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

by Brad Magnarella

  Chicory chuckled.

  “What the hell’s so funny?”

  He set his pipe down beside the snifter, lifted Tabitha with both hands, resettled her on the ottoman, and stood and waved for me to follow.

  “Where are we going?” I asked in annoyance.

  “Just come along.”

  Muttering, I followed him to a door beneath the staircase to the attic. For the past week, I’d assumed it led onto a closet, but when Chicory opened it, I could see the top of a wooden staircase descending into darkness. The thought of going underground stretched the skin over my chest like a drum and thinned my breaths.

  “I’m not going down there.”

  “Believe me,” he said, “you’ll want to.”

  Chicory waved his wand, manifesting a bobbing orb of white light. Chicory gave the wand another flick, and the orb began to descend the stairwell, illuminating the way. Chicory followed it down. I fell in behind him despite my anger, his words just vague enough to entice me.

  After a steep descent of several sharp turns, the stairwell deposited us onto the dirt floor of a basement. Chicory flicked the wand again, and the orb rose to a set of rafters fifteen feet above us, suffusing the entire basement with light. The space was surprisingly large and must have extended beyond the house to the borders of the property.

  “I believe that belongs to you,” Chicory said.

  I looked at where he nodded. About twenty feet ahead of us lay Grandpa’s cane.

  “It’s in one piece,” I observed.

  “Aye.”

  But does it still work? I thought dubiously.

  I arrived at the cane, almost afraid to touch it. I lifted it from the ground and tested the white opal with a finger. It was re-embedded in the wood, as secure as ever. Runes lined the staff. Not the chicken scratch I’d seen that morning, but ornate letters, each one seeming to hum with power. I drew a breath and pulled the sword from the staff. The blade released easily. I made a few thrusts and cuts, half expecting the blade to feel loose or clunky—or even fall off—but it was as light and sturdy as I remembered, and even seemed to zing.

  “I’ll be damned,” I muttered. “You actually fixed it.”

  And hadn’t he said something about an enhancement?

  “En garde!” Chicory shouted.

  I wheeled just as a fireball ripped from his wand and sped toward my head. With no time to invoke a shield, I threw the staff up into its path. As the fireball collided into it, I squinted my eyes closed to the flames that would inevitably break past it and burn my face. But the fireball just … stopped. It was as though the staff had sucked it right out of the air.

  I was bringing the staff around to examine it when two more fireballs flew from Chicory’s wand. More confident now, I slashed the staff high and low, batting them out of existence.

  When I saw Chicory preparing to cast again, I ran at him. “Protezione,” I called.

  Light swelled from the staff’s opal. Enhanced by the runes, the light crackled into a formidable shield around me. A succession of fireballs broke against it, each one vanishing into harmless wisps of smoke. When I was mere feet from Chicory, he unleashed a firestorm.

  I waited patiently for the flames gushing around me to expire, then touched the tip of my blade to his paunch.

  “Got you,” I said.

  Chicory cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Oh?”

  A low moan sounded behind me. I wheeled to find a pair of earth elementals pushing themselves up from the ground using fists the size of wrecking balls. Powerful magic wavered around them.

  “Oh, c’mon,” I complained.

  “No shields this time,” Chicory said, snatching my staff away.

  “Wha—?” When I turned to reclaim the staff, Chicory was already gone.

  Oh, no he didn’t.

  But he had, and I was on my own. The ground shook as the elementals, fully formed, plodded toward me.

  “Vigore!” I shouted, aiming my sword at the nearer one.

  The force that erupted from the blade broke around the elemental’s protection, barely slowing it. Its partner came around my other side, blocking the stairwell as an escape route. I backed away, sword held out. I considered invoking a stronger force blast, but it would only deplete my power. I feinted right and attempted to dart left, but they herded me into a corner. When I tried to split them, the closer elemental planted a leg in front of me. The other one raised a giant fist.

