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

addition to his mentoring duties, he kept track of magical artifacts. The clippings two and three down, on similar exhibits around the country, seemed to confirm that.

I moved a chair—over the back of which he had draped a row of wool stockings—and picked up a pair of manila folders that must have slid off the seat and landed under the table.

On one of the folder’s tabs, I read my name.

Heart thumping, I retrieved the files and opened mine. Was this where I would discover the truth? Inside was a thin stack of pages secured by a pair of metal brads. I read through the pages, which contained notes on Chicory’s handful of visits, including the warnings he’d issued. A line at the bottom of his final entry read, “Shows significant promise but requires more guidance to get there.”

Sounds like Chicory, I thought.

The other file, considerably thicker, was labeled “James Wesson.” Another magic-user? I opened the file, but other than the name I could find no identifying features. Just a much longer scribbled list of infractions, ranging from dereliction of duty to substance abuse.

And here I thought I was the black sheep.

But more important than what the notes said about James was what it said about Chicory. Like the messy room I was standing in, the notes appeared consistent with an advanced, though absentminded, wizard.

A dead wizard, I thought, picking up a gold cup from the floor: Chicory’s former communication system to the Order. An oil crystal clinked around its bottom, but no flame rose from it now.

My throat tightened with grief as I remembered his death. His murder.

Then why did no one from the Order come? a voice prodded inside my head.

That was what was nagging me more than anything. Chicory had gotten through, after all. If the mission had been as important as he’d claimed, if I’d been sent by the Order, why hadn’t others followed? Why had no one responded to my message? Where were they now?

“Goddammit,” I whispered, hating the growing tangle of doubt I felt.

I set the cup back atop the table and searched the rest of the house. In the attic, I found an open trunk with the various wands, weapons, and artifacts Arnaud had kept in his armory and that I had passed on to Chicory. By all appearances, Chicory had given them a quick cleaning, then dumped them here. I sealed the trunk with a locking spell and moved on, checking the walls and panels for loose boards, calling out reveal invocations at intervals. But nothing appeared or stood out as unusual, in the attic or the rest of the house.

I arrived back in the guest bedroom to find Tabitha conked out on her ottoman. I shook her awake.

“What?” she complained.

“We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait?” She flopped onto her other side so she was facing away from me.

“Chicory is dead,” I said.

She twisted her neck around and blinked twice. “Dead?”

Or undead, depending on who you talk to, I thought. But with the Front monitoring me, I didn’t want to show the slightest wavering. Better to keep my doubts a secret, deny Connell and Arianna anything they could use to manipulate me. I didn’t believe they were trapped in the Refuge as they’d claimed. If they could watch me, they could reach me.

“When Chicory came to bring me back,” I told Tabitha, “he battled the Dark Mage. Chicory was winning, but one of the mage’s minions snuck up and ran him through with my sword.”

“Well then how did you make it back alive?” she asked, her voice bordering on accusing.

“They released me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“To, ah, warn other magic-users not to mess with the Dark Mage,” I lied.

I no longer saw Tabitha’s eyes as eyes, but as peepholes. She narrowed them at me in suspicion. Can they see me right now? I wondered.

“Look,” I said, “we just need to get out of here.”

“Now?”

I stood and began gathering my clothes. “The house’s defenses are down. We’re not safe here anymore.” And whose house is it anyway? a part of me wondered as I stuffed everything into the large duffel bag I’d brought.

“The defenses are down? You mean I could have just strolled out of here and fed on male souls?”

“I’ll contact the Order when we get back to the apartment,” I said, hurriedly throwing my books into the bag and mashing everything down to pull the zipper. I was anxious to be behind my own defenses. “We can pick up some fresh goat’s milk and tuna steaks on the way.”

Tabitha stood and arched her back until several vertebra cracked. “First sensible thing you’ve said since you returned.”

12

Chicory had parked his compact car in the small garage attached to the house. Though I hadn’t been able to find any keys in the house, a quick search of his cluttered glove compartment turned up a spare.

I opened the trunk to stow my duffel bag, but the space was too jammed with boxes. Several more rows filled his back seat, the files they held like the ones I’d found in Chicory’s room. Names of whom I assumed were magic-users, along with scribbled notes. The files looked less like the work of a demigod than an overburdened social worker. But they might be a start.

I shoved my duffel bag atop the boxes in the back seat and opened the passenger side door for Tabitha. As she climbed in, I took a final look at the door to the house. When you’re ready, return to the portal, Arianna had said. I had scoffed, but would I be returning here?

“Can we go?” Tabitha said. “I haven’t had any decent sleep in weeks.”

The drive through the Lincoln Tunnel and down to the West Village was uneventful. I arrived at the apartment to find the door triple-bolted, the wards intact, and the inside of the unit as I’d left it. A quick scan revealed no signs of intrusion. Tabitha trotted past me and hopped onto her divan. She let out a contented