Twisted Soul (Cursed Legacies #3)

8. Maven

8

MAVEN

Everbound's interim headmaster squirms under their tight hold, whimpering at the sight of Crypt's glowing markings and the dragon shifter baring his teeth. I approach with every intention of tuning out my bleeding arm—but when Everett sees it, he scowls and pulls back the sleeve of my now-ripped hoodie to reveal what the mage stabbed me with.

A chorus of vicious swears goes up from all four of them when they see the nevermelt embedded in my shoulder. It's the same shard I saw in Everett's office. He must have stolen from there.

The mage was aiming for my heart. Safe to say he knows what I am.

I've never been stabbed with nevermelt before, but my entire left arm is now so cold it burns, the nerves searing from freezing pain. I compartmentalize the sensation and crouch beside the deposed mage, staring him down. The terror and revulsion practically waft off of him in waves, which makes it hard not to smile.

I've never liked this mage. There's something about him I can’t put my finger on.

The bulging vein in Gibbons' forehead looks like it's about to pop. "Y—you're a… you're the?—"

"Revenant. Scourge. Unnatural, semi-undead bitch. Call me whatever you want now, because you won't be speaking much longer."

The mage sneers. "You may have corrupted the most promising legacies of this generation, but you will never unleash the Entity on this world, you filthy, cursed abomination!"

This time, I can't help the grin that pops up on my face at the thought of "corrupting" my quintet.

Sounds fun.

Crypt looks at the nevermelt stuck in my arm again and promptly snaps one of the mage's upper arms. Gibbons' startled scream is satisfying, but then I watch in twisted fascination as Crypt's fingertips dig into the flesh around one of the mage's eyes.

"What the hell are you doing, you sick fuck?" Everett scowls.

"This bloke's aura is nauseating, and he’s watched us with these beady little eyes for far too long.”

"Don't like how he keeps glaring at my mate," Baelfire agrees.

Gibbons' screaming grows louder, so I glance at Silas.

"We'll need privacy for what I have in mind."

He nods and pricks his finger to cast a blood magic spell. Runes flare to life in a large circle around us. Although I can still hear the faint echo of holiday music outside the parking lot between the interim headmaster's screams, I'm positive we won't be overheard now.

"Now that we're nice and alone—" I begin.

"Hang on, Oakley. Silas, come here," Everett says, gently pulling me to my feet and trying to pry the shard from my shoulder with his fingertips.

Pain lances out from the injury. I try to brush him off, but he pins me with a glacial glare unlike any expression I've seen on him so far.

My elemental is pissed.

"Hold still. You need to be healed."

"That can wait. Silas needs to conserve his magic for what I have in mind for Gibbons."

Gibbons' delectable screams of pain turn into sobs as Crypt casually tosses one of his eyeballs to the side. Baelfire bares his teeth again.

"I have several things in mind for this kiss-ass for trying to kill you. Why rush?"

"There's the spirit, lizard." Crypt grins in maniacal approval, pressing into the mage's broken arm so Gibbons shouts again. "Let's take it nice and slow so our girl can savor his screams."

Seeing the vengeful, twisted fury on their faces just for me makes my stomach flutter.

Like I said. I'm catching feelings.

"Ready?" Everett checks with Silas, who stands behind me with a necromantic healing spell already prepared. He's removed his winter gloves so his blackened fingertips are visible, which earns a gasp of horror from Gibbons.

"Necromancer!" the old caster croaks, sniveling as he tries again to free himself. "No, no, it can't be! H—how could the brightest student now be one of the damned, soulless?—"

"Shut up ," Baelfire snaps.

Everett finally pries the nevermelt from my shoulder while I try not to show pain. The moment it slips free and the blood begins gushing, Silas's spell sinks into my skin. It's the same prickling, unnatural sensation I've experienced countless times at the hands of the necromancers in the Nether, but somehow…more intimate.

Probably because of our bond.

Better? Silas asks in my head, his focus still on the arm he's healing.

I nod. Let's hope you have enough magic left over for what comes next.

Which is what, exactly?

I'm going to corrupt you further. Hope you don't mind .

He smirks and lightly kisses my brow just as he finishes the spell. My arm still aches, and my fingers are ice cold, but the worst of the damage is gone.

I once again crouch beside the interim headmaster. He's a bloody, one-eyed mess who glares like he wants to kill me.

"I have three questions for you."

His lips curl in disgust. "I'm not telling you anything. You are the prophesied doom of the mortal world, the scourge of all mortals! Wretched, nasty little horror?—"

Crypt reaches down and breaks the mage's nose with one twist of his hand. "One more word from you that isn't an answer to my keeper's questions, and you'll be fodder for the wisps."

