The Gatekeeper's Curse- The Complete Trilogy

by Emma L. Adams

  I shoved River out the way and tackled her. We slammed into the wall, the magical assault bouncing off my shield and leaving River unharmed. He swore, and the house moved, its magic rattling my teeth in my skull. The house’s magic must have picked up on the intruders and now it wanted to throw us out.

  River stepped backwards off the doorstep and I moved in that direction as well. The spirit circle was outside. We needed to break it to free the spirit. And then… presumably, she’d move on, through the gates to the afterlife. Beyond. Right? That coldness I’d felt from her, though… she still retained some kind of awareness. A person as powerful as she’d been in life probably did keep her mental functions after death. What Holly was doing was sick, twisted and cruel… but I couldn’t forget that it was the Gatekeeper who had the authority to give Arden orders, and had supposedly set those redcaps on us. If I believed them.

  Icicles rose from the windows to throw themselves at River. He cut them down, driven backwards away from the house. We could theoretically make a run for it from here, but that was the coward’s way out.

  “You’ve lost it,” I told Holly. “The veil… the whole Ley Line might crack open again if you keep that spirit caged here. Let her go. Move on. You didn’t have to—”

  “Please.” She laughed harshly. “Like your sister wouldn’t do the same.”

  “No. Hazel wouldn’t do that. And even if she would, we have to stop you.”

  “Is it worth tearing the realms apart for?” River cut in. “Your mother’s spirit’s a powerful one. It’s sending shockwaves across the whole veil.”

  “Not my problem,” said Holly. “You don’t know anything about me, or about our family.”

  Coldness rolled through me—not from the wind, but from the book stirring in my pocket. A film of grey surrounded my vision again. One blink and the spirit world overlaid the realm of ordinary sight. I could still see River and Holly, and the bright shapes of their souls—but beyond that was a brighter shape, an orb of light like a second sun. The Winter Gatekeeper’s soul. If I freed and banished her, I’d be able to send her Beyond the gate for good.

  Ice exploded from Holly’s fingertips. I screamed a warning to River, but he moved swiftly, dodging her attacks. Summer magic swirled around him, breaking the icicles, and coalescing into a whirlwind of energy aimed at Holly. She waved a hand and an icy shield deflected his attack. Dammit. If could both fight her at once, we might stand a chance, but that truce—

  Wait. I crouched, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it into Holly’s face. She gave a startled hiss, and River took the opportunity to strike, blasting her with necromantic power, driving her backwards towards the house.

  I reached into my pocket with numb fingers, cursing the icy wind still rolling from the mansion. Snowflakes drifted around, stinging my face and hands, but I pulled the book free and willed its cold magic to fill my veins.

  The house and garden trembled as a shadowy form descended, bringing a blast of icy cold energy that felt like the depths of hell itself. The chill breeze struck me head-on, and my back hit the wall. The wraith must have been hiding behind the house—and unlike the Winter Gatekeeper’s ghost, it wasn’t bound by the spirit circle.

  Holly stepped into the hallway, a smirk on her face. So she’d decided to back out and set her pet monster on us instead. Winded, I clutched the book by sheer reflex, its pages spinning, words passing over them. Banishing words. They rose to my tongue—but River spoke first, advancing on the wraith as it descended beside the house. Dammit, he’s going to get himself killed.

  “Hey!” I screamed at the monster, brandishing the book. “Get over here.” I grabbed the salt canister with my free hand and threw the contents down in front of me. “River, get back here. We don’t need the—”

  Holly lunged at River, tackling him to the ground. He flung her off, but the wraith bore down on him. His sword came up, piercing the wraith’s shadowy form, and it shuddered, fury rolling off it. The weapon did hurt it—maybe because it was forged in faerie magic—but it wasn’t enough to kill.

  The words in my mouth and the power in my hands were.

  I spoke deliberately, like remembering a language half-forgotten. Grey light spun from my fingers almost like magic itself, slamming into the beast. It continued to sweep across the ground, and alarm sang through me—it’s not enough. The book isn’t enough.

