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

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.