Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8) Brad Magnarella (the red fox clan TXT) 📖

a rippling wave, mundane titles became arcane tomes and grimoires. I’d reordered my collection as it had grown, but I quickly spotted what I wanted. Navigating the rolling ladder, I returned with two books considered authorities on rune magic. Arnaud remained silent on the stool, eyes fixed on a spot between his feet. He had to feel his energy depleting again and was likely trying to preserve his strength.

I made room on my desk for the books, settled into my chair, and flipped the notepad to a fresh page. Despite being an intruder in my own apartment, I felt right at home. The only thing missing was a pot of Colombian coffee.

“You won’t find anything in there,” Arnaud said after several minutes.

I finished scanning a section of the first book. “How do you even know what I’m looking for?”

“Information on the Night Rune.”

“Why won’t I find it?” I asked absently.

“I believe ‘Night Rune’ is just the name Malphas gave to whatever he’s doing.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert,” I said, flipping to another section.

“Don’t be crass, Mr. Croft. Though I don’t care for the connotation, I suppose I am a survivor, as you suggest. As such, I have cultivated an extensive understanding of the races, magics, energies, and artifacts that could potentially destroy me. While there are some powerful runes, as well as manipulators of said runes, none can break the demonic plane and permit the passage of one of Malphas’s status.”

“Hmm-mm,” I murmured, turning now to a back section.

Though I was biasing hard against whatever Arnaud had to say, I found myself skimming more quickly. I finished book one—my notepad page still blank—and started on the other book I’d selected. The potions continued to simmer, filling the loft space with a bitter-smelling mist.

“Hellcat Maggie,” Arnaud said.

I paused. The vampire we’d encountered in 1861? If Arnaud had intended to get my attention, it worked. I cut my eyes from the book until I could see his thin shadow on the very edge of my vision.

“What about her?”

“I couldn’t help but notice that her revelation piqued your curiosity,” he said. “The one about the locket belonging to her daughter? Would you like to know the full story?”

“It’s irrelevant.” I went back to the book.

“Oh, I disagree. I believe it’s very apropos to the larger picture.” When I didn’t respond, his voice thinned. “For an accomplished magic-user—one who succeeded in expelling me—you disappoint me, Mr. Croft.”

“I’m shattered.”

After what seemed a brooding pause, Arnaud went on. “Maggie’s daughter was murdered for the locket. It had historical value, but neither she nor her mother could have known this. Maggie was determined to find her daughter’s killer. Being hopelessly impoverished and absent one leg didn’t stop her. She crutched along the dodgiest New York streets day and night, questing for scraps of information. And yes, by her diligence, she was eventually given a lead to her daughter’s killer. But he found her first.”

I quit all pretense of reading and narrowed my eyes toward him.

“You can lose the sourpuss face, because it wasn’t me, Mr. Croft, but a rogue collector. Only by happenstance did I find Maggie in the alley that night. The scoundrel had slit her throat. Most of her blood had pooled into the filthy cobbles and turned cold, so it had no appeal for me. I might have left the poor woman there to die, but I saw something in her dimming eyes that reminded me of my own mortal circumstances so many centuries before.” A raw memory seemed to pass behind his visage.

“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