from years before. A wizard who cannot cast is a dead wizard.

  Leaning my arms against the door, I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through pursed lips. I recited my centering mantra.

  After several cycles, I saw it wasn’t going to work. Arnaud had siphoned out too much of me. The distance between where I stood and where I needed to be remained too vast.

  Arnaud was the bridge, and unless he commanded it, I couldn’t cast.

  I straightened and pulled my coin pendant from beneath the collar of my shirt. I ran my thumb over the symbol. It was the first magical item of his Grandpa had given me, the only one he’d given me while still alive. I’d acquired the sword and ring after his death—and managed to lose both, I thought bitterly. Right now, the ring’s loss was the more damning.

  The coin’s metal pulsed warmly in my hand.

  As I considered its round shape, I thought about Grandpa’s penchant for acquiring things in pairs: tools, slippers, straight razors. To have an immediate replacement, my grandmother had said.

  What about the Brasov Pact? Grandpa hadn’t owned a second ring, but he would have wanted a backup. My thumb made another pass over the symbol. The coin could cast light and protect against lesser beings. Might Grandpa have also instilled it with the power of the Pact? It was the only other wearable ornament he’d possessed.

  As though in answer, the coin let out another pulse.

  Hope kicked inside me. Yes, the enchantment was buried, but it was in there! I could feel it! It was just a matter of manifesting enough magic to access the enchantment, to release its power.

  “Illuminare,” I said, concentrating into the coin. I waited for several moments before repeating the word. But no energy stirred. No light shone forth. The vault remained as dark as my situation.

  I twisted off the fake ring Arnaud had given me and threw it with all of my strength. “Goddammit!” I shouted, the echoes seeming to chase the clattering ring around the vault before both fell silent. With my back to the door, I slid to the vault floor, landing with a rustle of chainmail.

  Another troll’s scream pierced the vault.

  I closed my eyes. Backup or no backup, I was powerless to cast. The vampire had won.

  Checkmate.

  I could search the vault in the hopes of finding something to use as a weapon. Perhaps the iron trunk the shadow fiend had emerged from. I could stand to one side of the door and await Arnaud’s return. I could bring the trunk down on his head, or attempt to. And it would all be for nothing. At every turn, Arnaud had been a dozen steps ahead of me. He’d enticed me, repelled me, vexed me, possessed me—all moves in a complex dance that he’d been leading the entire time. He hadn’t come this far to be foiled by a box on his head.

  Exhaling, I muttered, “Trust in the one you trust least.”

  I cast back to that final moment with Lady Bastet. I remembered the feel of the stone table beneath my forearms, the tendrils of incense in the air, the strand of my mother’s hair. I remembered Lady Bastet staring into me, losing herself so completely that she didn’t remember the experience. Could she have erred? Gotten her signals crossed? Trust in the one you trust least. From the mouth of an oracle. And the one I trusted least was Arnaud. Zero doubt.

  But that’s not what Lady Bastet had said, I realized. Not exactly.

  In my memory, I watched her violet lips shape the message. Trust in the one your heart trusts least.

  Yes, that’s what she’d said. Heart. And that one word changed everything. The divination no longer fit Arnaud Thorne, but it conformed perfectly to my feelings for Caroline Reid. Caroline was the one I was supposed to have trusted—the one who had been offering to help me the whole time.

  I kicked the floor in disgust.

  Tabitha had been right. I’d let my wounded heart play foil. I was so hell bent on punishing Caroline for choosing Angelus and the fae over me, that I slammed the door on her offer, on her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  The words weren’t just meant for Caroline, who had always helped me—how could I have forgotten that? The apology was also for my mother, who had sacrificed her life for my future. It was for my grandfather, who had protected me in ways I still couldn’t quite understand. My self-disgust took on the ponderous weight of disappointment.

  I had failed them. And in doing so, I’d unleashed a frigging shadow fiend.

  I’d also lost any chance at retribution against my mother’s killer, the head of a group that could still be plotting against the Order.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated, the darkness swallowing my voice.

  I sighed and touched the coin dangling from my neck. Whatever warmth I’d imagined emanating from the metal earlier was gone. I began to tuck it back inside my shirt—and froze.

  Ed.

  A strangled laugh escaped my throat.

