Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8)

by Brad Magnarella

  “You turned her.”

  “I did, Mr. Croft,” he said, straightening. “I granted her the gift of vampirism. And with it, she became Hellcat Maggie and destroyed her daughter’s killer. She also began rescuing the orphaned and broken children she’d encountered on her nightly walks, but through the only way she knew how. By turning them into her slaves. An unfortunate turf war with another vampire led to her demise—by fire, if you were wondering—but that’s neither here nor there. There are two things you must understand. First, very few of us chose vampirism. And second, upon becoming vampires, we can only act as such.”

  I scoffed. “And that forgives everything, right?”

  “Absolution is a mortal concept, but it can explain many things. If you allow it to.”

  I didn’t know where he was going with this, but his voice had turned teasing. I imagined slender, manipulative fingers trying to ply my will.

  I steeled my mind. “Putting Hellcat Maggie in your league is a huge stretch,” I said. “She didn’t build a financial empire on mass murder and ruin. As vampiric as she may have been, her intentions were half decent.”

  “Oh, they often are in the beginning. In the early years, you convince yourself that you can hold on to your humanity, even as the bloodlust soaks your mind. Your kills are acts of mercy.” He said it in a voice that seemed to taunt his own naivete. “I would feed on the very old, their bodies crippled from a lifetime of hard labor. It was the Dark Ages, you see, and my merchant duties took me through many small towns and villages. I witnessed much suffering. But then one day, your kills are simply kills, and you’re forced to accept what you’ve become. It was the same with Maggie. Had you encountered her five years later, she would have struck you as a very different, very brutal creature. In the end, though, she was simply surviving.”

  “I’m still not seeing the connection to Malphas.”

  “Well, the study can be extended to demonkind. If vampires are survivalists, as you put it, what are demons?”

  “Power mongers.”

  “Precisely. And how do they sate that hungered-for power?”

  I wasn’t keen on playing Socratic method with Arnaud, but with my magic still telling me to listen, I grudgingly went along.

  “By amassing souls.”

  “And demon slaves,” he added in a bitter voice. “But yes, souls are the prized currency. And what is the highest status a demon can attain?”

  “Lord.”

  “And what are demon lords?”

  I thought of the demon lord Sathanas, who represented Wrath. How in the catacombs beneath St. Martin’s he’d tried to stoke my anger into a force he could command. How he’d almost succeeded.

  “Elemental expressions of our darkest urges,” I replied.

  “Which makes all demonkind elemental beings,” Arnaud said. “I’ve been thinking deeply on our conversation in the cave. We concluded that Malphas chose the mer, half-fae, and druid races for their ‘particular properties’ is how you put it, yes? Well what if those properties were elemental?”

  “Elemental,” I repeated.

  A memory struck me. The Met. The frigging Met.

  I was ten when Nana first took me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She’d known I was fascinated with ancient mythology, and the museum was featuring an exhibit on the Greeks and Romans. The pottery and sculptures all ran together in my memory, but in a section on philosophy, one drawing stood out: a depiction of Aristotle’s five elements, also known as the Aristotelean Set. I’d become lost in it, the alchemy-like symbol speaking to some as-yet-awakened aspect of my bloodline.

  Is that why Gretchen transported me there?

  I pulled another book from my shelf and flipped it open until I was looking at the same depiction—a cross-like arrangement of the elements Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, with Aether in the center.

  And with it came a vision I’d had twice now, of lying in a cross-like formation with four others, a dark energy building around us.

  Arnaud stood and peered at the image too. “Yes, I was thinking of something similar.”

  I tapped the Water symbol and said, “Merfolk essence.” From there I traced my finger to the Earth symbol. “The basis for druidic magic.” I moved my finger to the symbol for Air. “The original fae were said to be Sylphs or air spirits.”

  Arnaud nodded. “I believe Malphas is using their essences in some form of elemental magic.”

  I looked at the remaining symbols. “That leaves Fire and Aether.”

