Page 57 of Professor and the Seer
It didn’t take John long to transfer the images from his phone to his computer. What did delay his return to the archive? Rewatching the video on repeat. Feeling that same chill when the cloaked figure appeared, menacing and yet not doing any actual harm other than frightening with his message.
What did Reaper want with Frieda? Thinking of her had John rushing to run the program that would 3D-map key elements in the video and then compare it against a database they kept of ruins, both manmade and arcane. He’d never gotten a hit for the symbols in Bane’s cave, but architecture tended to be less unique, with civilizations having distinctive styles in their methods of building.
Boom. The rumble of thunder had him looking outside for a quick second. Dark clouds had rolled in since their arrival, and he’d left the umbrella in his car. Of more concern? The way Frieda’s vision appeared to be coming true. At least the storm part. He saw no signs of bunnies, fanged or otherwise.
He exited his office and headed back to the library, pausing as he noticed students congregated in the vestibule, peeking outside.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Shield around the school is down,” Francis, a second-year student, replied. His red hair stuck out at all angles, but the wizard who specialized in weather didn’t seem to care.
“What happened?” John asked, reaching out to confirm. The usual hum of magic that protected them from outside forces had indeed disappeared, but of more concern, there had been no alarm warning them.
“Don’t know. I think the storm might be the culprit,” Francis declared. “It ain’t natural.”
John frowned at the dark clouds. “I’m not sensing anything.”
“Me either, but it also ain’t obeying me like it should.” Francis squinted and held out his hands to no effect. The magic he projected at the impending storm did nothing.
Very strange.
Lightning struck, a bright jagged line of electricity that hit the pavement right in front, shattering stone cobbles. The following boom was strong enough it shook the building. It proved to be only the beginning.
As strikes exploded the ground out front, John barked, “Everyone inside. Keep the door shut.”
“Want me to ward them from being opened?” Jessica offered.
“Yes. No one leaves unless I or another professor says it’s safe.” He glanced at Francis. “That includes you.”
“You sure? I don’t mind trying to dissipate it,” the boy offered.
“You said it yourself. It isn’t natural.” Words that led to him pivoting and eyeing the closed library doors. He marched for the library, trying to not panic. Frieda would be fine inside the archive, which muffled magic. Tell that to his nagging unease.
Before he could even reach the door, it flung open, and students emerged, panic in their eyes. One young woman sobbed, “It killed him!”
John grabbed her by the arm and spun her to face him. “What’s happening?”
“There’s a spirit on the loose, and it sucked Leroy dry!”
“Where?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“At the back, by the archive.”
He bolted, racing through the stacked rows of bookshelves, his skin prickling at the magic coalescing ahead. He skidded to a stop as he saw Frieda facing off against a monster of smoke with a man’s shape. Not just any man. Despite the being’s incorporeal presence, John recognized him from images he’d studied.
The necromancer, Roger Swain.
Frieda held out her hands, and John could hear her, her voice thready with fear. “Stay back, foul spirit, or I’ll send your soul to Hell.”
In a voice gravelly and disturbing, the thing replied, “We both know Hell doesn’t exist.”
“Then where did you come from?” she retorted.
“From a nowhere place. I never expected it would take so long to be freed. I am famished.” The ghost lunged for Frieda, but she dodged.
“Leave her alone, Swain!” John snapped, drawing the spirit’s attention.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the wizard who didn’t have the power to wake me. That said, you’ll still make a fine meal,” leered the monster. “And then I’ll devour the girl.”