  Ed! My golem! The one I’d animated to follow Hoffman. He could still be out there, the amulet that powered him dangling from his clay neck. When did Hoffman say he’d seen him? A week ago?

  I stood and paced in a circle, not wanting to get too excited, but not wanting to release the slender hope, either. As my golem, Ed would be accessible to me. That didn’t require magic, just focus.

  A kaleidoscope of colors danced before my eyes as I sat in my centering pose. It was a long shot—I hadn’t expected Ed to hold out for more than a few days. But hadn’t a rover or two tooled over the Mars surface years beyond their life expectancies? I was mixing robotics and magic in my thinking, sure, but still … I needed Ed to have that same plucky resilience.

  I took a calming breath, closed my eyes, and focused on my creation.

  A moment later, the world lurched into motion.

  “…matter of finding the right enterprise, you see what I’m sayin’?”

  Like coming to the end of a merry-go-round ride, the up-down, round-and-round motion slowed, then stopped. From what felt like the inside of a full-body cast, I peered out at a room of muddy shapes.

  I—I’m out of the vault. It worked!

  “And man, don’t listen to what they’re sayin’ on the streets,” the sleepy voice beside me continued. “Shit. There’s money to be made if you got the right enterprise. Then all you need is capital.”

  My, or rather Ed’s, legs were stretched out in front of me. I recognized the pants I’d given him, though they were caked with filth now. His shoes had either come off or been stolen. Two sets of gray, blocky toes stared back at me. Beyond his feet, the rest of the room came into dull focus. I was in a bedroom layered with mattresses and languid bodies. The bodies sprawled across one another, smoke drifting from their sallow fingers and lips.

  Somehow Ed had landed in a flophouse.

  Newspapers slid off me as I tested my right arm, then my left. The movements were stiff and clunky. I pawed my chest for the amulet. Still under the shirt, though the power that sustained Ed’s life was ebbing.

  When I tried to stand, an arm around my neck restrained me.

  “Hold on a sec, man,” the sleepy voice said. “You need capital, which means you got to look for investors. But it’s better to secure a loan, see? Then you don’t got to share ownership. Problem is, my credit’s shot to shit. Rap sheet don’t help none, either. That’s where I could use you.”

  The man leaning into me was gaunt, his eyebrows and mustache threadbare scratches on the skeletal contours of his face. With his free hand, he combed back a pile of brittle-looking hair. He blinked a few times, his hooded eyes like muscadine grapes in the deep pits of his sockets.

  I tried to tell him to let go, that I needed to
take off, but all that emerged were lumpy mumbles.

  The man’s mouth stretched into a grin. “Yeah, man, you see where I’m goin’ with this. Fifty-fifty split. Even Steven. You secure the loans, I manage the enterprise.” He cinched me closer, until the bill of my Mets cap was indenting his brow. “Look man, I don’t say this to just anyone, but you got that look about you. I trust you. And I’ll tell you right now, I’m an honest Joe. I don’t lie, cheat, steal. None of that. Not anymore. That shit’s all behind me, sure as I’m sitting here.”

  I could have pointed out that he was sitting on a filthy mattress in a drug den, but the clock was ticking. I peeled his clammy arm from around my neck and struggled to my feet.

  Have to figure out where I am.

  “Hey, man, where you going?”

  Unaccustomed to piloting Ed’s body, I stumbled over an array of junkies in front of a window and parted the blinds’ plastic slats. The view was of a fenced back lot and a crumbling field of buildings. I wasn’t one hundred percent, but it looked like the Lower East Side.

  The man behind me tried to stand. “I haven’t told you my idea for our enterprise.”

  I emerged into a living room that featured a pair of old couches and another sprawl of bodies.

  “Soft pretzels, man,” he called from the back room.

  I searched the living room for a phone, but if there were any around, they were buried.

  Staggering through a stench of urine and sweat, I made my way to the front door and into a hallway. From there, I found a stairwell. I fell several times on my journey to the lobby. Ed had no sensation in his extremities and zero peripheral vision. It was a wonder he had managed at all these last days.

  By the time I reached the street, I was moving more like a man buzzed than blottoed. The street sign on the corner told me I was in the Bowery.

  Need to find a working phone.