The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Brad Magnarella (ink book reader txt) 📖

St. Martin’s murder yet, which suggested the church had paid the Scream for their silence—another way the paper raked in revenue. Church officials no doubt wanted to be able to break the news to the parishioners themselves, and more gently.

The other murders in the last twenty-four hours were shootings, which was actually a relief. It meant the shriekers hadn’t fed since being loosed. Maybe the Order had sent someone to deal with them.

I set the paper aside and checked my watch. The East Village conjurer remained under my mind-restoring magic, and would for another twelve to twenty-four. The man being my best source of where the spell had come from, I would need to be there when he woke up.

In the meantime, I could focus on the cathedral murder, which meant trying to learn what Black Earth meant.

Tabitha stirred as I passed her, the food plate and milk bowl beside the divan licked clean. I preempted my cat by saying, “Dinner after your tour.”

“I’ve toured twice already, you tyrannical fu—”

“Language,” I reminded her. “Anything to report?”

She yawned and flopped onto her other side. “Your admirer was back.”

An electric jolt shot through me. “The woman?” I’d checked the outside of the building before entering but hadn’t seen any average-looking brunettes watching. At least not in plain view.

“Still can’t tell for sure,” Tabitha replied.

“What time?”

“One, two o’clock. I don’t know.”

“Did you pick out any defining features like we talked about?”

“Yeah, two. She was standing across the street, and her feet were together.”

On my last visit to the dentist I was told I grind my teeth. Hmm, I wonder why. “Look, if you’re not going to try, then neither am I. How does water and Meow Mix sound?”

Tabitha sighed. “She was in a dark coat, hair past her shoulders.”

I tried to align the composite with people I knew and came up empty.

“Next time you see her, come get me.”

“Hard to do when you’re never home.”

“Just…” She had a point. “Look, I have a ton on my plate. More than you’ll ever appreciate. All so we can continue to enjoy our present comfortable lifestyle, I should remind you.”

Tabitha acted as though she wasn’t listening.

“I’ll be upstairs. Working.”

As I climbed the ladder to my library and lab, my irritation with Tabitha gave over to puzzlement about who was staking out the apartment. I ruled out plainclothes detective, since Tabitha had first seen the woman yesterday, before the killings in which my unflattering likeness was now the chief suspect. That left … who? Someone involved with the church murder? The shrieker conjurings?

The hologram of the city was dim, anyway, which was a relief. I needed it to stay that way. I didn’t think I could handle another summoning tonight.

I got right to work on the church case, poring through several thick tomes for anything that might relate to the message. I was a good hour in when I found something. In a section on spell-craft in ancient Britain, my eyes locked onto the name of a group who practiced a druidic form of magic.

The monks had called themselves Nigra Terra. Translation: Black Earth.

I jotted down a page’s worth of notes on the fierce group, then leaned back in my desk chair in thought. There were a few druid cults in the city who dabbled in nature magic. Blessing trees and animals, that sort of thing. Harmless, really.

But I’d heard rumors of a clandestine group whose activities were less well known. They hadn’t been summoning nether creatures—the alarm would have alerted me. Still, they practiced in Central Park which was telling, given the beings that roamed those wilds. The druid group was either more powerful than the resident creatures or aligned with them, somehow.

I nearly tipped backwards in my chair as I remembered what Mr. Han had said that afternoon.

Need Black Earth today? Go to North Wood. Central Park.

Had he been trying to tell me something?

I was considering the question when the flame on my table erupted in a red-purple column. A folded piece of paper shot from the peaking flame, unfolding as it fell, fluttering to the table top. It came to a rest in the table’s center, as neat as if someone had placed it there.

From the Order? A response within twelve hours would be lightning speed for them. I rushed over to the message anyway, hoping for an update on the shrieker situation.

To: Everson Croft

After reviewing your reports on the recent summonings, we hereby order you to cease pursuit of the matter and discontinue all magic use until further notice. This decree goes into immediate effect.

Signed: The Order

I staggered backwards as though I’d been punched in the throat.

“What?”

22

The Order had voiced displeasure with me in the past (the Thelonious issue remained a really touchy subject), but they had never taken away my practice of magic. Next to death, it was the harshest decree that could be handed down, reserved for magic users who drifted into the dark arts.

I stopped. Is that what they think I’ve done?

“Relax, Everson,” I whispered. “Deep breaths.”

I resumed pacing, respiring in through my nose and out through pursed lips. My heart continued to pound high in my chest. I reread the message. Calling me off the case I could understand. I could even see where the directive was meant to keep me safe. Demonic beings were beyond my present abilities, as my battle with the juvenile shrieker had attested.

But “discontinue all magic use until further notice”? What the hell?

Developed beyond a certain point, magic became as integral to a wizard as any vital organ. More so, magic became a lens through which we perceived existence and our place in it. I couldn’t imagine my life without it. But the Order was demanding I do just that.

I tried to harness some hope to the final three words: “until further notice.” Maybe this was a temporary stay, again for reasons of safety.

But a harsher truth was rearing up in my mind, and it went back to Thelonious. I’d already mentioned that,