  “Malphas can manifest Infernal Fire himself,” Arnaud said. “He’ll no doubt use his mystery demon as a focal point.”

  “Leaving Aether, which is synonymous with Spirit.”

  “And there, I believe, is your holy man,” Arnaud said. “Malachi.”

  More understanding hit me. That’s why the soulless mobs appeared when they did. To claim Malachi before we could. It also explained why the mystery demon was staying away. With the power Malachi wielded, my teammate could easily destroy the demon, and thus Malphas’s plan to use them in his final elements.

  “I’m now inclined to believe that my former master didn’t mean ‘Night Rune’ at all,” Arnaud said with a grim smile. “But rather ‘Night Ruin.’ A conflation of the terms ‘eternal night’ and ‘mortal ruin.’”

  The elements of the Night Ruin gather.

  I looked over the Aristotelean Set again. The races-as-elements theory worked, but the pattern was meant to induce balance. It could amp up the energy at the St. Martin’s site, sure, give it shape, but I wasn’t seeing a demonic portal.

  “We’re making progress, I believe,” Arnaud said. “But any further help I lend will require a formal agreement.”

  I turned toward him. “An agreement?”

  “In exchange for my assistance, you’ll release me from my bondage. In addition, you’ll forego any and all acts of retribution—by you, your Order, or anyone you can think to contract. I, in turn, will pledge to leave you and your loved ones in peace. I’m proposing a permanent truce, Mr. Croft.”

  “You’re proposing a lot more than that, and you can forget it.”

  “Not even for your family?” he asked, affecting surprise. “I’ll fashion the agreement anyway. In case you have a change of heart.”

  “Don’t bother.” But I could already feel the demonic agreement taking shape in the psychic space between us.

  “You have but to accept it,” Arnaud purred.

  I was telling him to get rid of it when the door opened downstairs.

  I went silent and froze in place. Oh, please don’t let that be—

  “I’m home,” someone called.

  Shit. It was me.

  38

  I waved Arnaud toward a slot under the table, next to the bookcase. The demon-vampire gave me a withering look, but still under Caroline’s enchantment, he obeyed, folding his slender form into the small space.

  Downstairs, Tabitha murmured, “Again?”

  I held my breath, but her remark didn’t give the time-catch me pause. I could hear him cycling through my homecoming routines: hanging coat and cane, dropping a clutch of mail onto the table, rooting through the fridge. He’d be coming up here shortly to check the hologram. If only my damn stealth potioned was ready.

  “You hungry?” I heard the time-catch me call.

  “Are you really asking me that?” Tabitha said.

  “Let’s see, I’ve got swordfish or flat iron steak.”

  “Can you stop pestering me with questions and just prepare both?”

  “We have to save the other one for tomorrow.”

  “Like a concentration camp in here,” she muttered.

  “I can always start serving cat food, you know.”

  “Fish,” she said.

  As he began pulling out pans, I quietly slid the books I’d selected back into their slots, arranged the desk as it had been, and retrieved my cane from the table. I stood over the steaming pots. If he could give me about ten minutes, I could bot
tle the potions, get a stealth potion into Arnaud and me, and slip out.

  Sure, it would have been fascinating to meet myself from five years earlier, but there wasn’t time to convince him I was from the future. Also, I didn’t want to have to tell him he was just an artifact and would cease to exist when the time catch collapsed, which could be in, oh, a few hours. I knew myself well enough to know he’d be skeptical of the first and super depressed about the second.

  C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, I thought at the cooking potions.

  “What happened to your friend?” Tabitha murmured.

  Oh, crap.

  “What friend?” he asked.

  “The one with the hideous face and stench.”

  Arnaud glared at me from under the table. Downstairs, sizzling sounded as the fish landed in the pan.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” time-catch me replied.

  I peeked over the railing. Tabitha was still curled in a mound facing the window.

  “Oh, stop being an ass,” she continued in her languid voice. “You said you two were going up—”

  I hardened the air around her into a soundproof dome.

