Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9) by Brad Magnarella (ereader with android .txt) 📕

foul-smelling sack over my head. Grizela claimed that the spell recipe was a family secret, hence the need for the sack. But above the sound of fire crackling in the hags’ crowded back kitchen, they were arguing openly over the spell’s ingredients.

“No, no, no, it’s cry of newt,” Grizela insisted. “Not eye of newt.”

And then a few minutes later, “You idiot—you mixed them up! Toe of frog and tongue of dog!”

Splashes sounded, as if something were being ladled out of the large iron pot and replaced. A rancid smell filled the kitchen.

“Yes, yes,” Grizela purred. “Now to color it with a bit of baboon’s blood.”

If my wife could see me now, I thought dryly. Blindfolded before a hags’ cauldron.

Other than the sack, I was unbound, cane in hand and pockets heavy with spell items. Even so, I hoped this wasn’t a mistake. If the sisters could tell me who I was up against and how to protect my family, the year of youth would be well spent in my mind. Just couldn’t make these kinds of bargains on a regular basis.

A greedy hand yanked my hair.

“Hey!” I shouted as the rip of a dull blade released it.

The sisters giggled. “Relax, Everson. We just need a wee bit for the spell.”

“That felt like a lot more than a ‘wee bit,’” I said, patting the small crater atop my head.

“There we are,” Grizela purred. I pictured my hair being scattered into the brew. “Just needs to simmer for another minute now.”

The humidity in the kitchen thickened along with the rancid smell, and I started to feel woozy. The sisters took up a cackling chant, which didn’t help. I pictured the three huddled around the steaming cauldron. As it became harder to breathe, I began to feel steam-like myself, hovering above their brew.

“Speak!” Grizela shrieked.

The sisters’ chant fell lower and then combined into a single voice that sounded like none of theirs. An ancestral spirit known as a Doideag was talking through them. And she didn’t seem pleased with the summoning.

“Wretched hags,” she muttered. “Curse of my blood. Why have you called me?”

“The young man desires a reading,” Grizela said. “What he faces…”

“…what he fears…” Elspeth took up.

“…and what is coming,” Minna finished.

They’d left out the most important part, how to protect my loved ones. But when I tried to point that out, I couldn’t speak.

“What price?” the Doideag spat.

This time, the sisters fell silent.

“Oh, I see. You get his life blood while offering me poison hemlock and filthy wool of bat. Well done, wenches.” A flush of pride seemed to enter her scornful voice. “Let’s get this done, then. Villages need plaguing.”

My steam-like form shifted, as if someone were stirring it with a long fingernail.

When the Doideag spoke again, it was in halting verse:

The cauldron speaks with foreign tongue

Of ancient wars and songs unsung.

Can a children’s love restore lost time?

Can the fleet of foot avert the crime?

Beware the shadow of many faces,

But fear the master of many places.

If ye should fail and war should come,

If seas should boil and lands should run,

Allies gather, eleven and one,

And be not afraid of thine own blood.

There was a finality in the last verse, but she’d yet to address the question that was most important to me.

“How do I protect the ones I love?” I managed.

The Doideag snarled, but then as if compelled by the bargain, she wailed:

Wage, young mage, till your final breath,

And come night’s fall, accept your death.

17

The Doideag’s voice broke apart into cackling nonsense, and the stool hardened beneath me. The steam in the room thinned, replaced by thick smoke. Coughing, I tugged the sack from my head. The fire had gone out under the cauldron, and the sisters remained huddled in the gushing smoke, their arms linked, humped backs swaying back and forth. I scribbled down the Doideag’s words in my notepad before they could escape me.

After another moment, the sisters hacked and came to. They shook their bony arms free from one another.

“What happened?” Minna asked.

Elspeth looked from the cauldron to me and back. “Is it done?”

They had been so entranced, they didn’t remember the Doideag speaking through them, much less the reading.

“I trust we fulfilled our end?” Grizela said.

“You did.” I waved at the smoke with my notepad before replacing it in my coat pocket. “Now, how do we get my year of youth … into you three?” I was picturing a very unpleasant ritual, but the sisters laughed.

“It’s already done, stupid,” Elspeth said.

“Yeah, stupid,” Minna cackled, returning with three stone bowls.

“Your hair did a little extra work in here,” Grizela said, plunging a ladle into the cauldron.

She filled the bowls, and the three sisters drank greedily, the brew’s lumpy brownness running down the sides of their faces. The sight was almost as horrible as the smell. It was time to go. As I stood, I noticed my legs were less robust than when I’d entered the kitchen: my spent year of youth.

“I’ll, ah, show myself out,” I said.

As if competing to claim more than their four-month share, the sisters ignored me and continued to guzzle noisily. Leaving the kitchen, I backtracked along the crooked corridor toward the main room.

“Don’t forget to leave a review!” Grizela called.

“How’d it go?” Bree-yark asked as I returned to the lot.

“About as well as can be expected, I think. Scored some info, but it was in hag speak. Just a matter of making sense of it.”

He’d been standing behind the open trunk door with his AK-47. Seeing I wasn’t in danger, he returned the weapon to its safe. “Hag speak,” he echoed, shaking his head. “Back to the city?”

“Yeah, we’re done here.”

As he pulled from the lot, I turned on my phone and found a message from Trevor of the Sup Squad.

“Hey, Everson. Just wanted to give an update on the search. Campus security backtracked Sven across a few cameras, but he disappeared in the cafeteria. We’ve been canvassing the college, but no actionable info yet. Did manage to lift a