Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
“Maven is out there right now, waiting in Arati’s temple for me to get you out. See this amulet around my neck? It’s her blood keeping me this sane.” He’s still not reacting, so I throw in the revelation that I’m still trying to adjust to. “Our keeper is a demigoddess, Crypt. She’s the daughter of Syntyche.”
The name of that foreboding goddess finally makes him look at me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s absorbing that truth as our surroundings shift again until we’re watching Maven get swallowed by a harbinger during First Placement.
“Then you can thank our mother-in-law for what you’re about to endure,” he finally mutters.
I pause as I again consider the malediction I’m trying to unweave. Such succinct, dark, deathly power, interwoven with so many elements. Then there was the other, unidentifiable magic worked into this impressive beast of a spell.
Holy magic is untraceable, another large spider hisses in reminder before crawling up and over Crypt’s chest before skittering away. The incubus doesn’t notice it.
Calling blood magic to my fingertips, I try to interact with the indomitable spell around us. My magic reverberates back immediately, sending me stumbling. I try again. And again. Each time, my counter-spells skip off the malediction as we’re kept locked within these horrid recollections.
My death magic is equally useless.
Godsdamn it.
Syntyche truly did weave this labyrinth specifically to torment Crypt. I’m not surprised that he managed to incur the wrath of the gods like this.
You’ll die in here! the demons occupying my headspace cheer.
This is it.
Some begin clapping and singing excitedly while I swat at another nonexistent imp.
“Curse it all. We are trapped,” I grit, tugging my hands through my hair when the ringing in my ears intensifies.
“If only someone warned you. Oh, wait,” he deadpans without any apparent concern.
“What the hell did you do to earn a punishment like this?” I demand, correcting one or two words that come out garbled.
“Just a small bit of harmless vandalism.”
The scene changes again, and we’re again in one of Crypt’s childhood memories. I watch as he wanders through what must be Limbo as a teenager, cutting through glowing white creatures I’ve read about—wisps.
The wisps converge on him quickly like luminescent piranhas, tearing into his skin at an alarming rate until he’s crying out in pain as he fights through the dream world he’s beholden to.
The ringing in my ears magnifies as I take a deep breath. “You should have told me.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
Crypt looks at me with no expression as his past self starts to scream in earnest.
“Whatever you’ve seen in my head, Crane, ignore it. I’d tell you to forget it, but neither of us has that luxury here.”
MAVEN
Sending one insane match to rescue my other insane match wasn’t my best idea.
“Another hour, gone,” Douglas announces from his spot guarding the temple’s closed and magically sealed double doors. “That makes two.”
“Congratulations on your new ability to count,” Everett snarks. “Next, learn how to read a room and shut your mouth.”
He’s standing with his arms wrapped around me as we watch Silas stuck in a dark trance where he sits beside Crypt’s spellbound body. Baelfire is hunched over on a nearby pew, gnashing his teeth at everything and snarling like a feral animal. The fact that I haven’t seen even a hint of the real Baelfire yet sets my teeth on edge.
It’s getting harder to believe my charming, smiley mate is anywhere in there.
Meanwhile, every moment that passes while waiting for Silas is another moment I decide I can’t wait.
I needed a caster to get Crypt out, but my options were so fucking limited. My brilliant blood fae is powerful, but his curse is eating his mind right now. That’s probably why he’s struggling with this malediction.
Asher Douglas might possess holy magic, but he’s not nearly as strong a caster as Silas—not to mention if this spell is what I suspect it is, there’s no way in hell I’m letting him near Crypt’s vulnerable subconscious. He was set on killing my incubus six months ago. Even if he’s earned Everett’s trust, I’m not overlooking that anytime soon.
As far as other casters who can step up, that only leaves me. The bitch who has no idea how to use her magic anymore.
Still, I have to try. And to try, I need to fuel my abilities in the only way I’ve learned how.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, stepping out of Everett’s arms.
He gently grasps my hand to stop me. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Out there, where the danger is?”
“Where the ghosts are,” I correct.
On the short trek to the temple after Asher transported us to this colorless city, I saw several ghosts, though they haven’t entered the temple’s hallowed ground. If I collect enough of them, maybe I can make a dent in that malediction.
Everett blinks down at me, surprise written all over his gorgeous, scarred face. “You can see ghosts again?”
“Yes. I need to go reaping.”
“
Reaping?” Asher Douglas pipes from the doors where I forgot he was standing. He frowns over his shoulder at me. “There’s only one reaper, so stop blaspheming. How the hell would you—oh, holy shit. Unless…”
The mercenary is starting to put things together. Everett gives him an impressively chilling death glare as a warning to stay quiet. I take advantage of his distraction to slip away again.
Striding through the incredibly ornate temple, I pull my etherium knife out of my boot. It immediately knows what’s needed, transforming into my new favorite weapon as I push open the big double doors.
Wow.
I clearly won’t have trouble finding enough ghosts.
Restless spirits have flocked to my presence, and now two or three hundred blurry, translucent figures hover at the foot of Arati’s high temple, staring up at me. Everett moves beside me, perplexed as he looks out, seeing nothing. Meanwhile, Asher Douglas looks more disturbed by my existence than ever.
That’s a nice thought before I descend the stairs, my elemental sticking closely to my side.
Ghosts converge on me immediately, pressing silently against each other in a rush to get to their respective afterlives. I step a safe distance away from Everett and swing my glowing scythe in a wide arc, sending that haunting whistling tune echoing through this dead concrete jungle as I reap several souls at a time.
The wash of peaceful power that flows steadily over my bones is strange.
But it’s also right, somehow. Over and over, I reap, turning and twisting as I wield the scythe. This otherworldly dance is intrinsic to something in my very being.
Before long, my veins are buzzing with an exhilarating rush of this strange magic—and with that rush comes another current of memories that pass from my scythe to me.
I blink when I find myself once again standing with Syntyche, but the scenery is different. This time, we’re standing on the shore of a stretch of water glittering like millions of liquid stars, watching as winged angels sitting in ornate boats fish for who fucking knows what with golden fishing lines.
“If I stayed, which I won’t,”
Memory Me begins, studying the shimmering lake. “What would I even be the goddess of? Baggy clothes? Trauma? Social ineptitude?”
“As my spawn?—“
“Ew. Please pick another word.”
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.