  “Going up where?” he asked.

  But Tabitha couldn’t hear him now, either. He returned to his cooking. I sustained the manifestation for another minute before removing it. Tabitha’s body rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the lack of oxygen having dropped her back to sleep. And now the potions were reduced enough that I could start pouring.

  I filled several tubes with each potion, the sizzling downstairs providing the perfect sound screen. Very carefully, I loaded all the tubes save one into my pockets, then placed the range, pots, and wooden spoon back inside a large bin under the table. Steam burst out as I opened the stealth potion I’d set aside.

  A half dose each for me and Arnaud should do the trick.

  The tube was to my lips when I sensed movement.

  “Vigore!” a voice shouted.

  The potion exploded from my fingers. I wheeled toward the ladder, mouth already moving to manifest a shield. A wall of air slammed into me first. I went into the bookcase hard, tomes spilling as I came off it.

  The time-catch me leapt up the final rungs of the ladder.

  Even as I staggered for balance, I experienced a flush of pride at the way he’d snuck up on me. He must have sensed the dome I’d cast around Tabitha. He thrust his sword—actually, the time catch version of Grandpa’s sword, the Banebrand, that would one day destroy Lich. But my shield was in place now and stronger than his force invocation. He grunted and reeled from the blowback.

  “Disfare!” he called.

  My shield came apart beneath his dispel command. Made sense. We possessed the same mental prisms, which meant we were casting at identical frequencies. But talk about an inconvenience. I still held the edge in experience, though. Plus the advantage of knowing exactly what I’d have done in his situation.

  “Disfare,” I said at the same moment he spoke.

  The orb of hardened air he’d attempted to manifest around my head came apart.

  His aimed sword trembled slightly as he looked me up and down. He was wearing a rumpled shirt, sleeves bunched past the elbows. A dark blue tie I still owned hung loosely from his collar. Even though I might as well have been looking into a mirror, I could only think of him as someone else.

  “Who are you?” Everson demanded.

  “I’m, ah, basically you in a few years.”

  “Sure, courtesy of a mimicking spell. I want to know who you really are and what the hell you’re doing in my apartment.”

  Wow, I actually looked a little menacing when I was angry.

  I sighed. “Look, I could tell you about the scar on your first finger, inflicted by the same blade you’re holding. Or how you acquired an incubus while in Romania searching for the Book of Souls. Or that you have a thing for Caroline Reid. Or about the ingrown nail on your right big toe that you pack with Q-tip cotton because regular cotton isn’t thick enough. Or I could show you that we’re wearing the same ring or holding the exact same staff. But what’s it going to take to convince you?”

  He maintained a skeptical expression, but his eyes gave him away. Only seven years into his gig as a magic-user—and largely self-taught—he had no idea what to make of me. He looked around the lab, probably to determine what I’d been doing up here. He had a little less gray at his temples, I noticed, and his face was slightly more filled out than mine. But considering all I’d been through in the years since his time, a side-by-side comparison would show I hadn’t aged too badly.

  “This stain,” he said. “How did it get there?”

  He touched his staff to a spot on the thigh of his khakis.

  Oh, c’mon, I thought. You were always spilling crap on yourself.

  Then it hit me. I’d left a ballpoint pen in my pocket before boarding a bus, and it snapped when I plopped down in the seat. Naturally, it had happened before class, probably that very morning, which was why he was—

  “Illuminare!” he shouted.

  Light detonated from the opal end of his staff, blinding me.

  Son of a gun was only distracting me, I thought as I stumbled to one side. Once again, I couldn’t help but be impressed with my younger self.

  I threw up a defensive shield as I tried to blink away the twin glares. I expected him to follow with a series of invocations—it’s what I would have done. Instead, he gargled on his next word. As my vision cleared, I saw why. Arnaud had sprung from his hiding spot and brought his manacles around my counterpart’s throat from behind. He’d also managed to hook a leg over his sword arm, pinning it to his side.

