The Gatekeeper's Curse- The Complete Trilogy Page 7

  “Do all necromancers come equipped with graveyard humour, or is it more of a faerie thing?” Probably the former. Faeries tended to be very literal-minded, and as Hazel had rightly pointed out, most would run screaming at the sight of zombies.

  A smile curled his lip. “We come equipped with a variety of talents.”

  Equipped… talents. Right. His smooth tone sent my thoughts plummeting right into the gutter. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering all my previous interactions with half-faeries involved them either trying to seduce me or throw me in ponds. Occasionally, both at the same time.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Not subtlety, evidently.”

  He raised both brows innocently, but a trace of his knowing smirk remained. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Let him keep his innuendos. As I’d keep my thoughts several miles away from mental images of what else that smooth tongue might be able to do. It’d been a depressingly long while since I’d had any action in that department, but really.

  Giving myself a mental shake, I finished the salt line. “You’re sure this will work?”

  “Yes,” he said, moving to the next section of hedge. “Necromancers have used this technique for hundreds of years.”

  “That’s what worries me, considering their track record for letting zombie swarms get out of hand.” I turned to see him looking at me. “What?”

  “I’m surprised you know about other supernaturals.”

  “Why? The Gatekeeper deals with them all the time. It’s not like we live on another planet.” I’d absorbed all the information on magic I could get my hands on, yet nothing I’d come across even came close to the spellbook in my pocket.

  “You and your sister grew up here? No other family?”

  “Our brother, but he left a while ago. The others are dead.”

  “So the comment about the twelve siblings in the attic was a joke, then?” He finished the salt line, somehow making even that look elegant. Faeries.

  “Even twins were a surprise to everyone.”

  “Because there’s only supposed to be one Gatekeeper?”

  Why couldn’t I go more than two minutes of conversation with someone and not land up on that topic? “No, because I’m the evil twin, and I actually have two heads. This is a glamour.”

  He appeared behind me, so suddenly that I jumped. “You seem to have missed a spot.”

  I swatted at him, accidentally scattering salt on his shoes. “Least I know you’re not a zombie.”

  His teeth gleamed blindingly white as he grinned. “With this face?”

  I threw more salt at his feet. “Stop laughing at me. I thought this was all serious business.”

  “It is. I thought you’d appreciate the distraction.”

  He was right. I’d forgotten all about the wraith, because now I wanted to upend the salt canister on his head. “Back to work, Mr Professional Bodyguard.”

  He glided back to my side. “Can you use glamour? Your sister said you’re entirely human, and the magic only passes to one of you. It’s a curious way for things to work.”

  Curious? No. Bloody annoying was more like it. “Nope, I just got the defence mechanism. Hit me with magic and you’ll see.” I’d heard variations of the same question a thousand times before and they always ended at the same conclusion. To the Sidhe, if you didn’t have power, you were as good as dead, and I really didn’t need to hear the same from him.

  “Hit you?” he echoed. “Are you certain?”

  Green light slid over his eyes, springing to his palms. Earthy power thrummed in the air, promising pain, and a lot of it. But barely a spark shot from his hands, then ricocheted ten feet into the air.

  “That was pathetic.” I looked into his emerald eyes and tried to ignore the way his earthy magic infiltrated my senses. “Try it. Hit me with everything you have.”

  Green light blasted towards me, spiralling to the right. Thorny plants sprang up where it hit the ground, twenty feet away from me. River frowned, his hands lighting up again, and took a step in my direction. The earthy scent grew stronger, overpowering the latent magic in the garden. Or maybe it was the fact that he was standing inches from my face. Green light rippled where he ran a hand down the front of the invisible shield. My skin prickled in response to the proximity of his magic. I couldn’t recall anyone ever getting close enough to test the shield’s exact boundaries, which made me feel weirdly exposed in a way I couldn’t explain.

  “I said hit me, not stroke me.” Shit, that sounded wrong.

  An amused spark appeared in his eyes. “I can do both.”

