Hereditary Curse (The Gatekeeper's Curse Book 2)

by Emma L. Adams

  Maybe it was hidden from the spirit world. Like the wraiths. I let the greyness slip away and focused on the house again. My legs cramped from crouching. The screaming died down but didn’t disappear entirely. A crashing noise sounded, and then a cry of alarm.

  The tone was unmistakable this time. I leapt the wall and ran into the garden, kicking the door inward. In the living room, Morgan lay on the floor—and a monster stood over him. Six or seven feet tall, huge shaggy body like an oversized dog—and gleaming fangs dripping green drool onto the floor.

  Hellhound.

  “Shit,” I whispered, drawing my knife. Unlike sluaghs or other fae beasts, hellhound bites were potent and even we weren’t immune. It didn’t look like Morgan had been bitten, but the hellhound’s drool had eaten holes in the carpet like acid and I didn’t have a weapon capable of dealing a deadly blow without risking our lives.

  I grabbed my iron filings first, throwing them at the monster. The beast’s attention left Morgan and its dark eyes locked on me. Primal fear shot through my core, and it leapt at me. I threw myself aside over the sofa, which collapsed under the monster’s weight. Its jaws closed a hair’s breadth from my face, and I rolled off the collapsing sofa and stabbed it in the leg. Blood spilled onto the carpet, but though iron wounded it, I’d need to get close to its deadly teeth and stab it in the eye or brain to deal a fatal blow.

  The hellhound’s slavering teeth snapped again, inches from my leg. Then my brother appeared, slamming a chair on top of its head. It shook off the blow, turning on him. Morgan hit the beast again, screaming the whole time. Ow. That’s loud. My head felt like it was splitting open, and the hellhound flailed a leg clumsily, falling sideways. The noise was hurting it.

  I took my chance and sank my knife into its leg, hoping to hit an artery. Could half-dead dog-monsters bleed out? Who even knew. My head pounded with the racket, a thousand times worse than a hangover, but the hellhound growled in pain, too. I stabbed it again, this time in the neck.

  Morgan stopped screaming, and the beast twisted, knocking me flying into the coffee table. Pain shot up my spine, mingling with the echoing agony of the psychic scream, and I gasped for breath. As for Morgan—his shadow moved, splitting in two. The second shadow, less substantial, shrank to the size of a small dog, solidifying. Smiling teeth entirely too fae-like, eyes gleaming like coals…

  “Hello, Gatekeeper,” purred the beast.

  The fetch. That little creature was the thing which had been tormenting my brother for a week?

  “Get fucked.” I pushed to a sitting position, the hellhound’s blood soaking into the carpet and glowing with blue faerie magic.

  The hellhound spasmed, falling still. I’d killed it after all. The book’s magic filled my veins, strengthening my resolve, and I climbed to my feet, not taking my eyes off the fetch.

  “You,” I said. “Stay the hell away from my family.”

  “Gatekeeper,” growled the beast. “You’re less than I expected.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I’d like to stay and chat about how much of a shit you are for attacking my family, and ask how you summoned that monster, but I kind of don’t care.” White light exploded from my palms, crashing into the beast. It grinned at me, its body growing to the size of a hellhound. Okay… that’s a little more impressive.

  I raised my knife, and a hand grabbed my arm, driving the knife towards my own leg. I fought against the hands grabbing at me—grey, insubstantial ones, belonging to a pointy-eared figure floating on a level with my face. Of course the fetch hadn’t come alone.

  “Coward,” I snarled, yanking my arm free. Bloody faerie ghosts.

  Its solid hands lashed out with blinding faerie speed, and latched around my neck to choke the breath from my lungs. I stepped back, willing my spirit to fall out of my body, and twisted to face the half-faerie ghost at my back.

  “What’re they paying you to take yourselves into an early grave?”

  The half-faerie’s hands glowed blue, and it shoved me. Unprepared for the blast of cold air, I floated backwards. Coldness fogged the windows in the real world, ice spreading across the floor and ceiling. Winter power, enough to outlast death.