  I panicked. Was he going to bite him? Turn him?

  “Disarm him, you fool,” Arnaud seethed at me in a shaking voice.

  I switched my sword’s aim to Everson’s flailing staff and dislodged it with a force invocation. I managed to do the same with his sword, even though Everson clung to it gamely. He drove his hands up under the manacles’ chain to create breathing space, his eyes frantic with the effort to breathe, the will to live.

  “Release him!” I shouted at Arnaud.

  Below the ridge of his compressed brow, the demon-vampire’s eyes burned with hatred, as if he intended to finish the job. But he relented. My counterpart responded by thrusting his weight back. He and Arnaud disappeared over the top of the ladder, falling into the main room below. The sounds of snarling and shuffling ensued.

  When I rushed to the ladder, Everson was already on top of Arnaud, hands seizing his throat above his neck manacle. And he was speaking the Latin exorcism. Sulfurous smoke rose from his throttling contact.

  Shit, he’s going to destroy Arnaud.

  “Stop!” I shouted, scrambling down the ladder. “Ballpoint pen, ballpoint pen!”

  But Everson was determined to end him. With a running dive, I tackled him off Arnaud, and we went rolling across the floor.

  “The stain,” I tried again, this time in grunts. “Came from your ballpoint pen.”

  “If you doppelganged me,” he grunted back, “then you’d have my thoughts too.”

  I may have been the more experienced magic-user, but he was filled with fresh book knowledge. And he was absolutely right, dammit. I had to think of something we could verify that hadn’t happened yet, but I was coming up blank.

  Meanwhile, our rolling tussle continued. Every time one of us uttered an invocation, the other shouted the dispersal Word, putting us at a casting stalemate. I was conscious of the vials clattering in my coat pockets, praying they wouldn’t break—especially the encumbering potion, which would reduce me to slug speed.

  Our momentum carried us into the leg of the dining room table. As the mail spilled around us, one parcel caught my eye. I could only make out “Midtown College” on the top line of the return address, but the envelope’s slate gray color marked it as a Snodgrass letter. He believed, wrongly, that the color gave his missives added gravitas.

  But now I
had something.

  Our arms had been locked, but Everson managed to glance a punch off my chin and seize my throat.

  “Start talking,” he said, “or I’ll choke you out like I did your minion.”

  “Wait,” I managed, gripping his throat back. “The Snodgrass letter.”

  His eyes cut over and back. “What about it?”

  “He’s moving the faculty bathrooms to the second floor. Reserving the ones on the first for department heads.” I remembered the letter at the start of that term vividly—and how much it had pissed me off.

  “What?” For an instant, Everson’s fury shifted to Snodgrass.

  “I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s true. Open it and see for yourself.”

  I released his throat and arm and scooted away, hands open to show I had no intention of resuming the attack. He looked from me to the envelope again before snatching it up. We stood at the same time, lest the other have the higher ground, and remained a safe distance apart. A glance back showed that Arnaud was still down and in bad shape. I’d get to him, but I had to sort this out first.

  Tabitha, who was peering over a shoulder, smirked at Everson. “I told you that you were up in the lab,” she said.

  Scowling, he tore the side of the envelope with a finger, drew out the letter, and shook it open. He glanced up several times to make sure I was staying back. But as he read, he became increasingly absorbed—and vexed. By the time he reached the end, his eyebrows were nearly touching in the center.

  “That son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, there will be a faculty petition and everything, but he’ll still go through with it.”

  He let the arm holding the letter fall to his side as he looked back at me. “The secretary handed this to me on my way out today, so you couldn’t have read it.” He sighed. “Still, I need more info about … this.” He gestured toward me.

  “No problem, but first I need to tend to my minion.”

  Everson looked past me warily to where Arnaud was still smoking on the floor. “What is he?”

  “A demon-vampire.” I didn’t mention the Arnaud part. While I was familiar with the name back then, I wouldn’t encounter him for another few years. “It’s a long story, but he’s my ticket back to my plane.”