  The spirit realm remained, a monochrome plane covering everything. Holly’s soul shone in the gloom—and River’s, alight with necromantic magic. Wait.

  “You know the words,” I said to him. “Speak them.”

  “How do you—”

  “Come on!” I shouted the line again, and River spoke, too. Cold magic rose to my hands, mingling with his, and the combined force of our power struck the wraith directly. It fell back, writhing, screeching, and its body exploded into fragments.

  Silence descended. Then River turned to me, betrayal and disbelief etched on his face. “You’re—”

  “How dare you,” snarled Holly. “Have you any idea what I’ve done to get my hands on the Gatekeeper’s book?”

  Somehow, I found my voice. “I think the evidence is right behind me. Too bad you couldn’t bribe Arden to steal that, huh.” The book glowed, its grey sheen shimmering up my arms. Magic. Could I hurt even Holly with that power?

  Let’s find out.

  “I didn’t want to do this, Ilsa,” she said.

  Two figures came out behind her. Necromancers. The henchmen from before. Their hands glowed, too, their souls shining bright in the greyness.

  River ran to meet them, his sword slashing. I ran to join him, but cold hands reached and locked around my throat, pushing me backwards. What—? The two of them weren’t anywhere near me. One fought River, the other stood behind—yet his hands were at my throat, and his face swam before my eyes.

  His spirit had detached from his body. I gasped and raised my hands to pull him off me, but my hands passed straight through his indistinct form. I could breathe just fine, but his hands weren’t on my physical body at all. He was trying to pull my spirit out of my body, and the horrible chill that froze my blood was the sensation of death calling me.

  But I held the means of using death’s magic against them in my hands, and I had no intention of letting another soul get hold of it.

  Grey light shone from my hands, the book’s cold magic rushing through my veins. I grabbed his hands in mine, hard, pulling them from my throat. I might not be as versed in necromancy as I liked, but I knew that physical strength in the waking world meant nothing in the realm of spirits. What mattered above all else was will—the iron determination to cling to life. That’s what made the most persistent ghosts. And that’s what fuelled my power. I grabbed his hands, pulling them from my neck, and pushed.

  His spirit flew backwards, in the direction of his body. Exhilaration filled my blood. Finally. If I could manipulate the dead, maybe I could do the same for Holly. I turned, seeking the familiar glow of her spirit—and saw her living form, holding River’s sword.

  The grey light switched off and I gasped. River lay on the grass, completely still, snow already piling onto him.

  “Bastard cut me,” said the necromancer. “I got him, though.”

  No. River wasn’t visibly injured. But he didn’t seem to be breathing or moving.

  I switched on my spirit sight again, greyness flooding my vision. Showing the two necromancers, Holly… and no sign of River.

  “Don’t worry,” said the second necromancer. “He’s not dead. Ilsa Lynn, is it? You’re not the one I’m supposed to kill. You’ll be more valuable to us alive.”

  Horror coursed through me. They’d ripped River’s spirit out of his body, and if it wasn’t here, there was only one place it could be—the afterlife. He was as good as dead.

  “Throw him out,” Holly told the necromancers, indicating River’s prone body. “And take her.”

  He can’t be dead. No way. His spirit wouldn’t have just—vanis
hed.

  One of the necromancers lunged for me. I kicked out, catching him in the kneecap, but that didn’t slow him down. He aimed a punch, which I tried to block, but missed. His fist caught me in the cheekbone and knocked me back into the wall. My head rung with pain, my vision swimming, made worse by the glowing spirits behind him and Holly—

  Wait a second. His spirit… it didn’t match the person who faced me. He looked human in the waking world, but from what I’d seen of spirits through the veil…

  He was half-faerie, and spinning a glamour.

  I dived down, scraped the scattered iron filings from the earth, and threw them in his face. He fell back, screaming in pain as the iron burned his skin, burned away his disguise. I drew back, prepared to fight—then saw the second necromancer leaving, carrying River’s body.

  Sorry, River. I’m so sorry.