  Light flashed behind my head, and a buzzing noise came from the house as the deflected magic bounced off its shield. “Nice,” I said. “The house will probably set a swarm of mice on you for that.”

  “Can it do that?”

  “Mum’s the one who set up the spell, so theoretically—yes. Whenever Hazel or I decided to sleep in instead of getting up early for school, she used to pre-program the house to dump ice-cold water onto our heads.”

  “Is that so?” Green light exploded from his fingertips, hitting the shield. Again, it shot into the air like a firework.

  River stepped backwards, his gaze skimming over me. “Impressive. It’s not like any defensive barrier I’ve seen before.”

  I shrugged, pretending not to be bothered by his close scrutiny of me. “I’m this close to Faerie. If I didn’t have that defence, I’d be catatonic from all the magic. Nobody else can stay here for long.”

  “So… your father? Your sister said he moved away.”

  “Back to Ireland. He lasted a year. Pollen allergies didn’t help.”

  “I can’t imagine they did,” he commented. “I assume you’re not allergic.” He raised a hand and the thorny plants he’d accidentally conjured disappeared, reforming in a line in front of the fence.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You think thorns can hurt ghosts?”

  “No, but I think it’s an improvement.” Flowers sprang to life between the faerie thorns, a deceptive contrast to the sharp pointy stems which I knew from a former painful experience could tear through to the bone. “Your sister doesn’t seem to have taken good care of the garden.”

  All the Summer faeries I’d met seemed to like nature more than they liked people. Though I was fairly sure most didn’t also enjoy raising the dead. The flowers’ petals glistened, red as blood. “Seelie magic, huh. Pretty but deadly sharp.”

  “You have a cutting tongue yourself.” He picked up the salt shaker again. “Where do you live when you’re not here?”

  “Edinburgh.”

  “My family lives there.”

  “The human—necromancer one. Right?”

  “Right.” He nodded. “I thought you were tied to this house by magic. That’s why I was surprised.”

  “We can’t move more than ten miles from the Ley Line without side effects. But the Line goes through the whole country and moves around a lot.” I shrugged, scattering more salt. “So I’m guessing you trained at the necromancer guild?”

  His smile slipped a fraction. “Yes, I did, for a while. My mother’s side of the family works there.”

  So when it’d come down to a choice between human and faerie realms, he’d picked Faerie. I guessed most people would choose piskies over zombies. “Don’t you miss this realm, if you were raised here?”

  Now I was asking personal questions? I really was too curious for my own good.

  “Do you miss home?” he asked, his expression unreadable.

  “Nice evasion,” I said. “Yes. I do miss it. Missing somewhere doesn’t mean you belong there. There aren’t many career options available out here, in case it wasn’t obvious. Actually, there’s kind of only one option.” Most Lynns hadn’t minded being the Gatekeeper’s assistant. It was supposed to be an honour to have anything to do with the Courts at all.

  “So what’s your ambition?” he asked.

  “Maybe academia. I’m applying for a PhD.”


  “In what?”

  “Folklore.”

  “Naturally. Do you get bonus points for belonging to the Sidhe?”

  “I don’t belong to them,” I said. “I spend most of my time arguing with academics about the definition of a banshee, and most humans have no idea who the Lynns are.” Any warmth I might have felt towards him had thoroughly disappeared. He’d spoken to me like a person, but still thought of me as a toy.

  A sudden draft of cold air struck me from behind and I spun around, hearing Hazel shout from the house. Outside, the grass had begun to ripple and swirl like an ocean stirred by currents. I stared, transfixed, as the ground churned, the flowerpots under the window toppling over. Debris flew into the air and struck the window, leaving a fist-sized crack. A flurry of screeching piskies flew past like a flock of demented pigeons, and I ran for the back door. “Hazel!”

  Hazel ran into the kitchen, eyes wide. “The window’s broken. My magic—it’s not working on it.” I’d never seen her look so scared. “Is that—?”

  “A wraith? I’d say so.” But I couldn’t see it.

