Hereditary Curse (The Gatekeeper's Curse Book 2)

by Emma L. Adams

  “I don’t get it,” said Morgan. “I stabbed it to death. It died.”

  “Who knows how death faeries work,” I said. “Can they survive being killed? Or attack people as a ghost?”

  “I wish I knew,” River said. “There’s so little information available on the subject… but it’s possible that fetches might be like banshees, which are reborn after they die.”

  “Damn,” I said. “I thought—” faeries aren’t immortal anymore. But were death faeries an exception? I hadn’t even told River what Ivy Lane had told me yet—that the Sidhe’s source of immortality had disappeared. After all, it was a bombshell which might shatter the Courts, and River would be obligated to reveal that information on pain of death if questioned by one of the Sidhe. I wouldn’t be responsible for starting a war. At the very least, it’d put Hazel’s life at risk, as Summer Gatekeeper, not to mention Mum’s.

  I couldn’t do anything about that now. My priority had to be proving my innocence, and there was still the question of who’d been behind the spells that gave the undead super strength. The events in this realm were doubtless tied to Faerie in more than one way, but seeing the connection from this angle was as futile as using faerie magic in an iron cell.

  River glanced over his shoulder. “She’s here now. You might want to give me the book.”

  An hour of vigorous questioning later and I left the questioning room, having been thoroughly prodded by no fewer than three examiners into demonstrating the extent of my abilities, and standing in a circle of candles while they scrutinised me from every angle.

  “Are we done?” I asked.

  “Yes, you’re clear,” said the examiner.

  I left the testing room to find Morgan and River waiting outside. The former had his arms folded and a disinterested expression on his face, while River looked at me, relief evident on his features “You’re good?”

  “Yep,” I said. “I’m assuming whoever put those witch charms on the undead is long gone.”

  “We had several people check, but they couldn’t get a handle on the signature,” River said. “It’s not a standard market spell, though the actual spell type is fairly common. We have people looking at their contacts for potential matches.”

  “And the murder?” I asked.

  “We’re waiting for an update, but there were traces in the spirit world that suggest it wasn’t a normal murder. The killer wasn’t found at the scene, however. It seems the victim died of fright.”

  “Damn.” I looked at Morgan. “You really didn’t hear anything? You didn’t have to take the fall.”

  “I couldn’t let them lock my sister up alone,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He’d finally cut it so it looked less like a mop, and what with his newly shaven face and necromancer coat, he looked almost respectable. But it was his tone that surprised me the most. Who are you and what have you done with Morgan? Not that I was complaining.

  “Well. Thanks,” I said awkwardly. “So—Corwin is at the market, right? You think he’ll know about those spells?”

  “Maybe,” said Morgan. “He has all this weird knowledge. Are we free to leave now?”

  “Yes, you are,” River said. “If you want to. Details on the murder haven’t come in yet, and as for those witch charms…”

  “We have a friend we can question. One of my housemates,” I said. “Let me know if I’m needed back here. I get that murder investigations aren’t my area, but if it’s targeting psychic sensitives again…” I looked at Morgan.

  He shrugged. “I have iron. It’s fine. The examiner said I’m a highly advanced psychic. I can handle the little shit if it comes back.”

  “Most people have iron,” I pointed out. “It sure as hell isn’t foolproof. Look what happened even inside the guild.”

  Apparently being called an advanced psychic had inflated his ego more than killing undead had. Morgan swaggered out of the guild, grinning at the novices filing in, and marched off down the road. I walked slower, pulling my hood up against the rain.

  “Good lord,” I muttered as Morgan still didn’t slow down. “Are you really that excited about killing a bunch of zombies, or is it about meeting up with your witch buddy? You could have told me you were dating.”

  Morgan walked headlong into a lamp post. “How the hell did you know?”

  “I don’t need psychic abilities to be able to see the obvious, Morgan.”