  “Chicory?” I called shakily. “A little help?”

  This was part of my training, I got it. But without my staff, and these guys encased in powerful defensive magic, I couldn’t do a blasted thing. I expected Chicory to suspend the session, show me what I’d done wrong, and then run it again so I could apply what he’d taught me.

  Instead, the elemental’s arm descended like a falling tree.

  “Whoa!” I shouted, raising my sword in an attempt to parry the heavy blow.

  I felt almost nothing as the blade cleaved the elemental’s arm in two. The magic holding the creature together dispersed with a shudder, its decaying fist raining chunks of earth over me. The rest of its body collapsed into a mound. The other elemental looked at its fallen partner and backed away.

  “Not so big and moany now, are you?” I said, advancing on it.

  When the elemental turned to run, I launched the sword like a javelin. The blade pierced the center of its back. The elemental fell forward and, under its own momentum, scattered across the floor.

  “Booya!” I shouted.

  I looked around to make sure Chicory wasn’t throwing anything else at me before kneeling to unearth the sword. When I stood again, my mentor was in front of me, handing me back my staff.

  “Do you still doubt me?” he asked.

  I held the sword and staff out at arm’s length and examined them. “What in the hell did you do to these?”

  “To the staff, I added an absorption charm. Like a sponge, it will soak up any offensive magic that hits it.”

  “Any magic?” I asked, examining the runes more closely now.

  “Well, up to a point. But it’s a powerful charm. Those weren’t first-level fire balls I was slinging at you. Even better, the magic it absorbs will bolster the staff’s defensive capabilities.”

  I remembered the strength of my shield and nodded. “What about the sword?”

  “That was easier, actually.” His eyes shifted with mine to the blade. “Your grandfather had imbued it with an enchantment that can cleave through magic. You’d just yet to channel enough of your energy through it to access it. The enchantment is very powerful, and it works just as well on magical defenses as on magical beings. Again, to a point.”

  I moved the sword and staff through the air, my anger at Chicory almost forgotten as I considered their enhanced power. Throw in the robe of John the Baptist, and I was beginning to feel like I had a chance.

  “So if I get close enough to Marlow to strike…” I started.

  “The blade could destroy him, yes,” Chicory said. “But we’d rather you use it to destroy Lich’s book.”

  I slotted the blade back into the staff. “Why?”

  “Because the book is the source of Marlow’s power, and it’s safer.”

  I thought of the man who had set fire to my mother and then watched as the flames consumed her. I imagined him smiling behind the gold mask, reveling in the power he held over a woman he’d rendered defenseless, a woman who had birthed his child. The anger inside me rose up more fiercely than the remembered flames. I grunted as I imagined myself driving the blade through Marlow’s chest, giving it a hard twist. Surprise, you piece of—

  “Everson,” Chicory said sharply, bringing me back. “You talked about your fear of being ill prepared? It’s much worse to be fully prepared only to be subverted by revenge. Find and destroy the book. Depriving the mage of his power will be justice enough. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  “And if he tries to stop me?” I said, my knuckles still white arou
nd the sword’s hilt.

  “Just don’t go looking for a fight, is what I’m saying.” Chicory’s eyes seemed to waver.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I’m getting there,” he said irritably. “When you asked earlier, I said the blade could destroy him.”

  “What, now you’re saying it can’t?”

  “Would you stop and listen? It could if he gives you a chance to use it against him. Whisperer magic is different from the magic you’re accustomed to up here.”

  “Different how?”

  “When Lich nearly overthrew his siblings, it wasn’t a simple matter of being more powerful than the others. No, he tapped into a magic that bends minds, shapes thoughts. Whisperer magic. Lich made his siblings see what wasn’t there. Believe what wasn’t real. He turned them against one another, nearly driving them insane in the process. Were it not for the oldest Elder, who was able to resist the magic, Lich would have destroyed them all.”

  “What about the staff?” I asked.

