The Gatekeeper's Curse- The Complete Trilogy

by Emma L. Adams

  I left them staring at one another in confusion and hopped into Death again. Grey smoke covered my vision, and the half-faerie faced me, his expression laced with fury. “You bitch.”

  “Sorry I ruined your schemes.” I blasted him off his feet with necromantic energy, then grabbed him by the throat. “Tell me who you’re working for. What the hell does this fetch want with me and my brother?” Except the book, but that went without saying. Who wouldn’t want control over life and death, especially a faerie? Any of them might be behind it.

  He flailed, struggling against my grip, and a fresh boost of power sprang to my palm. The half-faerie went limp, his ghostly form evaporating into ashes.

  “Ah, shit.” I dropped back into my body, looking down at the book. “You couldn’t have let him talk before you blew his head off?”

  Hazel and Morgan both stared at me.

  “What?” I said. Ow. My headache was back. Yet another bonus of being a ghost—no hangovers.

  “You’re kind of scary, Ilsa,” Hazel commented.

  Morgan grunted in agreement. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “You were possessed by a half-faerie ghost,” I told him. “Possibly on the fetch’s orders. It wanted the book. Which is a faerie talisman, so if you’d tried to claim it, you’d have died a horrible death.”

  He sank to the floor, pale as a ghost himself. “What…?”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Hazel.

  “River told me that’s how talismans work. If someone intends to claim it, the talisman… senses it, I guess, and if it doesn’t think the person is worthy to wield it… they die. No idea if the same applies to this one, but if anything tries to make you take the book again—” I broke off. Morgan had covered his face with his hands, hunched behind the sofa. Thinking back to some of the irrational stunts he’d pulled as a teenager… maybe he hadn’t been as in control of his decisions as I’d thought.

  Hazel looked at me helplessly as though completely unsure how to handle the situation. Join the club.

  “I’m going out to switch the wards back on,” I told them. “Someone turned them off—that’s how the ghost got in. Also, that iron spell must be a dud. So get a genuine one.”

  Once I’d switched the wards back on, I sent a message to River. I thought it was too early in the morning for him to be awake, but I got a response right away—your brother should stay at the guild tonight.

  No kidding. I walked back into the living room to find Morgan hunched on the armchair, while Hazel stood by the boiling kettle, probably making coffee. “Guys, it’s looking likely that we’ll have to relocate to the guild tonight, unless we find a way to get rid of that fetch.”

  “It didn’t show up in person, did it?” said Hazel. “I couldn’t see a thing. Just you two.”

  “No, but those half-faeries aren’t average spirits. They’re powerful enough to possess someone, and still retain all their magic beyond death. That’s not something even most necromancers are equipped to handle.”

  “But we are,” Hazel said. “If they can use magic, we’re immune.”

  “We don’t know who they’re working for,” I reminded her. “This fetch is the orchestrator, but hell if I know what the endgame is. It knows me… knows the Gatekeepers.”

  Why did the Gatekeeper part of me recognise the fetch, on some weird instinctual level? It sure as hell seemed to think it knew me. But I definitely hadn’t seen it before, either in the spirit world or outside it.

  “Another one of Great-Aunt Enid’s nemeses?” Hazel said, pouring coffee. “Sounds like she had a fair few.”

  “Or she inherited them from the last Gatekeeper,” I said. “I’m writing all this down, you know, so the next Gatekeeper isn’t taken by surprise.”

  “Good idea.” She hesitantly approached Morgan, carrying the tray of coffee cups. “Hey. Morgan. Earth to Morgan. Want me to get you some painkillers?”

  He grunted. She sighed and laid the coffee cup on the table next to him, then came and joined me on the sofa. “Elf wine hangovers are a bitch. Bet that’s why your housemates are still passed out.”

  “Glad they are,” I said. “I told them to expect weirdness from living with me, but faerie ghosts are a step too far.”

  “No kidding.” She eyed Morgan. “The question is—which of us were they targeting?”