  “Ow.” He stepped away from the lamp post. “You haven’t told Mum I’m gay, have you?”

  “Why do you think Mum would care?”

  “I’m the firstborn Lynn,” Morgan said, blood dripping from his nose. “Mum thought I’d be Gatekeeper, or at least one of my kids would be the future heir. It pissed her off when I told her I don’t want children, and I think she still thinks I’ll change my mind.”

  “I’m fairly sure she’s more annoyed that you vanished off the face of the earth for eight years,” I said. “Also, Hazel or I could offer up our kids as bait when it comes down to it. God, I almost went five minutes without thinking about how screwed up our family is.”

  Morgan looked thoughtful. “If you and River had children, how would that work with the curse? I always wondered why they put in that rule about not dating faeries…”

  “Don’t finish that thought,” I said warningly. “That’s a long way off, if ever.”

  Morgan laughed. “So much for seeing the obvious.”

  “Your nose is bleeding. Your powers of foresight could use some work.”

  He flipped me off.

  Like many cities, Edinburgh’s supernatural population ran a weekly market, this one on a street parallel to the high street which had once been hidden before the faeries’ arrival had killed the spells keeping it hidden. We ducked down an alley between tall, old buildings, and came out onto a cobbled road covered in stalls. All manner of supernaturals came here to buy and sell, from witches hawking rare charms from across the country to faeries selling enchanted weapons and other items supposedly from within Faerie itself. I had my doubts that most of them were genuine.

  I spotted Corwin behind a display of beautification charms and other trinkets. He smiled at Morgan. “Want one?”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said, before Morgan could speak. “We’re here to ask about a particular type of spell.” I pulled the bracelet from my pocket and held it up. “Know where this came from? It’s a strength enhancer, but not one of the mass produced type.”

  He squinted. “Must be a custom job. Not my style.”

  “I may be able to help you with that,” said a croaky voice from behind me. I jumped, then turned around to see an old woman with braided silver-grey hair, wearing a heavy traveller’s cloak, peering at the spell in my hand.

  “Er… hello, Agnes,” I said. “What are you doing here?” I’d thought she hadn’t left Foxwood in years.

  “I follow where the rumours go.”

  Corwin raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Hmm.” She cast a critical eye over the spells. “Maybe go easy on the nettles. It’ll reduce the risk of the spell backfiring.”

  “Er… thanks. I think.” He stepped back, as though Agnes’s presence intimidated him. It wouldn’t be the first time. She scared most people back in Foxwood. But I’d never thought I’d run into her here.

  “Best go somewhere quieter,” she said, weaving through the market. The crowd parted around her, without even looking at her. Those who did lay their eyes on her wore awed or scared expressions.

  “Cool trick,” Morgan commented. “Where have I seen you before?”

  “You know Agnes,” I said. “From Foxwood? She’s more or less her own coven, along with her husband.”

  “Oh. The weird ones?”

  I cringed, prepared for her to retaliate, but she gave him a good-natured smile. “You’ve changed since I last saw you, Morgan.”

  “Probably.” At least he sounded wary. I was beginning to worry that the little that remained of h
is common sense had evaporated along with his psychic link with the fetch.

  “You travelled hundreds of miles to get here. How?” Unlike Hazel, she didn’t have access to the paths of the Ley Line.

  “I have my ways,” said Agnes. “It sounds like you’re deep in trouble again.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. You said you recognised this…” I passed her the spell.

  “Thought you were a mage, not a witch,” said Morgan.

  “Why not both?” She turned to me. “This is a strength enhancer. I would assume you didn’t acquire it from the market.”

  “Nope,” I said. “I found them on a bunch of undead who attacked a few hours ago. They were way too strong. Might have been put on while they were alive, might not. But apparently they aren’t mass market spells, so they came from a specialist. Do you know who?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t pretend to know every witch, much less here. It’s been years since I last came. I will tell you that something drew me here. The same thing that alerted you and your brother.”