  Hazel grabbed my arm in a way she hadn’t since we were five and Mum was in a temper. Now would be a good time to come back, Mum. I knew better than to expect a Sidhe knight to ride in on a horse and save the day, either. The Sidhe didn’t help anyone except their own kind, and maybe even they would run from the dead.

  More debris struck the house with a series of cracks. I turned back to the lawn, putting myself between Hazel and the invisible assailant, salt shaker in hand—for all the good it did against an unseen foe.

  Then I spotted River, standing in the centre of the lawn as though there wasn’t a monster throwing sharp objects around right in front of him. What the hell is he doing? Even a faerie talisman was useless against a ghost. Maybe his faerie vow was compelling him to fight it, but nothing could kill the dead.

  Except…

  Pale light glowed from my pocket. As my fingers brushed against the book’s cover, the same odd tingling sensation from the cemetery took hold of me again. I grabbed the book and it flew open, words skimming the pages too quickly to read.

  A hiss of icy air passed over my skin, and River shouted aloud as he was sent flying backwards, striking the wall beneath the kitchen window. Greyness edged in around my vision, and I saw it. Floating above where River had been, it looked like a shadow vaguely shaped like a person. No features, no limbs—just pulsing, malevolent energy. Raw fear pounded inside my head, yet my hand on the book was oddly steady.

  The world fogged over, a blurred grey mist covering everything. For a second, I thought I saw Grandma’s ghost at my side, mouthing words I couldn’t hear. A brighter patch shone amongst the grey, a floating, vaguely humanoid shape. A being of wrath and darkness, which writhed, its mouth stretched open in a silent scream. Oh… my god.

  Hazel’s cry snapped me out of my trance.

  “Hey!” I screamed, waving the book. Light shone up my arms, arced through the air and smacked into the wraith. Its shadowy form writhed with a deafening screech—then it turned around. I couldn’t explain why, considering it had no visible eyes, but its attention seemed to suck all the life from the air. It’d seen me, sensed me, and wanted me dead.

  My breath caught. Seeing that whirling shadow was like looking into a swirling pit of darkness. So much hate and anger rolled over me, bringing a bitter taste to my tongue. It’s trapped. It’s stuck in that form.

  Another light caught my gaze from the lawn below. Several white flame-like lights—candles. That’s what River had been doing on the lawn. Setting up a necromancer trap to banish the wraith. And any person who had necromantic abilities could light those candles, even from a distance.

  The numbness locking my hands receded enough for me to tighten my grip on the book. A fierce power burned from my mind to my fingertips as I concentrated on the candles. Light burst from my hands again, this time directed not at the wraith but at the spirit circle on the lawn. Immediately, it came to life. The light streamed up into the air to converge around the point of the screeching, trapped spirit.

  The light exploded. I fell back, shielding my eyes, head pounding, body shaking. I stared as the wraith’s form dissolved, disappearing into the lights, leaving rippling grass and debris behind.

  7

  “Hazel?” I called shakily.

  “I’m okay,” she said, her voice muffled. “Is it gone?”

  “I think it is.”

  I jumped back as the house trembled, and the bumps and tears in the wall repaired themselves before my eyes. Shattered glass vanished from the lawn. I walked forwards. River still lay against the wall, his eyes closed.

  “Hey.” I ran to him. “River. You okay?” He might be annoying and condescending, but I hadn’t wanted him to get killed defending us.

  River groaned, shifting into a sitting position. “Is it gone? I used a circle…”

  Hazel and I looked at one another. “Yeah, it’s gone,” I said.

  “I haven’t faced one that tough before.” He climbed to his feet. “Bastard really didn’t want to let go of the mortal plane.”

  “Are you okay? Come in. I think the house is done repairing itself now.”

  “Repairing itself?” He blinked, then shrugged. “I need to check the garden.”

  “Not if you have a concussion, you don’t,” Hazel said.

  “I don’t,” he said, climbing to his feet. “I have healing magic, in any case. It’s fairly essential in this line of business.”