Gibbons makes a strangled sound, puffing air to try to blow off the blood. “ Fine! Fine, I’ll talk. I’ll tell you anything you want if you let me go after!"

My nose wrinkles. Ally or foe, there's nothing worse than a person with no loyalty. "First question. How did you know what I am?"

"T—the Immortal Quintet figured it out. They sent out an official alert to legacies in high positions. We're all under orders to keep it from the humans to avoid mass panic."

Wise of them. "Are you still in contact with the Legacy Council?"

His gaze darts to Everett. "Yes. I've been in contact with Alaric Frost since the day his son returned to Everbound. He gave me a scrying brand to report back to him on everything."

Scrying brands are an ancient practice—a temporary magical marking within one's skin, similar to a tattoo, that allows communication no matter the distance. They're painful to acquire and never last longer than a year or two, but they're efficient.

Especially because they're also imbued with tracing spells. Which, in this case, was precisely what I was hoping for.

Everett doesn't look surprised to learn his father was spying on him, but he still glares at the mage. "Thanks for that."

"I promise it wasn't personal, Mr. Frost! He was only concerned for you."

Everett scoffs. "If you believed that, you have shit for brains."

The mage’s face reddens. "He said you have exhibited alarming, family-shaming qualities ever since you left home early, and he was worried you would get mixed up in shameful dealings. And clearly, he was right! It is shocking that you, of all people, would willingly remain matched to this hellish, Undead corpse?—”

Crypt grips Gibbons' broken nose between his knuckles and twists hard. " Manners ."

The mage yelps and struggles again. I sense a small pulse of magic from him, but clearly, he's tapped out.

That's fine. I don't need his magic. Just him, since he has that scrying brand on his body.

"Final question. Who did you tell that we're here?"

"Everyone," he says immediately. "The Legacy Council and the bounty hunters. T—they'll be here any moment."

I stare at him, watching his dilated pupils as sweat rolls over his brow. There's a slight twitch in his right eye, and his gaze keeps skipping elsewhere.

"You're lying. You haven't told anyone yet."

He spits more blood out of his mouth before swallowing hard. "No. No, all right? I sent a message to Alaric to let him know I have an emergency update regarding your whereabouts, but he must be preoccupied with the newest surge at the Nether. No one knows that you're here yet, but it's only a matter of time before the finest bounty hunters come to rain down hellfire upon?—"

Baelfire's growl cuts him off, his voice more gravelly than usual. "Let me kill him now, my mate."

He doesn't usually refer to me like that. Not to mention, he seems far more bloodthirsty than usual. Either he really doesn't like this overly prying caster, or his dragon is once again making himself known.

I peer down at the seething, bloodied mage. "You have two options. Make me a blood oath of complete loyalty, and we'll leave you alive…or else we'll do this the fun way."

"A—a blood oath? I cannot!" Gibbons sputters. "There is no priest or priestess here to bless such a thing on behalf of the gods!"

I lean down to meet his one remaining eye better. "Here's a secret: you don't need them. Even a filthy, cursed abomination like me can make a binding blood oath. So, what'll it be? Will you swear your allegiance to me until your final breath, or does my quintet end you here and now?"

Gibbons shakes his head in terror, struggling hard again. "N—no! I gave you answers for my freedom! I only attacked you for the sake of the future of the mortal realm. H—how could you possibly justify killing me now that I cooperated? It's not right! You know it's not right! How could you do that to a respectable, old legacy like me?"

He pouts his bloodied lips, trying to appear frail and pitiful.

I roll my eyes. "If you're hoping I'll have a moral conundrum, that's a grave mistake. Emphasis on grave . Besides, you'll be more useful to us dead."

Everett frowns. "But…how? He'll just be dead."

“Actually, he’ll be a puppet once Silas uses the spell I can teach him."

Reanimation usually takes a few tries, but given how powerful Silas is as a caster in general, I have high hopes.

All four of my matches absorb that, and Everett covers his face. "Oh, dear gods. No. This is way too fucking dark, Oakley."

Such a baby. Besides, it's not like I'll make Silas do it if he doesn't want to. When I look at him, the fae's crimson gaze is unfocused far away, as if he's deep in thought.

I want to use him to throw the Legacy Quintet off our trail for a few more days, but not if it makes you uncomfortable, I tell him through our link. Morally speaking, I know it's a bit ? —

He scoffs. "As if that's an issue either one of us has. Give me a moment. I'm just trying to recall the correct spell. I'm certain that I read it somewhere.”

Gibbons begins to scream and shout again, terrified of this new fate. The others glare down at him. Before I can decide how to end the problematic interim headmaster, Baelfire reaches down and snaps the mage's neck with an angry snarl.