  I threw the last of the iron fragments at the necromancer, and ran.

  19

  I kept running, breathing sharply, inhaling cold air carrying the scent of death. Anger rolled through me, but my powers only worked on the dead, not the living. And it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

  And now River was gone, somewhere in Death, where I couldn’t reach him.

  It’s my fault. I dragged him onto their territory.

  I caught up to the necromancer with a hoarse scream, throwing myself at him from behind. He hit the fence, and I fumbled for my knife, stabbing wildly. He threw me off him, hands grabbing at me, but I kicked him full in the face, feeling cartilage break beneath my boot. He must have thrown River’s body over the fence—right into that redcap nest.

  I threw what was left of the iron at the necromancer’s bleeding nose and trod on him to climb the fence. River lay several feet away. I dropped to my knees, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but faint. So he still lived… but his spirit had disappeared. Without it, his body would eventually die. Like the Winter Gatekeeper’s must have, by now.

  “River. River.”

  My grey-tinted vision showed nothing but a blur, and even the Gatekeeper’s spirit behind me had disappeared from view. I grabbed his arm, looped it over my shoulder, and half-dragged him down the field. My arms screamed, protesting at the exertion. Coldness dragged at my limbs, threatening to pull me down, but I stayed upright—somehow. I can’t let him die here. I can’t… I can’t.

  The field on my right became forest, thick forest with frosty trees masking the gate from view… the gate where the Sidhe had rode through and cast judgement down on Holly… the Sidhe, who would never come and save us…

  Frosty trees slowly began to merge into evergreens. River’s dead weight leaned on my shoulder. My arms were numb.

  Greyness folded over my vision. I felt my knees give way, River slipped from my grasp, and the grey was relentless. Never-ending. Like the veil.

  “Get up,” whispered a voice. Grandma. “Ilsa.”

  “Damn you,” I croaked. “You’re too late. You could have…”

  But there was nothing any of us could have done. River was trapped beyond life or death, and even necromancers couldn’t…

  “Ilsa.”

  I looked up, anger melting the ice freezing my hands and momentarily restoring my energy. “Thanks for telling me it was Great-Aunt Enid who did this,” I growled at her. “And for vanishing when I needed your help. Why is the book working for me now when it wouldn’t before?”

  “The book only obeys the Gatekeeper,” Grandma’s spirit said. “I apologise… I hoped the book would not surface again during your lifetime, and that you wouldn’t have need of it.”

  “You were wrong.” I crawled to my knees and pulled the book from my pocket. The symbol on the cover glowed with incomprehensible power. The book only obeys the Gatekeeper. When I’d told River the words of the vow… I’d acknowledged that this was what I was. But Gatekeeper of what, exactly? “How in hell did this book end up in the family in the first place?”

  “The same way anything came to our family,” said Grandma. “The Sidhe.”

  An icy pit opened inside me that had nothing to do with the lingering chill from Winter’s territory.

  “Thomas Lynn was lucky enough to escape their clutches with his mortal lover,” she said, “but the taint of their magic remained. Even after his death, the contract he made in Faerie didn’t cease to exist. Both Summer and Winter had their claim on his daughters’ souls, and when both Courts were embroiled in a vicious conflict, it might have been the final straw that caused the Courts to destroy one another.”

  “So they sacrificed themselves?” I asked quietly. “That’s what happened—right? One Court claimed each.”

  “They did, and the result was decades of peace across the realms. And because of that very same contract, the Sidhe were tied to this realm and were obliged to step in and assist us against the outcasts when they attacked. But the book you hold in your hands is from a pact just as ancient. The family has necromancer blood running through it as surely as the faerie magic in our veins, but only one who is not heir to either Court can wield it. The book gives one power over death itself, even those who are beyond life and death.”

  My mouth fell open. “So… that must be why it came to the surface now.”

  Puzzlement flashed across her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I—oh, screw it, it’s not like the Sidhe can come after you in Death. The Sidhe’s source of immortality was apparently destroyed.”