  “Because your vow forces you to stand in the way if your client gets attacked?” asked Hazel.

  River looked at her. “Occasionally, but it depends on the circumstances. I’ve never had a client threatened by the dead before. I thought I hadn’t finished speaking the banishing spell when it hit me.” His gaze was questioning—penetrating, even.

  Did I want to tell him what I’d done? It seemed only fair to. But when I opened my mouth to speak, what came out instead was, “I’ll finish the salt lines. Just in case there’s another one.”

  I put my hand in my pocket to show him the book, and my hand… stuck. I tried to pull it out, and a wrenching tug gripped my chest, my fingers locking around the book seemingly of their own accord. I let the book go, and my hand came free. Had I imagined seeing Grandma? I’d say no, but there wasn’t any sign of her left.

  “I didn’t sense anything else,” he said. “It must have been waiting nearby until we came back to the house. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He addressed Hazel. “I can only offer my apologies.”

  “I’m not hurt. You’re the one who got flung into a wall.” Hazel looked at me again, and seemed to be communicating something with her eyes. “I didn’t even see what was attacking.”

  But I did. At first I hadn’t, but when the book opened… the grey light I’d seen was the spirit sight. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. But the necromancers saw the world that way all the time, not just when they used magic.

  River walked to the candles set up where the spirit had vanished. They looked like regular candles but made of some sort of plastic rather than wax, and edged in iron.

  “So is that how it usually is when you banish spirits?” I asked, watching him pace the circle as though checking the spirit was gone. “You set up that—spirit circle?”

  “Yes,” he said, back in serious business mode again. “It’s effectively to keep a spirit caged in one place so I can use a banishing spell on it. No matter how strong they are, they’re no longer bound to the world of the living. That means the veil constantly tugs on them, pulling them towards the gates.”

  “The gates to the afterlife?” asked Hazel.

  “Nobody actually knows what lies Beyond, but yes,” he said.

  I hadn’t seen any gates, but the whole thing had happened so fast. My heart still raced, and the image of that creature exploding into light replayed behind my eyes. I knew necromancers. They’d been everywhere in Edinburgh. Like many
old cities steeped in history, it had no shortage of spiritual activity. They even made tourist attractions out of it, in the world before the faeries had invaded and everyone gained more experience with ghosts than they’d ever wanted. The Ley Line in particular was close to the veil…

  The veil. The Vale. Whoever had named the place must know both worlds. The Grey Vale was a physical plane, though, a separate part of Faerie itself. The necromancers’ veil was the part of the spirit world visible to people with the spirit sight. Nobody aside from advanced necromancers knew what lay on other side of the gates of death, the place known as Beyond…

  There was a flash of silver light above the circle, then all the flames went out.

  “Nice,” Hazel said. “If I threw something into the circle—”

  “Please don’t,” River said. “I used to train novices. There’s only so many times you can tell them not to put things in the summoning circles before you start losing the will to live.”

  “So you’re a certified necromancer?” I asked. Working for the guild was one thing, but only the best were tasked with the tricky and dangerous business of introducing new necromancers to the spirit world.

  “I am, yes.” He crouched down beside the candles and began to move them into a sack that he must have conjured up from somewhere.

  “Aren’t Guardians the top level?” asked Hazel.

  “Technically. Guardians are the only necromancers who can pass between the gates and the veil, but nobody can do that without permanently leaving their living body behind.”

  “Is that your life goal?” I asked. “Guarding the gates of the dead?”

  “Not quite.” He picked up the last candle. “You have to be dead to take that position. It’s not a life goal so much as a death one.”

  “Very funny. So you prefer being a human shield?”

  He rose to his feet. “Generally my assignments involve guarding objects, not people. The Sidhe are fiercely protective of their possessions.”

  “Oh, fun,” said Hazel. From what I’d heard, the Sidhe were as fond of stealing from one another as they were of attempted murder. “So this is probably light entertainment for you, if you’ve been anywhere near the borderlands.”