Hereditary Magic

by Emma L. Adams

  “They were waiting for us,” she said. “Why not attack us in the village? Because there’d be witnesses?”

  “Maybe.” I swallowed. “The death stealers… they don’t normally wait before attacking. I never thought they were intelligent enough to set up an ambush either.”

  “That’s because they were following orders,” said Hazel.

  I know. Monsters like those didn’t use magic to attack, which let them circumvent our defences. My body ached from the beating I’d taken, though the house’s magic had taken pity on me and wiped every speck of dirt from my clothes. And Hazel’s. It’d even done so for River, too. Next he’d be a permanent fixture in our house. That was all we needed.

  Wait, our house? That’d be the house’s magic working on me again, trying to tempt me into staying. I’d been intending to call landlords in Edinburgh who catered to supernaturals today, but now…

  I’m a supernatural. I used the word so often I’d never thought of applying it to me… but it fit. With renewed energy, I pulled out my phone, saw another message from my boss, and exhaled in a sigh. Work and studying… it all seemed so distant. Someone had tried to kill us, and now I couldn’t imagine walking back into that old life again as though nothing had changed at all.

  “Oh, thank the Sidhe,” Hazel said, as several plates appeared on the table. “I was beginning to think the house was going to let us starve.”

  “It wouldn’t kill you to make your own lunch.” I grabbed a plate of sandwiches and took a bite of one of them, suddenly ravenous.

  “I’d really like to know how you survived the past five years, considering you didn’t used to be able to turn on the microwave without setting the kitchen on fire.”

  “I did that once.” I bit off another chunk of tuna mayonnaise sandwich. “I’m domesticated as hell, thanks.”

  “Pfft.” Hazel leaned over and poked River in the shoulder, where he appeared to have dozed off. “Poor thing’s been awake for two days.”

  “I’m awake now.” He blinked a couple of times and picked up another plate. “Is anyone ever going to explain where this came from?”

  “Magic.” Hazel waved her hands dramatically. “Haven’t a clue. You’d think I’d be able to use this sort of conjuring trick away from the house, but it only works here. Guess the faeries get a monopoly on all the free cookies.”

  “Chocolate chip cookies don’t exist in Faerie,” I pointed out. “Neither does coffee. Must be why they’re always sleeping.” I took another bite.

  Hazel snickered. “When they’re not partying or declaring war on one another.”

  Or seducing humans.

  “Your magic really is something else,” River remarked, biting into the sandwich.

  “Perks of putting your neck on the line for the Sidhe.” Hazel shifted in her seat, the atmosphere abruptly sobering. This was hardly the first time our lives had been in danger, but it was definitely the first time Mum hadn’t been around to help. The Sidhe might not have our backs, but she always had.

  Nobody spoke for a while. When River broke the silence, he said, “Hazel, I must apologise for failing in my duty to protect you. I didn’t see the attack coming, but that’s no reason to have let them surround us like that.”

  “No worries. They were sneaky bastards.” She rested her head against the cushions and closed her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to move from this sofa for about a year.”

  River watched her for a moment, then turned to me. “I never asked—are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” I glanced at Hazel, who’d apparently fallen asleep. “I wish we’d found out who sent them.”

  “Believe me, so do I,” he said darkly. “Vale beasts don’t normally cooperate with one another. Whoever sent them is breaking the rules of both realms.”

  No kidding. There appeared to be no rule our enemies wouldn’t break—including the laws of life and death itself.

  “Have you ever been to the Vale?” I asked him.

  A moment passed before he said, “Yes. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. That realm is poison to any faerie. It drains the very essence out of us. Nobody in their right mind would deliberately choose to go there.”

  “The Sidhe know about this, don’t they?” I asked quietly. “They just don’t give a shit unless it directly affects them. So you had to come here and handle the wraiths because nobody in the Court would lift a finger to do it. That’s why you were chosen. Right?”

  “It’s why I volunteered,” he said. “Few faeries have even set foot in the Vale, and none are accomplished in necromancy.”

  Because the Sidhe can’t die. Except they can, now.

  “Is that what you were telling Hazel about when she pretty much ran away from you in the village?”

  “No, she thought we were being watched,” he said. “Something about the Gatekeeper not being allowed to date faeries…”

  “Oh, that. Yeah.”

  He waited as though expecting me to say something more.

  “Well, we all belong to the Sidhe, so they don’t want to share their property.” Dammit, Ilsa. Why did I even go there?

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to imply your sister and yourself have no free will of your own. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. I was merely quoting what I was told… that the entire Lynn bloodline is the property of the Sidhe.”

  My fingernails dug into the sofa arm. “We don’t tend to appreciate being reminded.”

  “Noted. I apologise. I was misinformed on the subject. Your sister mentioned your brother managed to leave…”

  “Somehow.” I shrugged. “Haven’t seen him since I was fifteen. The only people who technically belong to the Sidhe are the Gatekeepers, and believe me, if you meet Mum, you wouldn’t know it. Unless you’ve already met her.”

  “She visited my father’s estate a few times to speak with other messengers,” he said. “I can guess where your sister gets her attitude.”