  13

  River met us outside the guild. Hazel had refused to stay behind, saying she wanted to confirm our story if we were questioned. From the way she watched Morgan’s back on the walk to the guild, I’d guess she’d taken the attack personally.

  “You weren’t followed, were you?” His hood was pulled up against the rain, his expression wary.

  “If we were, Hazel would have glared it to death,” Morgan commented.

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “Didn’t we talk about not being a dick?”

  “I don’t see how this guy can help us,” Morgan said, eyeing River. “It was a half-faerie who attacked us.”

  “As a ghost?” River asked, letting the insult slide. With Morgan, that was probably the best move if we actually wanted to get anywhere.

  “Yeah, a ghost,” I said. “With his magic intact. I’d guess the fetch, or someone else, talked Morgan into switching off the wards on the house. Two Vale monsters got in, too.”

  Corwin and Torrance had come out of their rooms while I’d been cleaning up the mess, which had led to an awkward conversation. While Corwin seemed fine with Morgan staying there, Torrance hadn’t looked too happy, though I’d kept the details vague so as not to freak them out. I didn’t think ghosts would target my non-necromancer housemates, but keeping Morgan away seemed a smart move.

  River frowned. “The fetch—I did look it up in more detail, and it seems their own abilities are fairly minor. It can only target psychic sensitives, and seems mostly unable to do any harm. That’s likely why it attacked you using an intermediary.”

  “And it didn’t know where I am,” I added. “But now it does. It knows where the house is, too. I’m trying to think of a solution which doesn’t involve using the others as bait, or luring it somewhere else.”

  “So it’s a coward,” Hazel said.

  “And clever,” I said. “It’s been attacking Morgan from a distance for days now. So it might be anywhere.”

  “Not for long,” said Morgan. “I don’t mind being bait. I just want it gone.”

  “The easiest way is to lure it back to the house,” I said. “It’s that or move out, but the house has a target painted on it and innocent people might get hurt.”

  “Lure it there… and then what?” said Hazel.

  “Trap it, for a start,” I said. “Get the beast in a summoning circle, surrounded by candles. If it’s not a ghost, it can be killed—permanently. I can do it, with or without the book. The house is empty now. We’ll have one shot.”

  The others looked at me. Morgan nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll do it.”

  The guild was a downright ghost town. Apparently everyone had been interrogated to within an inch of their lives, then told they didn’t have to show up today unless they were on the rota for patrolling or taking on cases from the public. That included Jas and Lloyd, who I found standing in a corner, not looking any worse for their narrow escape yesterday.

  “Hey,” I said. “Glad to see you’re alive.”

  “Likewise.” Lloyd looked at Hazel. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  Hazel blinked, looking startled. “Er… yeah. That’s me. I’m Hazel.”

  “And you’re not a necromancer?” asked Lloyd. “What do you do?”

  Hazel’s expression said seriously? Nobody knows who I am? “Er, I’m Gatekeeper. That means I deal with matters connected to the Summer Court and its relationship with the mortal realm.”

  “Like River?” asked Jas.

  “Not exactly. I’m human.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Didn’t know there were humans who went anywhere near Faerie.”

  “Lady Mont
gomery must have,” said Lloyd. “If she got knocked up by a Sidhe—” He broke off. “Er, don’t say that in front of either of them.”

  “That goes for you too,” I hissed to Morgan, who looked intrigued at those words. “We aren’t on the rota today, by the way,” I added. “A ghost attacked us last night so we’re gonna booby trap the house and lure it out.”

  “Really?” said Jas. “That must be why Lady Montgomery told me to give you this.” She handed Morgan a solid grey bracelet. “Iron.”

  Morgan looked at it in confusion. “She’s giving it to me?”

  “Looks that way,” I said. “Better than a spell. Go, on, take it.”