  I ignored the magic and grabbed the half-faerie’s arm. The image of the gate appeared in my mind’s eye, encompassing the house—its siren song calling to everyone within the area. If I opened it, the fetch would ensure my brother went through the gate, too, never to be seen again.

  “Goddamn you,” I growled, dropping the book’s power and punching him in the face. Magic blasted me, bounced off my shield and hit the wall instead. Icicles sprang up where it hit… and the hellhound rose to its feet again.

  The fetch reanimated the hellhound? I jumped back into my body in time to shove Morgan out the way of the beast’s wavering steps. The fetch leapt, but I kicked it hard. The creature hit the iced-over wall, laughing in a high-pitched voice. Morgan sobbed in pain, hands clutching his head.

  “Get the hell away from him.”

  I grabbed my salt canister, threw it at the hellhound’s undead body, and jumped into death once again. I looked around, focusing, looking for Morgan… there he was. Morgan’s spirit remained still, as his body fought against the fetch.

  “Morgan!” I shouted. “Look at me. You can’t stop the fetch from possessing your body, but you can attack him here, as a spirit. You’ve been doing this for years, right? Just pretend this is the real you. He can’t harm you as a ghost.”

  Morgan turned to face me. In the waking world, his screams quietened. Of course that meant the fetch was possessing him for real—but his mind wouldn’t break here in Death.

  “You sure?” he said.

  “Absolutely. As a necromancer, you’re stronger than they are by default. That’s why they’re using cheap tricks against us. They’re cowards. I’m gonna go back down there and put the iron on you, and then we can sneak up on the little bastard from behind. Ignore everything the half-faerie does—you’re stronger than it is. Got it?”

  He nodded, bewilderment flashing across his face, and I closed my eyes and dropped back into my body. I’d barely moved an inch, but Morgan staggered to his feet, eyes glowing, the fetch’s presence struggling for control.

  “Need a weapon?” I grabbed Morgan’s hand and closed it around the iron knife’s hilt.

  As the fetch recoiled from his mind, a strangled noise came from its physical body. It writhed and flailed, rolling onto its back. I kicked it, viciously, and Morgan himself plunged the knife into the fetch’s neck. It gave a gargling screech. The fetch’s body stilled, then disintegrated into smoke.

  Morgan stood holding the knife, an expression of stunned disbelief on his face.

  “Morgan, I said pin it down, not possess it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. His eyes rolled back in his skull and he fell over backwards.

  I gasped, dropping to the floor beside him. “Morgan?” I felt for a pulse and sagged with relief. “Dammit. Where’s that faerie ghost?” I switched on my spirit sight, but the ghost had disappeared. Already the ice on the windows was melting, but the house needed a major clean-up. The bodies of both the hellhound and the fetch had left bloody streaks everywhere, the sofa was a wreck, and melting ice dripped down the walls.

  The door slammed open and running footsteps came from the hallway. Hazel and River ran into the room, both covered in blood. “What the—” Hazel stared at Morgan and the bloody knife clenched in his hand. “Morgan?”

  “He just did something risky and stupid and I’m gonna yell at him when he wakes up, but—”

  River strode to the hellhound and his blade flashed, decapitating it.

  “It was already dead, twice over,” I explained.

  “Just taking precautions,” said River. He was breathing heavily, but the blue-tinged blood all over his coat wasn’t his.

  “Two of those bastards ambushed us outside,” said Hazel. “Should have figured the enemy would have backup waiting.”

  I
nodded, lifting Morgan’s limp arm. He still had a pulse, but now the adrenaline had begun to wear off, worry crept in. “This is my fault. The fetch was driving him literally out of his mind, so I told him to fight it as a ghost. He interpreted that as possessing the fetch himself, and I think it screwed him up.”

  “He’s breathing,” River said, crouching down beside him. “If it’s anything like when an untrained magic user overdoes it, it won’t kill him.”

  “Good.” I sank to the floor, my body trembling. “I just—he was in Death, and I know he’s apparently been hopping back and forth between there and here for Sidhe knows how many years, but he’s not trained.”