  I blinked, confused. “Alerted? You mean, the book?”

  “She knows?” said Morgan.

  “Quiet,” I hissed. “Yes, she knew Grandma. Our whole family. But I’ve been careful with the book.”

  “Not that,” she said. “The presence of a beast more ancient than most, and more dangerous.”

  Morgan swore. “The fetch?”

  “What—” Now I got it. “You’re a psychic sensitive?” I’d once heard her mage ability involved mind powers in some way, but she’d never elaborated on the subject.

  “Not in the same way he is,” Agnes said. “I’m no necromancer. But the realms of magic are more closely linked than many would believe.”

  “How do you know I’m a psychic sensitive?” Morgan asked. “Did you read my mind?”

  “No, but I know the signs,” Agnes said. “I used to deal in memories, before I decided to specialise in unique charms instead. There’s more money in memory spells, but also more consequences.”

  “What, you mean erasing memories?” I asked. “You can do that?”

  “Yes. But most people who request that I erase their memories regret that decision, and I can’t perform a spell on anyone without permission. However, my psychic talent is such that I can pick up on signals like that creature’s scream.”

  “Miles away?”

  “Distance is relative in the veil.”

  From the context, I wasn’t sure whether she meant veil or Vale. “It killed someone,” I said. “But—it’s supposed to be dead.”

  “I killed it,” said Morgan. “I thought it was a weak faerie creature, an omen of death.”

  “Not weak as far as psychics are concerned,” she said. “As for its type… like banshees, fetches are reborn into a new body when they die. It’s part of their magic.”

  My heart sank. I was afraid of that.

  “Seriously?” Morgan stopped walking, the colour draining from his face.

  “Absolutely. It’s as strong as it was when it was alive before.”

  “It nearly killed Morgan,” I said. “But he locked it out with an iron spell. So I guess it went after a new victim. How do you permanently kill something like that?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  I did know. Use the book. Open the gate wide, and put the city at risk in the process. I couldn’t test that in the training room. Using it on the Ley Line had been risky, but the instability had worked in my favour. This city straddled the Line, too, but contained countless innocent lives.

  The fetch just claimed one. How many more will it take?

  If it was hiding in the Vale, maybe I could lure it outside the city. Get Arden to open Paths along the Ley Line from the house until I found somewhere I could safely open the gate without repercussions… if there was such a place. And who was controlling the creature? It couldn’t be working alone.

  Morgan and I looked at one another. “You can do it?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” I admitted. “But I don’t know… the undead attacks, the thief in the guild… this isn’t a one-person operation. Someone is ordering this fetch around, either in the Vale or here, and I doubt the gate will swallow them up on command.”

  Also… a small detail I’d overlooked. The Grey Vale might be linked with Death, but faeries who died there couldn’t move on. So was the gate of Death accessible there at all? Or could I only banish the fetch when it was in this realm? I couldn’t see a way to manufacture a trap without asking someone to offer themselves as bait. Meaning: Morgan… or Agnes.

  Her gaze met mine. “I would volunteer to hunt this creature myself, but no faerie would dare to attack me, psychically or otherwise. I hoped that my presence here might discourage it from attacking at all, but it will only target minds it can easily overcome. Mine is unbreakable.” She said this so matter-of-factly, I couldn’t even see it as egotistical. She really was that powerful.

  Morgan shuffled from one foot to the other. “I beat it once. Does that mean it’ll come back, if I take the iron off?”

  “Probably,” I admitted. “You’re not invulnerable, you know.”

  “No,” he muttered. “Is there nothing you can do to help us?” he asked Agnes.

  “I can give you this.” She passed me a handful of spells. “That’s a redo on your disguise spell… I can tell yours is close to running out. Two shadow spells and a tracker. It may be that the people investigating the murder already used one, but I’m sure you can find a use for it.” She turned to Morgan and passed him some spells, too.