  “The staff will absorb common magic. However, if Marlow or his followers get inside your head, all bets are off.”

  “Oh,” I said, my confidence flagging again.

  “That’s why we’re telling you to focus on the book. With the distilled blood, you’ll be able to access the Refuge and slip past any wards. With the robe of John the Baptist you’ll evade detection. With the staff, you’ll frustrate magical attacks. And with the sword, you’ll destroy the book. You need never face Marlow.”

  “Just wish you would’ve told me about Whisperer magic sooner.”

  “Would you rather I had told you when you still believed the preparations for the mission would kill you?”

  He had a point. “So how would I even know if I encountered Whisperer magic?”

  A shadow seemed to pass over Chicory’s face. “That’s the thing, Everson. There’s no good way to know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  We had been walking back toward the staircase, and now he stopped and sat on one of the bottom steps. I stood facing him. The orb of light arrived above us and sputtered quietly. While waiting for Chicory to answer, I couldn’t help but appreciate the power he wielded—summoning fireballs and elementals, all while maintaining an illumination orb, and with almost no effort. I’d given him less credit as a magic-user than he deserved.

  “If you allow them inside your head,” he said, “they’ll invert reality, turning the ugliest lies into the most enchanting truths. No matter what you do, you won’t be able to see your way out. Only the strongest magic can penetrate it. Elder magic.”

  “What’s the point of them using magic?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t they just kill me?”

  “They’ll first try to subvert you. How do you think Marlow built his army of resistance? Your mother was an exception, convincing Marlow she’d joined the rebellion willingly. An intercepted communication tipped him off.” He looked over at me with sober eyes. “I’m sorry to bring her up again, Everson. But your mother’s sacrifice is the reason the Order was able to learn as much about Marlow and the Front as it did. Marlow took a huge risk emerging from his hiding to murder Lady Bastet in his attempt to keep the truth from you, from us.”

  I nodded, understanding that was why there had been no signs of resistance at the murder scene. Marlow had infiltrated the mystic’s mind with Whisperer magic before cutting her throat and then ripping her cats’ heads from their bodies to make the crime look like the work of werewolves. He’d then shape-shifted into a cat and fled the scene as I was arriving.

  “Why didn’t Marlow kill me too?” I asked. “He had a chance.”

  Chicory sighed. “We’ve been wondering the same. Perhaps he believed the murder would be enough to throw you off his scent.” My mentor’s voice turned darker. “Or maybe he has plans to use you down the road.”

  I remembered the chilling voice from the nightmare.

  Join us, Everson. Join the cluster. Become one.

  Everson … verson … son.

  “And we must remember,” Chicory said, “Marlow is controlled by the Whisperer, a being as old as the universe. If you think the Elders are hard to read, well…” His chuckle was without humor. “There’s no telling that creature’s plans.”

  “Hey, sorry for giving you crap upstairs. I just…”

  “It’s daunting, I know,” he said. “But feeling better, are we?”

  I considered the magical robe, the enhanced sword and staff, Chicory’s warning about not confronting Marlow. “I am, yeah,” I admitted. “When will the blood be ready?”

  “Another week, I imagine,” Chicory replied, pushing himself to his feet. “And now that we have you outfitted, we’ll spend the remaining time in simulations, preparing you for the task ahead. How does that sound?”

  “Best news I’ve heard today,” I said.

  6

  A week later I was back in the basement, staring down at the casting circle Chicory had created. It wasn’t large, but it was sophisticated, featuring several sigils I’d never seen before. Beneath the orb of light overhead, metal shavings glittered in the circle’s earthen grooves.

  “Let’s have a look at you,” Chicory said, turning me toward him.

  His curmudgeon’s lips curled and fussed as he looked me up and down. I’d dressed as he’d instructed: a dark shirt and pants with enough pockets to hold several spell items. I’d draped the tattered robe of John the Baptist over my right forearm. Around my waist was a belt to secure my sword cane. When Chicory’s gaze fell to my running shoes, he gave a critical grunt but said nothing.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes returning to mine.