  “It’s not your fault, Ilsa,” said Hazel. “He would interpret what you said in the riskiest, most ridiculous way. He does that.”

  “I don’t think he’s ever come close to this before,” I said. “I didn’t even know someone who isn’t technically dead could possess someone, let alone use their psychic powers at the same time.”

  “It’s not common,” River said. “The necromancers don’t like to broadcast their riskiest techniques, but in this situation… I think he should move permanently to the guild. If we tell them the full story, he’ll fall into the category of a rogue by the very nature of what he did.”

  “Worse than what I did?” I asked.

  “Not worse than controlling the gate, but that’s not possible at all, as far as most people are concerned. Is the fetch definitely dead?”

  “I think it’s gone,” I said, shivering. “Bloody creature. I wish I’d seen if I got rid of it for real. How did it get into the circle?”

  “It used your brother to turn this circle into a place of dark magic,” River said. “The candles came on by themselves. Morgan must possess enough necromantic talent to be able to switch on candles when used as a mouthpiece. I should have seen this coming.”

  “Dark magic?” asked Hazel. “I take it you don’t mean faerie magic… but hellhounds are faeries.”

  “Not the usual type,” River said. “Any type of magic requiring a blood sacrifice or which falls outside the bounds of conventional necromancy is labelled as ‘dark magic’. I wish there was a more specific label.”

  “How about ‘grey magic’?” I asked. “Summoning from the Vale? That’s what it was… right?”

  He nodded. “Apparently so. It is possible, because the Vale and the spirit realm are so closely linked. If you know what you’re doing, you can summon someone… or something… from the Vale directly here. Usually a hellhound. They’re particularly receptive to necromantic traps. I think they live directly on the spirit lines between realms somewhere, but that’s just a theory.”

  “Holy crap,” said Hazel. “You can—a human can summon monsters from the Vale? And the fetch used our brother to do it?”

  “He won’t suffer any lasting damage,” said River. “Not if he’s used necromancy before. There’s always a risk element involved.”

  “But…” Hazel trailed off. “Look at the state of this place. What are we supposed to do with the hellhound?”

  “Not a problem.” River raised a hand and the hellhound erupted into white flames. Quickly, they devoured its body until there was nothing left.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “When do I get to learn to do that?”

  “In advanced training,” River said. “I’d advise you not to mention this to the guild. Not until I figure out what type of magic was used. They’re likely to pin the blame on your brother, and using dark magic carries an automatic jail sentence. The good news is that Lady Montgomery will be pleased that your plan worked, and it will work in our favour to tell her that your brother killed the creature in person.”

  “Guess so,” I said. “Er—Hazel. Did you bring any spells which can fix broken furniture?” I indicated the collapsed sofa. “Or get hellhound blood out of the carpets? Everyone in this house will have to foot the bill.”

  “Actually, in situations like this, I can pull strings with the necromancers,” River said. “Also, most houses have undead damage covered by their insurance. I’ll ask someone to write in a note.”

  “First piece of good news I’ve had all day,” I said.

  Morgan sat up, groaning. “I feel like crap. What happened?”

  “You were attacked by the fetch,” I said. “In fact, you killed it.”

  Morgan looked between us with an expression of disbelief on his face. “I killed it? Me?”

  “You’re holding the knife.”

  He looked down at the bloody instrument in his hand, then at me. “Oh. Awesome.”

  I just hoped it was gone for real—and that nobody else would get the idea of summoning monsters directly from the Vale itself.

  14

  Another day, another necromancy test. I shut down the circle with a wave of my hand, still feeling the ghost’s clammy hands on my skin. I’d probably never get used to the sensation of being touched by the dead.

  “You pass,” said the examiner. “I’ve never seen anyone do a binding that quickly, Ilsa.”

  “Thank you.”

  The easiest way to take compliments on my necromantic talents was to imagine they were addressing the book, not me. I imagined the book basking in all the attention and hid a smile.