  “Wait—these are mine?” he asked, looking down at the spells in confusion. “What do I do with them?”

  “Not waste them, for a start,” I said. “That’s a shadow spell and a disguise charm, right?”

  “Disguise? What for?” asked Morgan.

  “I’m sure something will come up,” said Agnes.

  “Thank you,” I said. “How much do I owe you for this?”

  “What you’ve done already is more than enough repayment.” She paused. “Be careful. Both of you.”

  And she melted back into the crowd and disappeared.

  16

  I woke early the following morning to a pounding headache and the sound of Hazel and Morgan arguing in the hall downstairs. I groaned and ran a hand over my forehead. I’d had only one drink last night before crashing from exhaustion, so hell if I knew what I’d done to deserve a hangover. My whole body ached, but that was nothing new these days, thanks to the necromancers’ relentless patrol schedule. I must have been exhausted to sleep through Hazel’s arrival, let alone half her argument with Morgan. He wasn’t even supposed to be living here anymore, but Corwin had invited him here after they’d watched the match at the pub, and he must have stayed over.

  I grabbed a hoody, shoved it on over my pyjamas, and went downstairs to confront them. And I’d thought we’d been getting along so well. Morgan and Hazel hadn’t argued at all since our narrow brush with death, though admittedly she’d only visited us a handful of times, being busy with her duties as Gatekeeper.

  “What’s the problem this time?” I asked.

  “He’s being a prick,” Hazel answered.

  I didn’t need to ask how. The two of them could turn an innocuous discussion about baby kittens into a screaming argument.

  “Well, try to keep the noise down. Morgan and I are off to the guild later. I’d invite you to come, but everyone’s a little on edge.”

  “No worries,” Hazel said. “I thought I’d go looking for Agnes. I can’t believe she gave you free spells and not me.”

  “I can’t believe Ilsa stole mine,” said Morgan, his voice slurred. Ah. He wasn’t hungover—he was still drunk.

  “You’d have wasted them on something trivial if I hadn’t.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t deny it. Have you heard from the guild?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I should be on the rota now I’ve passed their test.”

  �
��So you do want to work at the guild?” Hazel asked. “Even though they threw the two of you into cells yesterday?” I’d texted her the latest, which must be why she’d shown up.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” said Morgan, leaning on the door frame. “They thought my superpowers meant I was on some kind of necromancer drugs.”

  Hazel sighed. “And you said the fetch is back. Didn’t you say you were attacked at the guild, too?”

  “Only because we caught the guy stealing. They’ve tripled security since.” My feet were blistered from so many hours patrolling.

  Hazel’s lips pursed. “What was he trying to steal?”

  “Information on clients the necromancers had worked for. You know, the names of people they performed exorcisms for, or…”

  “Psychics?”

  “Maybe, but they wouldn’t show up as clients unless they called the guild specifically.”

  It wasn’t like the faerie had stolen highly classified information on how to use dark magic, and the fetch plainly knew how to do that already. It’d used Morgan as a puppet… I needed to consult the book. Which I’d left upstairs. “Give me a second,” I said, and walked back into the house. I ran upstairs and pulled some clothes on, then retrieved the book from under my pillow.

  The book’s cover had gone blank, the symbol no longer there. I turned the book over, my heart sinking, and then opened it. No words appeared on the pages, not even the basic introduction. It’d been wiped clean, and no longer glowed at all.

  “Er… hey.” I shook it. “Wake up.”

  No response. Not so much as a splash of ink on the page.

  “C’mon. Don’t die on me now.”

  Had I done anything with the book yesterday? I didn’t think so. Aside from testing to see if my powers worked without it. Maybe it’d been insulted that I’d even considered it.

  “I’m sorry I neglected you,” I whispered, feeling for the familiar rush of cold energy that connected me with the spirit realm.

  Nothing.

  “Ilsa!” Hazel called from downstairs. “I’m going to the market, okay? Catch you two later.”