  “Mum’s the rule-follower. Grandma’s rebelliousness skipped a generation. But she’s good at the job. They all are, in the end. Pretty sure the contract demands it.”

  He looked thoughtful. “A contract. That’s why it includes only one of you.”

  “Yep. Lucky us. Do you have any siblings?”

  He shook his head. “I have half-siblings on the faerie side of my family, but we never grew up together.”

  “So you grew up here, and then got an invitation to Faerie?” There was no other way for a half-faerie to get into the Courts. Being offered a talisman was like winning the lottery.

  He shrugged. “The option was open. I was luckier than most.”

  Not my business, I guessed. “I was just surprised. They’re polar opposites. The spirit world and Faerie.”

  “They have more in common than you’d think.”

  You’re telling me. Apparently I still couldn’t mention the book or my newfound powers. Agnes and Everett had known, but River… as much as I knew he was still working for the Court, it wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark.

  Since when did you care? He’s your sister’s bodyguard. But somewhere between the necromancers’ place and home, he’d lost his superior air and just looked sleepy. Or maybe it was those ridiculously long eyelashes of his.

  “I’ll speak with Mr Greaves again,” he added. “Maybe you’ll come to an understanding. I believe it’s misguided of us to ignore the necromancers’ advice. We’ll talk to them at the earliest opportunity once I’ve ensured the danger has passed.”

  Ah, there it is. “Might as well. We can’t stay holed up in here forever. It’s the solstice ball tomorrow, for a start. If Hazel goes, you’ll have to join her. I assume you have experience of faerie balls, right?”

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but Court faerie revels have a tendency to end with someone dead,” River said.

  “That’s why we don’t go to them,” I told him. “This is run by the Winter Gatekeeper. You’ll be carrying your talisman, anyway. Where’d it disa
ppear to?”

  “I keep it close.” The sword appeared, leaning against the sofa beside a suitcase. So that explained where his spare clothes had come from.

  “Neat trick,” I said. “Did you borrow my book? The one I left in here.”

  “It’s yours? I can put it back.”

  “No, it’s fine. Just don’t fold the page corners down. That’s sacrilege.”

  He grinned. “I won’t. The Court doesn’t come with good reading material, unless you like thousand-year-old murderous ballads which sometimes curse you if you speak them aloud.”

  My brows rose. “Yeah, no thanks.” One book with an apparent life of its own was quite enough for me.

  “The library’s yours?” he asked. “Your name’s written on every bookshelf.”

  “I was a possessive child. Most of the books have my name in them, too, so I could tell if Hazel swiped one.” I glanced at her. “Are you actually planning to sleep at some point? I’m guessing you have your faerie magic running on autopilot to compensate, right?” He’d been bleeding, too, but the wounds had healed. Healing magic could be used as a substitute for rest up to a point, but it wasn’t unlimited. And those creatures had come too close to wiping all us out.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I do. I assumed the two of you would go more than a couple of hours without one of you running into trouble, but so far, I’ve been wrong.” He looked at Hazel’s sleeping form. “She’s not going anywhere, is she?”

  “Nope.” But I am.

  His breathing evened out and he was asleep a moment later. I waited for a second then leaned forward, waving my hand in front of his face. No reaction. Faeries were capable of dropping off to sleep in a second, I knew that, but there was something oddly endearing about the way he sat there, entirely unconscious to my presence. I wouldn’t push my luck. He was a faerie-trained bodyguard and doubtless had more tricks up his sleeve.

  Hazel’s eye cracked open, and I jumped. “That was poetic.” She rolled her eyes. “Faeries.”

  “How long were you awake for?”

  “Long enough to work out you were flirting with him.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I wanted to make him think we were all getting on fine so I can sneak off.”

  She wriggled upright on the sofa. “What, now?”

  “It won’t get dark for a long while yet. If Grandma won’t appear here… I have to speak to her again. I might not get another chance.” If we showed up at the ball without Mum, all our enemies, living or dead, would know that the Gatekeeper was missing in Faerie, if they didn’t already. They’d have an open shot at both of us.

  I went to the workroom and replaced the iron filings I’d lost in the battle, adding two knives and a canister of salt. As an afterthought, I grabbed a shadow spell. Of all witch spells, they were probably the most useful—disguise spells that caused the person to blend into shadow, as Hazel had done when she’d followed me to the mausoleum. They weren’t too effective on open roads or fields, places without shadowy corners to hide in, but it was a gloomy enough day that it might give me an edge.

  Like all Agnes’s spells, the shadow spell came in the form of a piece of jewellery—in this case, a bracelet. I snapped it on, and when I left the house, I rotated the bracelet once, and my body melted into shadow. At least, it was supposed to. With the sun beaming down onto our territory, anyone would be able to see I was there.

  Past the gate was a different story. Rain lashed down, soaking me to the skin in seconds. I tugged my coat tight, shivering. At least the mausoleum would offer some shelter. Several uncomfortable minutes of skidding along muddy paths later, I halted beside the cemetery gates.