  It’d been relatively quiet at the guild since the fetch had perished. Lady Montgomery marched around snapping at anyone who moved out of line or who didn’t stick to the guild’s rigid city patrol schedule, while the other senior necromancers had taken to spending long hours consulting their predecessors. I hadn’t been invited to any more summits, but considering everyone had ignored me at the last one, I had little to say to the guild. Being invisible suited me just fine, and a few weeks of peace were exactly what I’d needed.

  Now I’d passed this test, I was one step closer to being River’s colleague rather than his apprentice. My heart skipped when I saw him waiting for me outside the testing room. He must have come back early from patrolling to meet me.

  “Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me. “I passed.”

  “Of course you did.” He paused, not speaking again until we were out of sight of the room, in the otherwise deserted corridor. “There’s a problem. I overheard Lady Montgomery talking about your next test, and it’s going to be held in front of the council. You’re not allowed to take anything into the room. No props. They’d pick up on the book for sure.”

  “Ah—crap.” Could I even use my powers without it? I must be able to. “Can you use magic without your sword?”

  “Of course I can. I just thought I’d warn you.”

  “Warning accepted.” Considering Lady Montgomery had him running around at all hours patrolling, killing undead, and taking care of wraiths before they ambushed other unsuspecting necromancers, I appreciated how much effort River put into my training. He even managed to fit in a few sword lessons, and had been patient with my many failed attempts to swing a blade around. I was more than content to stick with knives—and the book. “Does this mean I’ll be a full-fledged necromancer soon?”

  “Not soon enough for my liking.” He pulled me to him and kissed me. I wrapped my hands around the back of his head, and he broke off the kiss. “Your hands are freezing cold.”

  “Blame the ghosts. How long until we can stop this charade?”

  “Aren’t you enjoying it?” His bright green eyes gleamed as he looked me up and down, as though he could see right through my necromancer cloak. Heat rose to my cheeks. I didn’t need psychic powers to imagine his thought process.

  “I’d enjoy it more if I didn’t have to think about what Lady Montgomery would say about me corrupting her perfect rule-following son.”

  “Hmm.” He brushed his lips over mine. “If I were better at following the rules, we wouldn’t have met in the first place.”

  “True.” He’d taken to leaving presents on my doorstep whenever I was unlucky enough to be chosen for early morning patrols, since I’d opted to remain at the house. I’d said it was so H
azel had somewhere to stay when she came visiting, but I needed to spend at least a fraction of my time in a ghost-free zone. “Thanks for the books, by the way. How’d you find them?”

  I’d casually mentioned an old book series I’d never been able to complete, and he’d somehow tracked down every single title.

  He grinned. “That’s for me to know.”

  “Spoilsport.” Frustration aside, I had to admit life was good. Half the time we walked to the guild via Edinburgh’s gardens or the witches’ café. I’d risk being tailed by piskies if it meant sneaking another hour with River. The fae didn’t seem to bother me as much as they used to. Maybe it was the fact that I wore necromancer uniform all the time so they couldn’t see I was a Lynn.

  River leaned closer to me. “After you pass, Ilsa, I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

  I grinned. “Anything? You sure?”

  “God, get a room,” said Morgan, appearing from behind with his arms folded. “Stop groping my sister.”

  “He isn’t,” I said. I wish. “What is it?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I was gonna congratulate you on passing the test. Passed mine too, obviously.”

  “Did they need an extra room for your ego?” I rolled my eyes, but part of me was kind of proud of him for not screwing anything up so far. It seemed a low bar, but Morgan had taken to his new position at the guild with more patience than I’d expected. Okay, he’d also made inadvisable comments to almost everyone by now, and his relentless bragging about slaying the fetch was starting to get tiresome to most people. Including me.

  “I stole some candles,” he said. “Borrowed, I mean. For the test. Since I kinda broke the spares.”

  “Well done,” I said. “How’d you manage that?”

  “Set them up in the middle of the road, forgetting people actually use it. Massive truck came along and well…”

  I sighed. “Good luck explaining that to Lady Montgomery.”

  “I wouldn’t mention it,” River put in. “So you’re junior level now?”