It's so sudden and unexpected that even Crypt raises his brows. Silas jolts, gawking at the place above Gibbons' body. I've known enough necromancers to know he's staring at Gibbons' ghost.

The moment the body stops twitching, Baelfire grips his head, shaking it as if to clear it before he blinks in surprise at the dead interim headmaster.

"Whoa. Fuck, that's my bad."

"Are you seriously implying that was all your dragon just now?" Everett asks indignantly.

Bael glances at me, his golden gaze both apologetic and relieved, as if now he can think straight. "Honestly? My memory is a little spotty for the last few minutes. I mean, I remember wanting to kill him for hurting Maven, but…I didn't mean to actually do it. Feel a lot better, though."

Crypt releases the dead body with a sharp hiss as his markings light up.

"Damn it all," he mutters, standing and glowering in a random direction.

His markings are lighting up far more often. Is his curse getting worse, somehow?

Then it clicks.

Fuck. Of course, it's getting worse. Since two members of the Immortal Quintet are now dead, the Divide is weakening, which creates more turbulence in Limbo, which he has to deal with alone.

What will happen to the Nightmare Prince when only one member of the Immortal Quintet is left?

Unease washes over me. I frown up at Crypt, but when he sees it, he just offers a tight smile. "I'll be swift, darling. Hopefully, by the time I return, we'll have a new puppet to play with if Crane doesn't muck it up."

Silas does not respond as he continues staring at something only necromancers can see.

Crypt shrugs and kisses the top of my head before vanishing.

I grumble like a petulant child about him leaving. Now, on top of carefully enacting the next steps of my plan, I also need to figure out a way to keep Limbo from turning into perpetual warfare, or he'll have to pay the price for my gambit.

Everett brushes soothing, gentle fingers over the skin of my newly healed stab wound as he looks at Silas. "Well? If we're going to dive feet-first into the dark arts, let's just get it over with."

Silas continues to stare pale-faced at the place above Gibbons with wide eyes like he just saw…well, a ghost. I frown. Surely he's not this terrified of a specter? That seems unlike him.

Baelfire sighs. "Great, he's lost it again. Si? Hello, earth to Silas?"

"I…believe I just saw the reaper goddess," the fae finally manages, his voice hoarse.

Everett startles. "You what now?"

"Syntyche. She just reaped Gibbons in front of me. I only caught a glimpse of the cloak and scythe, but…" Silas breathes out, shuddering and rubbing his face. "That was acutely horrifying."

Interesting.

"None of the necromancers in the Nether ever saw Syntyche because, for whatever reason, the spirits there aren't reaped," I muse aloud.

Everett frowns. "If they aren't reaped, what happens to the ghosts?"

"They wander the Nether, looking for a way to pass into the Beyond. When I was young, I used to stay up late at night listening to their whispers. They would gather outside my window to weep and beg for a final resting place. Some of them haunted me for a while."

In fact, they followed me around constantly. It annoyed the necromancers that I could see the spirits until Dagon finally placed a powerful hex on me so that I could no longer perceive ghosts. My ghostly groupies allegedly moved on once they realized I couldn't hear or help them.

My guys stare at me until Baelfire sighs heavily. "We need to get you into therapy, Boo."

Weird take after I just shared one of my most nostalgic memories.

“Did everyone see ghosts in the Nether, or was it just you after you were turned into…you know?” Everett asks, brushing the frost off his fingertips.

I shrug, but the truth is it was just me—and I could always see ghosts, even well before they started experimenting on me. Lillian hadn’t seemed surprised whenever I told her about the specters, but she told me not to mention them to anyone else.

Maybe she knew it would bother the necromancers.

Finally, Silas pulls his shoulders back and regards the corpse on the asphalt. Snow is falling lightly now, and the quiet peels of holiday music in the distance lend a somewhat eerie tone to this situation.

"All right. I remember the spell. Don't stand too close."

Everett backs the furthest away. We all watch as Silas begins softly chanting in Nether tongue. I feel the familiar prickling chill skitter over my arms when I hear him start the ritual to raise a corpse. I've heard it so many times that I could recite it in my sleep.

As Silas completes the ritual, his eyes darken entirely until no whites are left. His fingertips blacken where they're extended over Gibbons' dead body, which begins to twitch and spasm. A final wave of unearthly dread sweeps through the cold air before Silas staggers back.

Baelfire steadies him. "You good?"

Blood drips from Silas's nose. I frown at that sign of strain, but he wipes it away quickly and shrugs off the dragon shifter. "Let me go, you big lug."

Everett inhales sharply when Gibbons' body jolts. It twitches and flexes, slowly rising to its feet with its head still hanging at a broken angle. Finally, the bones in its neck pop into place, and we're left staring at a soulless Undead, staring at nothing with one pitch-black eye.