  Holly Lynn leaned on the gate, conversing with two black-cloaked necromancers. All three spoke in hushed voices, their words lost in the patter of rain. I ducked out of sight, glad I’d worn the shadow spell. How was I supposed to sneak in and talk to Grandma with those three standing in the way? Maybe they were talking about the mess the wraiths had made of their relatives’ graves, but the cloaks and hushed voices set my nerves blaring.

  Wishing I’d bought an eavesdropping spell, too, I inched closer. Holly had her back to me, but the family resemblance would be uncanny if Holly hadn’t cut her hair short and dyed it jet-black. Her eyes were tinted with blue Winter magic as Hazel’s were tinged with green, and the mark on her forehead was almost identical. Unlike us, she was an only child. Her mother, Aunt Candice, was a nasty piece of work. While the Gatekeepers’ designated roles were to help the other supernaturals as well as the Courts, the Winter Gatekeeper had a habit of turning anyone who tried to ask her for favours into ice statues, so they usually came to Mum instead.

  Holly walked away from the two necromancers, heading back up the hill the way I’d just come. I kept still, waiting for them to leave.

  “I can see you, Lynn,” said one of them softly. “The rain doesn’t hide your footprints.”

  Ah, crap. The two necromancers turned to face me as though I wasn’t invisible at all. They weren’t people I knew, either. Both were men. One had a long scar on his face, one had a mullet haircut, but they were plain-looking enough that I wouldn’t have picked them out of a crowd.

  They moved at the same time. I shifted on my feet, weighing the odds of taking one of them down. Possibly. They were both bigger than I was, but I was also invisible.

  I lunged, tackling one of them in the chest. He lost his balance in surprise, crashing into the fence—but didn’t give ground. Alarm blared through my mind as the second grabbed the back of my coat.

  “Lynn,” he said. “Got a grave marked out for you right here.”

  “Hey!” I squirmed, fighting his grip, but his partner grabbed my legs. With one heave, they threw me over the fence—right into an open grave.

  Chapter 13

  I yelled, my hands clutching nothing but dirt. My feet hit packed earth, bringing me to a halt in a deep trench. I reached for the edge but my fingers grazed the wall, and soil came away in my hands. There were no hand holds. I tried jumping, but other than making a complete tit of myself, all I managed to do was bring more rain-soaked soil into the hole.

  “Grandma?” I whispered. “Come on. You gave me your power and ran away. I need answers. I also need a way out of this grave.”

  There came the sound of scrabbling fingers against the earth wall.

  “Back off,” I warned, my voice rising. Oh god. Revulsion clawed up my throat, horror coursing in my blood as undead fingers poked through the soil. I threw salt at it, and the hand withdrew, its fingers dissolving. The hands continued to scrabble, more earth collapsing. My heart raced faster. If I made any sudden movements, I’d be buried alive.

  An undead hand broke through the earth, dead fingers reaching where my face had been moments before. I backed into the opposite wall, and a hoarse cry escaped when hands grabbed at me from that direction as well. Crushing panic rose within my chest, and my hands fumbled the salt canister, tipping salt into my palm. I hit out at the zombie, my hand coated in salt, and knocked its wrist aside.

  Which of my relatives was that? No—don’t think about it. I grabbed the undead’s hand in salt-covered fingers and squeezed, bone disintegrating under my touch.

  Don’t think about it, don’t think about it… Swallowing bile, I dug my free hand into my pocket for the book, running my fingertips over the cover. A shiver ran up my spine, not from the zombies but the tingling sensation of the book’s magic. It sparked along my hand, calming my racing mind enough to think clearly. More power flowed into my palm as the tingling intensified. I’m controlling it?

  Silvery light skimmed over my palm, and the zombie’s hands withdrew into the earth as though burned. I held my breath, but the magic continued to flow over my fingertips, glowing bright as a star. Then, greyness overlaid my vision. I’d tapped into the spirit sight. The real world was muted in shadows as the grey filter descended, but my hands glowed faintly. If I was able to see my reflection, I’d be a glowing ball of light like
the others had been when I’d spoken to the ghost of old Mr Greaves.

  As though prompted by my thoughts, the image of his floating face came to mind, and I sensed his glowing spirit in the graveyard across the road. I blinked, the greyness fading. Heart racing, I opened the book—but its pages remained as blank as ever.

  “Come on,” I hissed, but no response came. At the very least, I hadn’t sensed any more zombies—but since when could I sense people? The spirit sight usually took years to effectively train, and most necromancers couldn’t do much more than see ghosts. I’d been able to see spirits before the book had landed in my hands, but not tap into the spirit realm itself. Light skimmed over the book, tingling at my fingertips. Necromantic energy… the power to banish spirits beyond the gates of Death. Even faerie ones.

  I closed my eyes, trying to grasp that sensation again when I’d picked up on the presence of the necromancer’s ghost nearby. When I opened my eyes again, the world was grey, hazed over. My hands glowed. And so did the person standing nearby… no, walking towards me. I slipped the book into my pocket, blinking the greyness away.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  Of all the people to discover me standing in an open grave, River would normally be bottom of the list. But I’d sensed him, through some other awareness than sight, before I actually saw him. I’d known it was him without even seeing his face.