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

I was halfway across the room when a robed figure filled the doorway ahead of me. “Stop,” he commanded. Recognizing his voice, I skidded to a halt, heart pounding in my ears. A gold mask glistened from the figure’s hood as he strode forward and drew his wand. Marlow had escaped the altar room, evidently, but how in the hell had he beaten me down here?

The mask turned from one side to the other, searching for me.

“Vigore!” I shouted, thrusting my sword toward him.

A storm of energy burst from the blade. The Death Mage sliced his wand through the air, and the force broke to either side of him, shaking the walls. I dug in my pocket for the remaining lightning grenade as he continued his confident advance.

Let’s see how you like a face full of electricity, pal.

“Attivare!” I called and winged the grenade at him.

“Ghioccio,” he answered, slicing his wand again. The magical grenade thudded to the ground at his feet, encased in a snowball.

I summoned a shield around me and began to search for another long-range weapon when I remembered that with the absorbing properties of the staff, the Death Mage couldn’t hurt me. Conversely, with the magic cleaving properties of the sword, I could hurt him.

Badly.

Still, Chicory’s warnings about Whisperer magic stole through my thoughts. I couldn’t just run at him headlong. I eased beside the charred pillar and adjusted my sweaty grip on the sword.

“Show yourself,” Marlow demanded, coming nearer. “Who are you?” Though the mage could sense me, the robe was still cloaking my identity. His footsteps came closer and closer until they were almost beside me.

Someone who thinks you’re a lowlife piece of shit, I thought, and stepped out. The sword glinted as I put everything into my swing. The blade disappeared into the neck of his gown and came out the other side. Only there had been no resistance. And the mage was still standing.

What the…?

“Ah!” he called triumphantly.

In a blink, he was several feet from where he’d been standing, black energy curling around the end of his wand. An illusionist? He snapped the wand toward me. The bolt collided into my shield, knocking me backward. I recovered my footing and thrust the sword at his torso. Once more, the blade disappeared into his gown as though it were thin air.

Marlow was suddenly on my other side, fresh black bolts cracking from his wand. They slammed into my shield one after the other, the second bolt lifting me from my feet. I landed against a pillar with a grunt, sword and staff falling from my grasp. The shield shattered into sparks around me.

No, I thought, pawing for my weapons.

The skirt of the mage’s black gown swished toward me. He spoke a Word. Vines broke through my mother’s ashes in the floor cracks and climbed around me, binding me to the pillar. Before the cinching tendrils could crush the air from my lungs, I drew in a breath.

“Resping—”

A vine wrapped my neck, choking off the Word. The Death Mage stopped in front of me. I raised my eyes to that awful gold mask with the empty eyes and the mouth set in a frown. The mage was holding his wand at shoulder level, ready to cast again. I struggled, but the vines were like steel cables, growing thicker. I knew how this would end. Any second, flames were going to burst around me. In my peripheral vision, I could see other black-robed figures drifting into the room to witness my execution.

At least I destroyed your damned book, I thought. And when the Order gets their hands on you…

But the Death Mage seemed to hesitate, head tilted to one side.

The vines had torn the robe of John the Baptist apart, and I was visible to him now. He turned and said something to the others, his voice taking on the gargling quality from earlier. A pair of mages came forward, one lifting my sword from the ground, the other my staff.

Marlow turned back to me. “Everson Cro—”

A bright fireball exploded against his side, blasting him across the room. The other mages let out choking sounds as their robes began to strangle them. I cut my eyes toward the sound of footsteps. My mentor was running toward me, corduroy jacket flapping at his back.

Chicory!

“I decided it would be easier to just come myself,” he said in a pant. “And with the book destroyed…” He waved his wand, and the vines around me withered. I broke my arms free from the pillar and tore the tendril from around my neck. I then began to kick my legs free.

Meanwhile, Marlow had recovered and gained his feet. Chicory turned and hurled another fireball at him. Marlow repelled it with a slice of his wand, but a third Chicory fireball knocked him back with a grunt, flames flashing off his gold mask. Marlow’s magic might have been powerful, but it was fading, and Chicory was throwing haymakers.

I struggled to break the last of the vines from my legs so I could help him.

Marlow incanted quickly. Tendrils of dark magic writhed from his wand like tentacles and sprung out to encircle Chicory. The energy swallowed him, blacking out his light. Panic rose in my throat. But in a blinding flash of magic, Chicory blew the tentacles apart.

He and Marlow circled one another, wands raised.

“You won’t defeat us,” Marlow said.

“You’ve already lost,” Chicory replied matter-of-factly.

Light and dark magic exploded from their wands in a savage exchange. The other magic-users were still struggling against their throttling robes with both hands. I spotted the one who had taken my sword. White hair spilled down either side of a moldy face. A woman?

The sword, fallen from her grasp, had landed beside her. As I scrambled toward it, the woman’s robe released her neck, and she drew a ragged breath. Marlow must have broken the strangulation spell. I lunged for the sword, but the woman grabbed the handle first.

Crap.

She shouted something in her gargling tongue as