If any other necromancer raised it, it would try to eat us. Fortunately, the Undead are perfect puppets who won't harm the one who raised them or their perceived allies.

"Holy shit," Baelfire grunts. "That's fucking creepy."

Everett mutters a prayer to the god Koa, asking forgiveness for us for using this type of magic. "Yep, there goes my sleep tonight. What now?"

Reaching out, I tip Silas's face to examine it better in the dim light. His nose is still lightly bleeding, but his eyes have returned to normal.

I appreciate your concern for me , sangfluir , but I'm perfectly fine.

I arch a brow. How can I know for sure? Can you lie telepathically?

His gaze alights with curiosity. Let's find out. Ask me an obvious question.

All right. What am I?

The love of my life.

Oh, fuck.

I was not prepared for the intimate intensity in his beautiful ruby irises. And him dropping the L -word like that, completely straight-faced and unflinching?

My face feels warm. All of me feels warm.

I quickly drop this topic for another time and turn back to the reanimated corpse, clearing my throat. "It should be simple from here. Since Gibbons told Everett's father he had an update about us, it's only a matter of time before Alaric tries to contact Gibbons back."

Why are you so uncomfortable, blood blossom? Silas asks in fae inside my head, smirking as if he finds my brush-off amusing. Is it because I mentioned love?

Let’s not use the L -word, I scowl through the bond.

Love? Don't tell me you're philophobic.

I pretend I don't hear him. "As an Undead, Gibbons can't talk now. When communication fails, Alaric will trace Gibbons' whereabouts using the scrying brand to get a new lead. All we need to do is send him on a wild goose chase to buy us more time."

The others nod, but Silas is laughing quietly now as he realizes how badly I want to avoid this particular discussion.

At least we know now that I cannot lie even through our bond, he muses. You do know this is an inevitable conversation you'll need to have four times, right? Perhaps I should warn the others that you'll try to avoid any admittance of feelings ? —

I focus on tuning him out until it feels like a door shuts between us in the bond, cutting off whatever he's saying. He laughs again.

Now that he's not tortured by voices and paranoia, is he going to tease me all the time?

Fucking miscreant.

Baelfire frowns, looking between Silas and me as he realizes he's missing something. "More time for what, Raincloud? We came here to wait for Silas to recover, so what's the plan now?"

Now, I need to get my hands on etherium. "Tomorrow morning, we'll leave to find another place to lay low until I find a way to contact the black market dealer I'm looking for. He's notoriously difficult to trace."

Everett studies me. "I have connections. They may know who you're looking for."

"Big fucking surprise that the Frost has shady connections," Bael scoffs. "I bet your family practically owns the black market."

"So what if they do? Connections come in handy."

The elemental turns back to me, trying to adjust my torn sweatshirt to better cover me. When that fails, he slips out of his bulky coat and wraps me in it. It's not warm coming straight from his body, but his soft mint scent clinging to it soothes me.

"Tracking the dealer can wait until tomorrow. Let's finish this —" Everett pulls a face at the motionless, one-eyed Undead. "So we can get back to our actual date."

His squeamishness about the Undead is too funny not to tease. "This is our actual date. So far, it's the best date I've ever been on. Maybe we should invite our Undead friend to join us."

"Gross. Stop it."

"Taking him home is the least we can do after raising him from the dead."

" Stop . You know it's freaking me out, Oakley," he grumbles.

"Is that a no to inviting him into bed? You could all have a fivesome while I watch."

Everett gags and throws his hands in the air, turning to stalk away. "That's it, you two deal with her. I'm going to go puke."

I burst into laughter, and then gasp when I'm immediately hauled up against Baelfire. He cradles me against his toasty-warm chest and nuzzles the side of my neck. I can feel his smile against my skin.

"Holy shit, I love your laugh. Just love everything about you."

Mayday, mayday—that word is being tossed around way too fucking much tonight. It makes my chest tight, and my stomach twists into knots.

Again, I desperately try to ignore it and look over at Silas as I wrap my arms around Baelfire's neck.

"Send Gibbons to wait anywhere near the Divide in Maine."

"Why Maine?"

"That's where I originally entered the mortal realm when I left the Nether. The Legacy Council will piece that together, track Gibbons there, and assume I have a connection or an ally in that area. That should throw off the bounty hunters for a bit longer."

He nods and turns back to the Undead mage, instructing it in the Nether tongue. Although he doesn't speak it as fluently as the necromancers who experimented on me for years, I'm still surprised how much he picked up just from studying.

Meanwhile, Baelfire bundles me closer, kisses my cheek, and heads back toward the hotel. His singed cedar scent wraps around me, cozy and warm.

“All right, hellion. Let's find a scary movie for you to watch while we cuddle."