Page 33 of Soul Bound (Cursed Descent (MistHallow Academy) #2)

33

VEX

The restricted section of the library holds more dust than answers, but I keep searching. My eyes burn from hours of reading, but I can’t stop. Not when every piece of information we find reshapes what we thought we knew.

I glance at the growing pile of discarded books beside me—texts on ancient magick, Druids, ritual curses, and soul binding—but none of them help. We are flying blind, and I hate that I don’t have the answers already. There has to be something here, something I’m missing.

I pull another ancient tome from the shelf, this one bound in what I think is human skin. Where are the Hell twins when you need them to identify potential Satanic texts? Oh yeah, the lightweights went for food and beverages. Clowns.

Sitting back down and propping my feet up, the pages crackle as I open it, revealing diagrams of ritual circles and soul-binding ceremonies. Most of it is basic knowledge, things any competent practitioner would know, but then something previously unseen catches my eye.

“Well, fuck me,” I mutter, dropping my feet and sitting forward while I scan the yellowed pages. The text details how certain dates carry inherent power, how the alignment of stars and phases of the moon can amplify magickal workings, all things we knew… but… written in faded ink, are descriptions of rituals that mirror what happened in those breeding chambers.

The pieces start falling into place. These weren’t just random acts of sexual violence. The dates of the rituals and the specific positioning were all calculated. Designed to create something that makes my mouth go dry. A female Druid, yes, but more. So much more.

Making notes and Venn diagram after Venn diagram, I’m finally connecting some dots I should have seen before. The corruption in the undead, the way they feed off necromantic energy, is tied to the Praxian magick in ways that make my stomach churn.

“Sacrifices,” I mutter. “Sacrifices to the old gods. The pagan ones…”

The sound of footsteps makes me look up. Luc and Draven enter the vault, laden down with food and drink that probably shouldn’t be anywhere near these ancient texts.

“Find anything?” Luc asks.

“Yes and no. It’s got something to do with the pagan gods. The ones the Druids would’ve worshipped at the dawn of time. The Celtic gods. The corruption we’re seeing in the undead isn’t new, it’s sacrifices to these gods.”

“But they aren’t dead,” Draven points out. “At least not all the way dead.”

“No, this is where it gets hazy. The sacrifices are being corrupted because they are wrong. The dates are wrong.”

“So what is the right date, and who is doing the sacrificing?” Luc asks.

“Wait, Celtic gods. Isn’t Morrigan one of those?” Draven whispers, looking around in case she is lurking.

“She was, but this predates her. I’m thinking more Anu, The Earth-Mother.”

“Are you saying she has Praxian magick?” Luc asks, sitting down and picking up a to-go cup of blood, which he sips elegantly from a straw.

“ Had Praxian magick. While the Druids were fucking about?—”

“Literally,” Draven interjects with a snarl.

“Quite. While they were fucking about trying to create female Druids, or so we thought, they were actually trying to create female gods. Or one female goddess. One capable of holding the Praxian and being able to pass it on to their heirs.”

“Did these douche canoes think Bronwen was a goddess then?” Luc asks.

“I think so. That’s why they feared her. Bound her. I don’t know if she is or was, or somewhere in between or even if the Praxian just took a fancy to her. The dates, 11/11. Remember, in numerology, the number 11 is a master number that represents a connection between the physical and spiritual realms. It’s said to have a unique vibration and heightened spiritual significance. Times that by two and you get a fucking powerful day.”

“Okay, granted, however, the dates back then weren’t the dates we know now,” Luc says.

“True, but that makes no difference in the grand scheme of things. Whatever they did was on whatever system they used, which has altered over time. Today is what it is, and we are all here to pay homage to the second coming as it were.”

“Matilda,” Draven mutters.

“Yep.”

“So she is a descendant of Bronwen, which we knew already had to be the case. Why is this suddenly sounding like it’s big news?” Luc asks.

“Because Matilda isn’t a descendant of Bronwen.”

“Huh?” Draven asks with a frown. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that she wasn’t born from Bronwen’s line at all. She predates Bronwen. She was born from Anu.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Luc says, slamming his cup to the table. “That is a reach. She has memories of growing up as a child with her parents.”

“Who said she didn’t? Bronwen, by my extensive calculations…” I shove the notebook at them and Luc rolls his eyes at my due diligence, but fuck him. I know I’m right about this. “… was created from Anu’s blood. The male Druids?—”

“Let’s call them the douche canoes,” Luc interrupts me. “It’s more fitting.”

“I’ve got worse to call them,” Draven growls, his protectiveness over the women in this situation more than expected, which tells me there is a bigger story there. But for another time.

“Okay, the douche canoes used the mother goddess of their culture and times to create these females. Most failed, but one caught. Only one. Bronwen. That’s all the douche canoes needed to extend the line with their own blood. Matilda, however, is above all of this. She isn’t a vessel like Madeline and whoever else was. She is a demi-goddess, possibly more, depending on who her real father is and was either given freely or, more likely, stolen from Anu by her ‘family’ to raise. It’s why they kept her isolated, why they treated her like shit, made her feel worthless and suppressed her magick, so she wouldn’t figure out that she could annihilate all of them with one single thought.”

“Gaslight, much?” Luc mutters.

“Utter fuckers,” Draven snarls, banging his fist on the table and toppling Luc’s to-go cup over one of the tomes.

Luckily, it’s empty or Luke would’ve had a shit fit.

“Totally. So as far as I can figure out, the pendant, given to her by Chris, who managed to escape the curse as it weakened over the millennia, along with Night, was syphoning off her magick for them to, not use, but harvest in preparation for something. I’m not quite sure what yet. But it explains why Chris was hellbent on getting Matilda pregnant.”

“Fuck,” Draven says. “This goes from bad to worse. Do you think Morrigan knows any of this?”

I shake my head. “No, like I said, this predates her. I doubt she knows anything. She seems to have taken a shine to Tilly. I think she would want to protect her if she knew anything.”

“Agreed,” Luc says. “So we are piecing shit together, finally.”

“Who’s we ?” I ask, staring at him in annoyance. “Me. I’m piecing shit together finally while you two swan around taking all the credit.”

“Fuck you,” Draven growls. “This isn’t our world. We know fuck all about Celtic goddesses and shit.”

“Facts,” Luc drawls, sitting back. “Want to know about the Devil’s bloodline, we are your guys. Otherwise, shut the fuck up about us not contributing. We’ve done plenty.”

“Fine,” I concede, gathering my notes. “But this still leaves us with a few massive problems. Who is making these sacrifices, and for what purpose? If it’s Laurent, what is her role in all of this? What is Matilda’s pseudo family’s endgame? Where is Anu? Who is Tilly’s bio-dad? What were Chris and Night planning to do with all that harvested power, if they were even working together? What is Xanthos doing, and where is he? The list still goes on.”

Draven groans and rubs his face. “So we are not really anywhere closer to solving this shit and whether we are supposed to re-curse or un-curse the burial ground.”

I stare at him and then at Luc. “I would say un-curse at this point. I think it’s the only way to find all the answers.”