Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8) by Brad Magnarella (best e reader for academics txt) 📕

“There’s a smaller cave next door,” I said. “Should make a better container for casting.” I also wanted a buffer from the rest of my teammates in case anything went awry. “Can everyone else stay here and keep watch?”

They nodded and murmured their assents.

“Hey, what happened with Seay?” Gorgantha asked.

Without time to go into details, I said, “We found her, she’s good. She’ll be coming later.”

Gorgantha pumped a fist and high-fived Malachi as he circled past in his pacing. I scooped Arnaud under the back and legs and lifted him. He weighed almost nothing, as if he were already starting to disintegrate from the inside. As I started out, I caught a sulfurous odor, possibly the first hint of sublimation.

“I’ll tell you more when I get back,” I said to Gorgantha.

The neighboring cave was small and scattered with leaves, reminding me of the grotto behind St. Mark’s in 1776 New York. I shooed out Dropsy, who had wandered into the cave—and judging from her dim light, fallen asleep—and set Arnaud down. While Caroline went to work removing his enchantments, I cleared the rest of the floor and began fashioning casting circles from my copper filings.

“Do you want me to stay?” Caroline asked.

I looked from my completed circles to where she was rising from Arnaud’s side. She’d removed the enchantments that had bolstered my wards and a few others. She looked fae-like again, her questioning eyes glowing blue-green beneath my hovering ball of light. It was the reclaimed energy. The only enchantments she was having to maintain were subservience and the one hiding me from the revenant.

“No, I can take it from here,” I said.

She must have read something on my face. “Worried about Malphas?”

The truth was, yes. Because if I slipped up and allowed him to connect to Arnaud, he could decide to detonate him instead of recalling him. And if that happened, I’d rather it be just me in the blast zone.

“A little,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”

As I stooped for Arnaud, she brushed my upper back with a hand. A warm current moved through me, sending up a sweet scent of spring. Before I could protest, she said, “It’s not much. Just some extra protection.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

I didn’t like that she’d expended any energy on me, but as she left the cave, I felt less alone in my task. Maybe that had been the point. Setting Arnaud in the larger circle, I stepped into the one behind it and cracked my knuckles.

All right, Croft. It’s go time.

With a Word, I recalled power from my light ball and pushed it into the casting circles. They glowed to life, drawing the cave back from darkness. Faint vapor trails drifted through the coppery light.

“Shit,” I muttered. Arnaud was starting to sublimate.

Through my wizard’s senses, I took quick stock of his bonds. Starting with the outer layer, I began switching wards off one at a time. An anchoring ward hummed in the shackle around his neck, its bands of energy feeding the dislocation sigil that concealed his whereabouts from Malphas. In fact, I’d etched the sigil right over the spot where Malphas’s brand seared his neck. The trick would be tamping down the power of the ward while maintaining the dislocation sigil that hid him.

More vapor rose from Arnaud’s body.

Gotta get this right, even if it takes extra time.

I sat down in my casting circle, legs crossed, eyes closed. Aligning my mind to the anchoring ward, I imagined it as a dial. Not wanting to take any chances, I’d cranked it to ten. Now I began turning it down. I was meticulous, pausing at intervals to check the ward even as the stench of sulfur strengthened.

Easy, man… easy…

At six, I felt the dislocation sigil fade. Heart bolting at the thought of Malphas rushing in, I bumped the dial back up to an imaginary seven and waited. After what felt like way too long, the ward strengthened again, returning power to the sigil while thinning the currents of infernal energy trickling back into Arnaud.

Would it be enough energy, though?

Or would Arnaud’s deterioration outpace the meager flow?

Fighting the urge to open my eyes, I eased the dial down again, halfway between six and seven. The infernal flow increased, while just enough warding power remained to sustain the dislocation sigil. For the next several minutes, I made tiny adjustments. Satisfied I’d hit the ideal balance, I sat back, my shirt and brow soaked in sweat.

Now comes the moment of truth.

If I opened my eyes and he was still sublimating, I was going to have to shut off the ward entirely and attempt to power the sigil consciously. That would require a level of concentration and precision I wasn’t sure I possessed in my overworked, underslept state. One slip and Hello, Malphas!

I peeked out. No vapor.

“Halle-friggin-lujah,” I sighed.

Now I watched hopefully for signs of returning life, well aware of the irony of having just incinerated his 1660 version with gusto. But different Arnauds called for different measures. After several minutes, his drawn face began to fill in, pushing out the sickly yellow.

Looks like we’ve got our ride home again.

When a groan sounded from beneath his muzzle, my mouth broke into a weary smile. Yeah, he was coming back. But before I could feel too pleased with myself, the faintest voice whispered: Listen to his words.

The command came from a familiar place. Deep down, where the seat of my magic dwelled. It seemed my old friend had returned. But whose words? I squinted at the demon-vampire. Certainly not Arnaud’s.

He groaned again, the muffled sound rising and falling. Listen to his words.

I reached for the straps holding the muzzle in place, then stopped. Where in the hell was this coming from? My magic, sure, but why would it tell me to listen to a creature whose voice was a living poison?

Caroline’s suggestion about my magic came back to me now. It could be that it’s talking, but you’re