The Gatekeeper's Curse- The Complete Trilogy

by Emma L. Adams

  “No swords. Take a knife, but make sure you don’t accidentally cut your hand on it. Otherwise, salt, iron filings—”

  “Yes, mother,” he said. “Next you’ll be telling me that undead are the ones with real bodies and ghosts aren’t.”

  I ignored the jibe. “You didn’t know any of this before joining the guild. Also, don’t take off that iron band. The fetch might have a friend.”

  Armed and ready, the three of us walked out of the guild, heading towards the sound of raised voices across the rooftops. Veering into the high street, I spotted three undead lumbering past, terrified humans fleeing into the nearest shop.

  Morgan whipped out the exterminator and hit the button. A jet of pure white slammed into the first undead, and his head exploded into a thousand grisly pieces. Morgan crowed and fist-pumped the air.

  At least until the undead staggered to its feet again, head missing, body still functioning.

  “Idiot,” I said. “You just wasted your best weapon.”

  Worse, the undead wasn’t going down that easily. River swung his blade, cutting its legs off at the knee. I threw salt at the second undead, its grey flesh peeling from its bones. River sliced effortlessly through the third undead, leaving it in pieces, while Morgan stomped on the remains with a grin on his face.

  “That’ll teach them,” Morgan said. “And yeah, I know they’re not conscious, Ilsa. Wonder who sent them.”

  “We’ve got more company,” River remarked.

  The rotting smell of undead blew on the breeze, and I fought the urge to gag. These undead moved quicker than the others, and from the smell, they’d been dead a few days at most. Long enough to rot, but not long enough for the flesh to fall from their bones. Vacant-eyed, three of them advanced on us, hands outstretched and grasping.

  I readied my salt shaker, aiming at the nearest zombie’s face. Salt ate through its flesh, but I hadn’t thrown enough to bring it down. Its legs kept moving, far faster than I expected. My foot connected with its knee, expecting it to give way, but it didn’t. Instead, its hand latched onto my arm, dragging me forwards. And its other hand clutched a knife.

  Whoa. Undead shouldn’t be this strong, let alone armed. The knife sliced my sleeve but missed the skin beneath, and I kicked its leg, hard. Its grip didn’t break, and the knife sliced again. I threw the salt at its knife hand, which dissolved around the weapon. Grabbing its clammy hand in mine, I gripped hard, wrenching at it, but it was like trying to shift solid stone. Definitely not a normal undead. They didn’t feel pain, but they shouldn’t retain their living strength.

  The undead seized me with its free hand and threw me into the wall.

  Pain exploded in the back of my skull. I groaned, coughing on the stench of dead flesh. The undead’s left hand was gone, rotted away, but its freakish strength was undiminished. Its boot came down on my hand and I barely dodged in time. I glimpsed River cutting and slicing at a second, also wielding a knife. Iron. He’d be in even more trouble than I was if he got cut.

  Blood trickled down my forehead where my head had struck the wall. I briefly let the spirit world seep into my vision, but no wraith controlled the undead’s movements. Its overpowering strength had come from somewhere else.

  I raised my hand and threw salt into the undead’s face. His flesh melted away but the bones remained. The wall rattled when I ducked under his remaining fist and it bounced off the brick instead. His wrist gleamed with a bracelet—a spell. A witch charm? Was that what powered him?

  Behind the undead, Morgan swore, hitting the exterminator. “Bloody thing is broken.”

  “No, it has one shot inside it,” I said. “Told you not to waste it.”

  The undead punched the wall aside me again, and while it moved slow enough to dodge, its fists gouged holes in the brick.

  I called the book’s magic, my hands glowing white, and pushed. The undead’s feet left the ground, slamming it onto its back.

  “Get those wristbands!” I shouted at the others, lunging at the undead. I tackled it in the chest, grabbing its right hand, and wrenched off the gleaming band. At once, the undead’s punches turned feeble, and when I threw the last of the salt onto it, it stopped struggling.

