The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) 📕

“It gets better,” I shouted. “The troll’s wrapped in some kind of enchantment, probably put there by the fae.” An enchantment that torched the undead, apparently.

Leaving the blood slaves to burn, the troll bounded down the steps with surprising speed, swinging the statue again. More gunmen went airborne, their bodies broken. The rest retreated around the corners of buildings. The troll puffed his cheeks. When he blew out, the fae aura bent with the force of the gust, igniting a swath of blood slaves ahead of him.

For the first time, Arnaud walked his horse back. I followed the angle of his head to where two more mountain trolls were emerging from Federal Hall, their stony bodies glimmering inside the fae enchantment.

“Wonderful,” I muttered.

The trolls assessed the scene and split up, running after the blood slaves like they were chasing mice.

Damien, the young vampire, had seen enough. With a cry, he dug the metal spikes on his boots into his mount and charged. The statue-wielding troll turned toward the piercing sound and roared, revealing a set of tombstone teeth. Damien evaded his downward swing, the statue busting into the street behind him. He charged past the troll and sliced his sword at the tendinous pocket behind the monster’s knee. The blade fractured into pieces. When Damien brought the horse around, I could see flames licking out from beneath his right gauntlet.

Damien’s eyes burned red as he let out a furious scream. The troll lunged toward him.

“Vigore!” I shouted, aiming one of my maces. But the force that rippled through the air dissipated upon reaching the troll’s enchanted protection. I thrust forth the other mace. “Protezione!”

The shield that manifested over Damien burst apart beneath the troll’s descending fist. Damien’s scream was severed as the blow crushed his head and battered him and his mount against the blacktop. Both broke into flames. The horse’s legs kicked for several beats before falling still.

“My magic’s no good!” I said. “And unless you have cold iron…” But Arnaud was already moving us away.

“Retreat!” he called, charging toward his building.

The wall we had emerged from earlier remained down. Our footfalls stampeded up the ramp and into the armory, a handful of gunmen at our backs blowing cover fire. I doubted it would do much against mountain troll hide. The bulk of us inside, the wall jerked from the ramp and embarked on a clanking rise as the chains retracted, pulling the wall back into place. Outside, the trolls ran toward us, their horny toenails gouging up chunks of asphalt.

“Quickly!” Arnaud called.

One of the trolls seized a gunman who’d been left behind. I looked away, but not before he’d pushed the gunman into his chomping mouth. The statue-wielding troll brought George Washington down on a crippled blood slave, crushing him. He then swung the statue around, caving in the corner of a building across the street. The third troll broke into the lead and charged. The wall slammed closed ahead of his outstretched fingers.

A moment later, the armory shuddered around us. Weapons fell from shelves. The trolls were attacking the outside of the building. Blast-resistant stonework or not, the mountain trolls would eventually get inside or bring the entire building down on our heads.

Arnaud dismounted and helped me down. A pair of blood slaves led the torn and bloodied beast away. The other slaves traded their silver blades for ones forged from iron. Arnaud stared around for a moment. When his eyes locked on the other vampire’s, I caught something I’d never observed in their kind before. Uncertainty. That uncertainty was also manifesting in their blood slaves, who, though freshly armed, backed from the shaking walls.

“Come, Mr. Croft,” Arnaud snapped.

I followed him to the vault-like door I’d observed earlier. His contingency plan. Trepidation shook through me as he seized the hand wheel. The round door released from the wall with a dull bang and swung outward. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the tomb-like chamber.

What the…?

I had been expecting a creature of some kind. Instead, I was looking at an ornate casting circle painted on the floor in what looked like blood and bone dust. Dark candles stood at the points of the circle’s star-shaped pattern. I raised my gaze to an altar above the circle. It featured an old iron chest about the size of a cinderblock, thick candles bracketing it. When I leaned toward the claustrophobic space, I picked up the stink of rancid blood.

Arnaud placed a chilly hand on my back. “I believe you’ll find everything you need.”

“Everything I need for what?”

The armory shook again, this time toppling several of the racks of weapons. Arnaud removed his helmet and shook out his hair. He looked as if he was wearing a grotesque mask, the dried blood thick over his jaw and around his eyes but absent from the rest of his pale face.

“I don’t need to spell out our situation,” he said when the noise settled. “I underestimated our opponents, or at least the lengths they were prepared to go. They have already decimated half our ranks. They mean to finish the job. Our only recourse now is the Scaig Box.”

I studied the trunk on the altar. “Scaig Box?”

A cold force seemed to emanate from the word, like fingernails dragging across stone.

Outside, the pounding continued. A giant crack appeared in the drawbridge-like wall.

“Listen to me, Mr. Croft,” Arnaud said quickly. “The box holds an ancient being, a precursor to vampirekind. We will use the being to destroy the trolls, then order it back into its hold.”

I jerked away, understanding what he wanted. “Are you fucking insane? No, I’m not calling forth any ancient being. I’m forbidden for one, and for another … That thing’s related to you? Yeah, no.”

“You’re bound by the Pact.” Arnaud’s eyes burned into mine.

“To aid you in battle, not unleash some ancient evil on the world.”

“I know how summonings work,” he pressed. “The circle I’ve prepared