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

as I’d first thought. No, someone had contacted the conjurers, using their mirrors as portals, promising them God only knew what—money, power, salvation—and then dictating spells that would summon shriekers. And I now had a good idea who that someone was. I lowered my gaze to my chest.

Clifford had pointed right at him.

Protruding from my shirt pocket was the folded-over printout of the obituary I’d slid there. For the minute or so we’d talked, Clifford had been at eye level with the reverend’s sideways face and dark stare. The reverend was the man he’d been referring to as a liar. He was the demon in the glass, and likely the hooded figure Effie’s friend had seen creeping around the tomb—not Malachi.

I pulled the obituary from my pocket and stared at the image.

Bartholomew frigging Higham.

I thought back to the thousands of remains he had warehoused at St. Martin’s. One of them could well have held a demon—a demon that took possession of Reverend Higham. The reverend had died, or been slain, shortly after, but if no exorcism had been performed, the demon would still be inside him.

But why emerge now? Had someone called him up, or were there other forces at work?

I crammed some coins into the payphone and punched Father Vick’s number. I didn’t know what the reanimated reverend was up to, but bludgeoning Father Richard and summoning lower demons? Yeah, it couldn’t be good. I needed to warn Father Vick and the others. By the fifth ring, the muscles around my clenched jaw began to ache with urgency.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I muttered.

The hard male voice that answered sounded like no one I knew. “Yeah?” it said.

“Who’s this?”

“NYPD. Who’s this?” the voice shot back.

“I’m with the diocese,” I lied. “I’m trying to reach Father Victor.”

“Well, he’s not here. He’s missing.”

“Missing?” My heartbeats punched through my voice.

“Yeah, him and the bishop both,” the officer said. “Got a manhunt going on down here. I’m gonna need to get your name and ask a few questions.”

I hung up and closed my eyes to a wave of dizziness. Was I too late?

There was only one way to find out. I hurried west toward the line that would deliver me back to the West Village. I needed to cook up another hunting spell and ready myself for the mother of all banishments.

Assuming, of course, the Order didn’t kill me first.

37

“Has anyone been here?” I asked as soon as I’d crossed the threshold of my apartment. I triple locked the door and checked to ensure my magical wards were at full strength.

“No,” Tabitha answered, but not from the divan.

I turned, surprised to find her on her feet for a change. She was near my reading chair, and by her posture, it looked as if I’d caught her in the middle of pacing. For some reason, her hair was stiff with static, but I was too focused on my next steps to pay her appearance much heed.

“How about outside?” I asked. “Anyone watching the building?”

I believed now that she had seen someone, and I was starting to suspect the long-haired person wasn’t a woman, but Malachi. He could have observed me talking with Father Vick on Thursday morning, when Detective Vega brought me to the church, and then followed me home. Even if he hadn’t reanimated the demon rector, he could have fallen under his influence, become a spy for him. I thought of him standing outside Father Vick’s door.

“I’ve been out every hour and haven’t seen anyone,” Tabitha said, her voice edged with something. Nerves? Add that to the static, the pacing, the very uncharacteristic touring on the hour…

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s the bloody demon moon,” she replied, irritably. “It’s on the rise again. Gets me in a fucking state every time.”

I was too stuck on her first line to rebuke her for the last. I wasn’t big into consulting the star and moon cycles—my brand of wizardry didn’t require it. But I knew from my study of lore that a demon moon was the fourth blood moon in a season and exceedingly rare. It carried End Times portents, if you believed in that sort of thing. But from an energy standpoint, blood moons were opportune times for casting black magic and all manner of devilry, which explained Tabitha’s agitation. She was practically a demon herself.

Might the moon also connect to the reanimated reverend?

“Is there one tonight?” I asked, ducking my head to peer out a window. The low clouds had taken on a subtle red tinge.

“My urges are never wrong,” Tabitha replied. “They’ve been screaming at me all day to feast on male energy. In fact, if it weren’t for your damned wards, I’d be long gone—and about time.”

I disregarded her comment as another empty threat, but at the ladder to my lab, I turned and took in her poofed-out state again. That particular effect hadn’t come from the demon moon.

“You tried to get out, didn’t you?”

She narrowed her green eyes at me and resumed pacing, which told me she had. I imagined the shock the wards must have delivered. Under different circumstances, I’d be on the floor, choking on my own laughter. Instead, I said, “I warned you they were strong.”

“Bite me.”

Her insult was actually a reassurance, I thought as I scaled the ladder. If my wards were strong enough to keep a determined succubus spirit in, they would keep all manner of baddies out.

That was when the final pieces snapped into place.

Tabitha must have seen the change come over my face. “What?”

“I don’t need a hunting spell,” I said. “The threshold.”

“What threshold?”

“At St. Martin’s Cathedral.” I descended and released the ladder. “The reanimated reverend, he isn’t hiding somewhere in the city. He’s stuck on the cathedral grounds, trapped behind the threshold. He can’t get out. He’s not strong enough.” Tabitha’s ears bent in confusion, but I couldn’t slow down to explain. The logic was rushing out of me. “He murdered the rector to weaken the threshold. He’s planning to do