  Morgan wasn’t so lucky. His hand was wedged in an undead’s chest, while its fists beat at him. An identical band gleamed on its wrist. I jumped in and pulled the witch spell off, and the undead went still.

  Morgan tugged his hand out of its half rotten chest and kicked it. The manoeuvre would probably have hurt him more than the enemy if his opponent hadn’t been dead. As it was, the undead fell in a heap.

  “Fuck.” He looked at his hand, which was covered in rotting bits of flesh, and attempted to wipe it on his cloak.

  “Lovely,” I said. “That’s why you don’t punch zombies. Especially when they can punch back.”

  River, who stood surrounded by dismembered undead, swore softly. “Those spells are strength enhancers,” he said. “I can’t tell if they were put on them while they were alive, or afterwards. They haven’t been dead long.”

  “I figured,” I said. “There’s a witch involved in this? Or is someone selling spells to rogue necromancers now?” The street was empty, giving no signs of where they’d come from, and of course you couldn’t use a tracking spell on a zombie even if we’d had one to hand. “Damn. If they’re all like that, there’s no way everyone’s prepared.”

  “Exactly.” River grimaced. “You’re out of weapons, Morgan. Go back to the guild. If there are more undead wearing those spells, they need to be removed immediately.”

  “I’m not going back,” Morgan protested. “I can kill zombies. You saw.”

  “Morgan, you blew out your exterminator,” I said. “Also, we need to take these spells to someone who might know what they are.”

  “Corwin,” he said.

  “Wait, you’re still in contact?” I hadn’t spoken to him a lot, but I’d assumed Morgan had been too out of it to remember his time at my house. Not to mention his new position at the necromancer guild.

  “Yeah, we’re going to the pub tonight, but he’ll be working at the market if you wanna talk to him.” Morgan looked disappointed that he wouldn’t get to kill more zombies. I’d almost preferred it when he was sleepwalking around on the orders of a ghost, but not quite.

  As River turned to walk back to the guild, I spotted another group of necromancers heading our way. My brother walked in their direction.

  “More undead to fight?” Morgan asked hopefully.

  “Someone’s dead,” said one of the necromancers. “Killed by necromancy.”

  I looked at Morgan. No way. That scream I’d heard…

  “Lady Montgomery wants everyone back at the guild—immediately.”

  I turned around, my mind whirling. It can’t be true.

  “What’s up, Ilsa?” asked Morgan.

  “When I heard screaming earlier, did you hear anything at all?” I asked.

  He frowned. “No. But I’m wearing iron, aren’t I?”

  Had I heard it because the person who’d died had been a necromancer? It’d sounded human, for certain. I’d thought Morgan’s gift was rare, and psychics were rarely aware of their own talents. That scream had rang across the spirit world, laced with a horrific familiarity.

  It’d sounded like a psychic sensitive. Which meant the fetch was still at large.

  15

  Lady Montgomery waited at the guild, asking each returning group of necromancers for their reports on the mission. Everyone reported encountering undead, but only one group had faced ones with freakish strength.

  “Witch spells,” I said, drawing her attention to me. “That’s why they were so strong. Someone put strength-enhancing spells on the undead.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  I held up the spells in answer. “All three zombies we faced were wearing them. River recognised them as strength enhancers, but we’ll need to check with a witch to see where they came from. I’ve never se
en them before.”

  “Spells shouldn’t work on the dead,” she said.

  “They haven’t been dead long,” I said. “The undead were overpowered as hell. They could easily crush a human without trying. Someone gave them those enhancers—someone living.”

  “We have several witch members who can check for a spell signature,” Lady Montgomery said. Her gaze went to Morgan. “I should also inform you that another psychic sensitive was just murdered.”

  “Another one, or the same one?” Morgan said.

  She arched a brow. “The same one?”

  Shooting Morgan a warning look, I said, “We heard someone died before we came back here. Guess the news reached us before you.”