  She gave me a sharp look. “Who told you that?”

  “A ghost,” I said. “Why? It makes sense.”

  “The book awakens when the peace is threatened,” she said. “That must be why. That Holly… I knew she was searching for the book, but not why. She wanted that magic you wield, but she didn’t know where it came from.”

  Of course. Holly thought I’d picked it up by accident. She’d been furious, because it held the exact type of magic she needed to preserve her mother’s spirit and prevent the Winter Court from claiming her.

  “I guess you don’t know how to banish that spirit, if Great-Aunt Enid was the one with the power.”

  “No,” she said gently. “But I can help you find your friend.”

  “You can help me find River?” My voice rose. “But—he’s gone.”

  Her hands gripped my arms, tight—too solid for a ghost. I yelped as a horribly cold feeling spread down my spine, like someone had poured icy water down my back. The sensation crept up my arms to my fingertips.

  “What the—?”

  “You only have a short time,” she said, her voice faint. “Run.”

  I spun on the spot, but Grandma had disappeared. The noise ahead grew louder. My hands shimmered oddly under the dim light. Had Grandma given me some new kind of power? My body felt… light. Floaty.

  She hadn’t given me magic. She’d pulled me out of my body entirely.

  River was here somewhere. In Death. Together, we might be able to banish the Winter Gatekeeper’s spirit before Holly doomed us all.

  I’ll make it right. I promise.

  Greyness blanketed the world, and the field had entirely disappeared. Presumably my body still lay there on the grass at the boundary of my own territory, but all around were shades and little more. As a ghost, I could move anywhere—even find the necromancers, and warn them that they were needed. But how did the waking world relate to this grey haze? I hadn’t a clue.

  After floating a little, it occurred to me that while I hadn’t consciously been moving in any particular direction, something drew me forwards. The outline of a long, endless shape appeared in the distant haze. Sort of like—a gate.

  The gates of death. Everyone was drawn to the gates when they died, and while I might not actually be dead, the tugging sensation was clear—the gates would take me anyway.

  I floated some more, through greyness so complete, I forgot there was another world beneath entirely. My thoughts became sluggish, drifting away on the breeze, and I halted in alarm when I found myself drifting towar
ds the mass of greyish spirits, in front of the vague transparent shape of the gates.

  “Nope.” I stopped, fighting the tug with everything I had. “Not happening. River!”

  Nobody responded. Sad spirits drifted around, some of them muttering to themselves. I caught enough words to know most of them had forgotten who they were and what they were doing here. Some called after family members, others blankly stared until the crowd’s momentum carried them towards the seemingly endless stretch of spear-topped, towering gates. Worse, my own name began to slip through my fingers, too.

  “I’m Ilsa Lynn. I won’t forget who I am. I’m not dead. And I need to find River.” I repeated the words over and over again, grasping for the surety I’d felt when I’d sensed his spirit as I’d stood in that grave…

  And then—I saw him. His spirit glowed brighter than the other ghosts, perhaps because he wasn’t actually dead. He floated apart from the others, wearing the same distant expression as all of them. I directed myself towards him, hovering above the grey. The spirits weren’t solid so I floated straight through them, my gaze fixated on River’s blurred form. Indistinct. Fading.

  Not if I can help it.

  “River,” I gasped. “You need to come with me right now.”

  He looked past me, muttering something unintelligible.

  “Don’t you start talking to dead people as well,” I snapped. “I’m Ilsa. You’re River. And we’re both alive.”

  I grabbed his hand, which slipped through my fingers. Dammit. How was I supposed to grab hold of a ghost?

  He drifted to the left, towards the relentless crowd borne through the gates. I couldn’t see anything more than that. The world of Beyond was unknown to everyone except the necromancers.

  “I have to find them,” he said.

  Was this what necromancers had to put up with all the time? No wonder they were so bad-tempered. Ghosts were more unreliable than even the Sidhe.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, River, you’re bound by a vow to protect my family with your life. Which means your life is tethered to ours. Like the Lynn family curse.”