Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
I did that.
Did I?
It was the ghost, but it took passing through me for her to interact with the living. She targeted him for what he was doing to me. Are my demigoddess abilities more ghost-oriented than I realized?
Still reeling from the lingering horror of that touch, I’m forced to walk forward. Someone is wheeling a red-blinking camera several feet in front of me, showing all of this to anyone still out there.
I wonder if Kenzie is watching. Or Lillian.
The elite legacies I pass leer and gawk at me. Some take pictures on their phones, laughing and whispering to each other. Others chatter at full volume, wide-eyed as they see the telum reduced to this fucking morose parade. Many more of them flip me off, spit on me when they get the chance, and shout over the clamor of the crows.
“Serves you right!”
“Suck my dick, you fucking demon!” another shouts.
“Go back to the Beyond where you belong!”
Usually, rubbing people the wrong way is its own kind of fun. This time, it’s paired with the realization that I’m an object to these people—someone to be exploited for their entertainment.
I expect the staring. The smirks. Their abject fascination as they see the telum in the flesh for the first time, chained and straitjacketed in the picture of defeat.
What I’m not expecting? That strange rush of peaceful magic that starts to course over my skin. It’s similar to what I experience while reaping, and it begins to soothe the unpleasant burning sensation within my chest.
With all these eyes on me, it takes a second for me to remember Galene’s words.
You see, we gods derive our power from worship.
I study the audience more closely as I pass. It’s grown in number, but only because of all the ghosts gathering to watch.
Even when screaming out insults or taking videos on their phones, these legacies watch my every move with a strange sort of awe in their eyes. It’s the same expression I saw on people fascinated by Everett in the past—people who thought of him as a celebrity.
Whether they like me or not, this qualifies as some form of worship. And wherever the big camera in my face is streaming to, the building rush of magic in my veins only grows until there is no pain in my chest. My pulse picks up, strong and furious.
Intriguing.
Finally, the assholes shove me to stand on the little pedestal in front of the fake jury and judge. They step away quickly, leaving me the center of attention. More cameras flash, but the ominous croaking of a raven draws my attention to the gray buildings surrounding this audience.
Everywhere I look, ravens are perched on the tops of buildings, watching.
The ghosts interspersed throughout the crowd are watching, too. Many of them look mad—but not at me.
I’ve just started formulating a plan when the revolving door I was pushed through opens again, and Crypt, Baelfire, and Silas are paraded outside.
My stomach lurches at the sight of them.
Crypt’s face transforms to relief when he sees me, but he’s gagged now. He’s still mostly encased in bronze as they wheel him out, and that syringe is still in his neck. His markings light up constantly, proof that he’s in pain that he won’t show. Someone shouts that it’s the Nightmare Prince, which induces more frenzied picture-taking and angry screaming. Plenty of the onlookers spit on him, too.
Baelfire is still in silver restraints, dragged by his leash as he snarls and snaps at everything. His irises are once again draconic slits that tell me he’s not himself. The audience points and laughs, finding his cursed condition hysterical as someone in the jury loudly declares that he’s Brigid Decimus’s feral son.
And Silas—he’s being dragged out by iron chains connected to iron shackles around his legs, arms, neck, and waist.
My anger spikes to a dangerous level when I see that he’s in a straitjacket covered in blood, struggling and shouting nonsense. He’s fully descended into insanity again as he stumbles, collapsing to the street in crazed, panicked gibberish while everyone continues to laugh.
That’s his own blood, covering him.
They were hurting my fae.
My empty chest clenches as hot moisture tries to rise into my eyes, seeing my ruby-eyed blood fae in this state. They must have confiscated his blood amulet.
Daphne was right. This is pure public humiliation for my quintet.
Obviously Not-Baelfire doesn’t know that yet, but my stomach dips as I imagine how the real Baelfire will look when he realizes that everone saw him collared and tied down like a feral fucking animal. My shifter is tied down near the steps of Arati’s temple. Crypt is also left propped at the foot of the steps, facing me.
I realize it’s so they’ll get a front row seat to me burning alive.
If I wasn’t seething to my very core and devising a plan to kill all these assholes, I would almost admire their barbarically sadistic appetite.
But this?
I’ve understood the magnitude of taking lives for a long time. I have a rule against harming or killing innocents—so I guess it’s good that none of the elite legacies here fall under that umbrella.
Along with the holy magic, anger grows steadily in my veins, pulsing quicker and hotter as I turn to glower at the observers who are using my cursed quintet for entertainment. Everett isn’t here. My elemental is probably still frozen to that sofa in the penthouse, also being forced to watch this.
Cameras flash as the so-called judge opens the trial, introducing me with dramatic flair before he calls up the two men who interviewed me earlier. They posture and preen as they talk at the jury and cameras, making a spectacle as they list everything I’ve been accused of. They present the “evidence” that I’m a demon, dramatically and incorrectly describe the ways I assassinated the Immortal Quintet, and generally make an ass of themselves for their rapt audience.
But I’m not listening to any of it, because the ghosts have gotten angrier.
There’s nearly an equal amount of restless spirits here as there are living people. Finally, the same blue-haired ghost girl who attacked Tattoo Face leaves the crowd and drifts up to me, pointing at the skyscraper where the Frosts are watching before drawing a line across her neck.
I focus on her, speaking quietly. “You want revenge?”
She nods eagerly. So do many of the other nearby ghost spectators of this so-called trial.
“Good. I’ll need my scythe.”
“Silence, demon!” the judge snaps. “These two gentlemen are explaining your case to the court.”
I ignore him and the additional stares his outburst has sent my way. The ghost girl nods, passing through me one more time. I don’t feel any different, but she floats quickly toward the Frost tower, disappearing through one of the many windowed walls to search for my dagger.
At least, I hope that’s what she’s doing.
Crypt witnessed me talking to nothing. He catches my eye and tips his head curiously, still ignoring his swirling markings as they light up repeatedly.
I mouth,
Wait for it.
This fake trial starts to wind to a close, with the live feed camera wheeling annoyingly close to get a shot of my face and everyone laughing when Not-Baelfire begins gnawing on his leash. I’m scanning the sky for the blue-haired ghost when a large raven flutters to perch on my shoulder.
I recognize this one. It’s the same raven that helped Everett find me when Baelfire’s dragon had me in the woods.
I study it before muttering, “When I make my move, peck out their eyes.”
These imbeciles will lose much more than their eyes for this, but since all these laughing elite legacies are enjoying the sight of my quintet in this condition so much, I’m going to start by taking that sight away.
The raven croaks in agreement before fluttering off to perch on a building, squawking at the other ravens. No one present seems to notice all the ravens that have gathered to fixate on the eyeballs in the crowd, eager for their treats.
I know jack shit about legacy or human courtroom proceedings, but I’m not surprised when the jury votes and the judge rules without ever calling on me for a testimony.
“The jury is unanimous!” the judge booms, banging a shiny gavel on the table as more pictures are taken. “Maven Oakley, the Entity’s demonic telum who murdered our beloved Immortal Quintet and brought about the end of our world, is hereby found guilty on all charges and sentenced to immediate death prior to Sachar’s final judgment in the Beyond!”
The jury members and all the watching legacies applaud. One of the security members approaches me again. I hiss in surprised pain when he twists his hand near my scalp, dragging me by my hair to one of the towering, flammable stakes at the foot of Arati’s temple.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.