  “Nobody knew it was a psychic sensitive until two minutes ago.”

  “We didn’t know,” I said. “It was a guess.” I hadn’t known Morgan had come to the same conclusion as me, either. Maybe he was sharper than I’d given him credit for.

  “Based on what, exactly?”

  “I heard screaming,” Morgan said. “Sounded like when that thing was in my head. I’d taken off the iron.”

  Thank you, Morgan, I thought, genuinely grateful that he’d picked up on the precarious nature of our situation. If he hadn’t been wearing the iron band, he might well have heard the screaming, too.

  Her brow furrowed. “It was still too far away for you to have been able to hear. Even taking your psychic abilities into account. As for you, Ilsa, I wasn’t aware you were a psychic sensitive.”

  “I’m not, but I can go further than the guild with my spirit sight.”

  Big mistake.

  “That’s impossible,” she said, her hands clenching. “Ilsa, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step into isolation until the necromancers return with news of the specifics about the murder. You’ll also have to undergo drug tests.”

  “Drug tests?” I gaped at her. “For what?”

  “Magical enhancements. Please come with me. Morgan, you too.”

  “He’s fine. I’m the one who tracked the screaming—”

  “Both of you,” she said, in a low, dangerous voice. Apparently River didn’t get his don’t mess with me tone from his faerie side after all. “Now.”

  Drugs? Seriously? They had nothing on me. Except the book, but even that wasn’t illegal. As for Morgan, he’d been on his best behaviour. Too bad innocence meant nothing to someone who saw the world as black and white as Lady Montgomery did.

  She led us to a dark staircase. I hadn’t seen the lower parts of the guild yet—River had said they were off limits to most necromancers. But I knew before I saw the barred rooms that there really was a jail here. I reached out with my spirit sight and didn’t sense anyone else nearby. There was no point in putting up a fight when we’d done nothing wrong, so I walked in silence. Morgan and I were directed into cages side by side, and Lady Montgomery locked both doors.

  “Don’t look so alarmed,” she said. “I’ll be back in half an hour at most, or I’ll send someone to test you.”

  She left. We looked at one another.

  “This your first experience in jail?” asked Morgan.

  “Yes. I take it it’s not yours.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing serious or anything. Mostly disorderly behaviour… shoplifting…”

  “You’re not helping, Morgan.”

  “Sorry.”

  I looked at him. An actual apology? Whatever was the world coming to?

  Footsteps echoed outside. “That was fast,” I said.

  River walked into view. He still carried his sword, his clothes torn and bloody, and had a bright bruise over his left eye.

  “I’m sorry.” River stepped up to the door. “I have to guard you. I’ll make sure she lets you out as soon as the others return. You shouldn’t be punished for committing no crimes.”

  “I’m seriously confused here,” I said. “Why would she think I was on drugs?”

  “There have been incidents in the necromancers’ history where drugs to enhance necromantic abilities have had unintended violent side effects.”

  “Pot doesn’t work,” Morgan helpfully put in. “It makes you a really chilled out ghost. Doesn’t give you a power boost.”

  “Thanks for that,” I said. “I haven’t been smoking anything. And I couldn’t have killed the person who died. Lady Montgomery must know I was nowhere near them.”

  “Right,” said River. He looked paler than usual, the bright bruise standing out on his face.

  “She sent you to guard us when you’re injured?” I asked.

  “I volunteered. I have healing magic, anyway, though it’s slowed down here.”

  Oh. Every cell in here was made out of iron. This prison would be a horrible place to be imprisoned as a faerie. I bloody hoped he wouldn’t end up taking the fall for the latest screw-up. At least Morgan seemed genuinely contrite.

  “So we’re not murder suspects?” Morgan asked.

  “No,” said River. “Once you’ve been through testing, you’ll walk away free. But the victim was definitely a psychic sensitive.”

  “So might the fetch still be alive?” If I’d known… but it’d been so damn hard to track the creature in the first place, I’d never have had a clue it was back.

  “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.”