  Apparently his close encounter with the book had momentarily switched off his kleptomaniac tendencies. The iron band clipped into place on his arm, and his expression instantly cleared. “That’s strong. I could knock a faerie out with this.” He swung his arm, and nearly hit Hazel.

  “Watch it,” she said. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  “Well, good luck,” said Lloyd. “We should go arm ourselves if we’re on patrol in half an hour.”

  “See you later,” Jas said. She must have volunteered to patrol, because surely even Lady Montgomery wouldn’t have forced her to after her near-death experience yesterday.

  River walked up to us. “We have permission to borrow props, but Lady Montgomery expressed concern about you using yourselves as bait.”

  “You mean, me,” Morgan said. “I’m the one who has a direct link to the fetch.”

  “That’s why it’s dangerous for you,” I told him. “You can’t go inside the house while the trap’s active. It might send one of its friends to possess you again, or worse.”

  “I think you’re both forgetting that I’m the only one who’s ever sensed the damn thing,” said Morgan. “You said I was useful. Now I can prove it. You know what I did against those creatures before, the psychic attack? I can try using it next time I hear the voice, to draw it in. Then one of you puts iron on me before it gets in my head again. It gets mad, runs right into our trap.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” said Hazel.

  “Except for the part where you willingly open yourself to a psychic assault from a fae monster who wants all of us dead?” I said.

  “Well. There’s that.”

  “One of us has to take the risk,” said Hazel. “I know you’re in self-sacrificing mode, Ilsa, but you’re powerful. Too much so to use as bait. As for me, I’m not a necromancer. I have nothing to offer. This fetch is already attached to Morgan. It won’t be able to resist. I don’t like the idea, believe me, but it’s probably going to try to attack him again. So we’ll kill the bastard before it can.”

  I turned to Morgan. “Are you absolutely certain? Because if this decision is in the same category as ‘let’s steal and sell Mum’s antique family heirlooms, I’m sure she’ll never notice’, then it’s more than your neck on the line. It might use you to attack other people.”

  “Jesus, I get it, okay? I’ll gladly jump in as bait if it gets that fucking thing to stop wailing in my head.”

  “If you’re sure,” I said. “Morgan, you wear the iron until you get to the house. Hazel… want to set the candles up? I’m not a hundred percent sure it doesn’t sense the book, and if it does, our cover is blown.”

  “I’ll set the candles up,” River said. “If it can sense your thoughts, Morgan, you might not want to think about us following you.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Think about whatever irrelevant crap you like, just not that. Got it?”

  He nodded. “Sure, I can think of nothing. I’m good at that.”

  Hazel snorted. “He’s not wrong. Good luck, you two.”

  River took the lead, while Morgan followed behind. I looked at Hazel. “Go with River. I’ll stay behind. If it can sense me, I won’t take chances.”

  “Okay.” She took in a steadying breath. “Let us know if there’s a problem.”

  “Will do.” I waited, already regretting letting them take off alone. I counted down thirty seconds, then followed.

  The book hummed in my pocket, but thankfully decided to keep the glowing to a minimum. I didn’t know how much of the world outside it picked up on—hell, for all I knew, it had psychic tendencies of its own—but it knew the fetch was searching for it, or at least for me. I waited, walking slowly as I dared, and reached the house after the door had closed. A light clicked on in the window—Morgan’s signal. He’d take off the iron cuff when I was hidden. River and Hazel would have moved out of sight, but they’d be nearby, ready to move in and help if necessary.

  I ducked behind the wall of the alley beside the house. I couldn’t see the candles, so River must have hidden them well. Taking in a breath, I focused on counting seconds. One. Two. Three.

  Morgan’s strangled yell cut through the air, sharp and painful. I winced, hoping he was in control of the situation, not the fetch. Screaming at a monster until it attacked from sheer annoyance was a risky strategy. Reaching into the spirit world, I detected humans, supernaturals, even a few faeries… and Hazel and River, just down the street, waiting for the signal. But no sign of any monsters.

  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 f
etch.

  “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.