  “Honestly? Like I’m about to hurl all over the casting circle.”

  “Nerves, hm? Just remember what we practiced.”

  I nodded, going back over the last week of training, a week in which everything seemed to come together. The books Chicory had had me read, the exercises to grow my casting prism, the enhanced weapons. Combining these with my mentor’s instructions, I’d been able to steal past complex defenses, elude or slay a variety of creatures, and dispel potent magic. Indeed, it seemed as though I’d grown more as a wizard during that time than in the ten years prior.

  “This is going to sting a little.”

  Before I realized what he was doing, Chicory had my elbow in his grip and was sticking the needle of a copper syringe into the crook of my arm. I flinched at the bite. Chicory depressed the plunger, and the bluish blood in the glass tube disappeared inside me.

  He removed the needle and held his thumb over the injection site. As he chanted softly, I felt the distilled blood diffusing through me, my father’s essence displacing my mother’s.

  After a minute, he stepped back and nodded. “You’re ready.”

  I took a steadying breath and stepped into the casting circle. This was it. When I turned to face Chicory, I noticed that Tabitha had come down, her green eyes swimming through the gloom outside the orb’s light. She sauntered up and rubbed her body against Chicory’s leg.

  “Don’t give him a hard time while I’m away,” I said.

  She snorted. “Compared to the drills you put me through, this is going to be a vacation.”

  I shook my head before addressing Chicory. “Thanks for looking after her.”

  “Not a problem.” He checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost dusk, though. We need to start the ritual while the barrier between our realms is thinnest.” From a jacket pocket, he produced a black book and opened it. While he wet his thumb and leafed through the pages, I reviewed the plan in my mind, up to finding and destroying Lich’s book. A frightening thought hit me.

  “Wait!” I said. “How am I going to get back?”

  “Ah, yes,” Chicory said as though he’d forgotten something minor. He reached forward and mashed his thumb between my brows. A small bolt of energy pierced my forebrain and smoldered behind my eyes and deep in my ears. A bonding spell. “There,” he s
aid, stepping back again. “When you’re ready to come home, concentrate as hard as you can, and I’ll retrieve you.”

  “Great,” I said, wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t said anything.

  “And if this works, if Marlow is your father, I will see you again. You’re as reckless as a child sometimes, but you’re more than capable. You’ve proven that this week.”

  “Thanks.” And I meant it.

  Aiming his wand at the circle, Chicory uttered a Word. The circle glowed white and closed around me. Beyond the hum of energy, his lips moved as he read from a book of the First Order.

  Tabitha watched with bored eyes.

  I smiled back at her even as a lump swelled in my throat. I had to remind myself that if Marlow was not my father, the blood that coursed inside me wouldn’t allow me past his defenses. I would be repelled back here. Which meant the tide of emotions I was feeling at the prospect of never seeing Tabitha or Chicory again would be for nothing.

  I was just beginning to settle into that thought when I realized I was no longer in the basement.

  Except for a slight tingling, there had been no warning. One moment I was standing in Chicory’s casting circle, the next, I was in a forest. A cold breeze carrying a stench of decay batted my hair and clacked the branches overhead. Beyond a low ceiling of ashen clouds, the sun was setting. Or rather a sun was setting. I wasn’t in our world anymore. I was inside the Refuge.

  Which means the Death Mage is my father.

  The knowledge didn’t bowl me over. Ever since Chicory had told me of the Order’s suspicion, a part of me had begun to accept it as truth. Nana’s story about my father being a hippie had never jibed, not in my child’s mind and even less so when I discovered my magic as an adult. My grandparents were trying to protect me, God love them. This explained from what.

  Stuffing down a swirl of emotions, I checked my belt and patted my various pockets. Everything had made the journey with me.