Page 36 of Soul Bound (Cursed Descent (MistHallow Academy) #2)

36

VEX

“Here’s another one,” Blackthorn mutters, sliding a leather-bound tome across the table. Ancient dust motes dance in the low light of the restricted vault. We’ve been here for hours, surrounded by stacks of texts about Anu and the old orders that he managed to unearth from the deepest parts of MistHallow’s archives and beyond. I didn’t ask where that was, but judging by his unusually dishevelled appearance, I’d say the underground chambers.

I grab the book, careful with its fragile spine. The pages are nearly translucent with age, covered in spidery script that makes my eyes hurt. But it’s what’s pressed between pages 394 and 395 that catches my attention. A folded piece of parchment, hidden there for who knows how long.

“Well, what do we have here?” I mutter, carefully extracting it. As I unfold it, symbols appear, forming a complex pattern around what looks like a family tree. But not any ordinary genealogy.

“What is it?” Blackthorn moves around the table, leaning over my shoulder.

“Look at these markings.” I point to the notations beside each name. “They’re power measurements. This isn’t just a family tree, it looks like a breeding record.” My finger traces down the lines. “They were deliberately matching bloodlines to maximise power potential.”

Blackthorn leans in closer. “The Harvester Order,” he says softly. “I’ve heard of them. Whispers in the academic halls of Ravenspire Academy.”

“Where?” I ask with a frown.

“MistHallow’s supernatural academy equivalent, if a little younger. I taught there for a while before I came here.”

I spread out more pages from the book. “Madeline Cooper. She was Matilda’s, what was it? Great grandmother’s sister? Look at these records of energy drainage. They’ve been systematically harvesting power for centuries, storing it in bloodline vessels.” I give him a sharp look. “Where did you get this book again?”

“Nowhere you need to know about,” he says darkly. “Let’s just say I owe some scary people some big favours.”

“Well, if you need a hand with that, you know where I am.”

“I’ll remember that.”

We share a look of solidarity. It’s nice.

The air in the vault grows heavier as we dig deeper. My fingers trace the faded ink, following the pattern of systematic draining documented over generations. Each name has precise measurements, dates, and power signatures recorded beside it.

“Look at this” He points to a star chart showing multiple celestial bodies aligning. “It’s a gateway point. They’ve been building toward this for centuries.”

“Using Matilda as the final conduit.” The words taste bitter. “That’s why they took her from Anu. They needed a vessel strong enough to channel that much power. But what is their connection to Chris? Was he, in fact, working for them?”

“Possibly. Or they have an entirely separate motive, and Chris was a means to an end for them.”

“I wish we knew which it was,” I grumble.

“Makes two of us. We could ask him.”

“He’s dead. Matilda killed him,” I clip out.

Blackthorn raises his eyebrow. “I see. And this was?”

“A few days ago. He tried to rape her.”

Blackthorn’s face goes dark. “In that case, I will forget I ever heard about this.”

“Good call.”

I lift the book, and something falls from between the last pages and the back cover. It’s a small, flat, leather-bound journal, its cover worn smooth by handling. The name on the first page catches my attention: Bronwen, High Priestess of the Order. I turn it to show Blackthorn. “I’m guessing that’s a different Bronwen?”

“Who knows at this point?” he mutters in annoyance.

We pore over it. The pages are filled with detailed notes about something called ‘the forgotten ritual.’ “This ritual requires darkness. Hell-born darkness.” I look up at him. “They need Demon energy to complete the circuit.”

Blackthorn’s face pales as he reads over my shoulder. “The Incubus and the Death Dealer...”

“Luc and Draven,” I confirm grimly.

Blackthorn leans back in his chair and props his feet on the table. “Hell magick works on a different frequency. It’s as old as time but not as old as Heaven’s. I’m not too sure where it fits into the timeline of the Praxian. Or how? Are they trying to mash the two together?”

“To do what? And how? By having one of them impregnate Tilly and the baby is actually then this super powered Hell-Praxian god?”

Blackthorn doesn’t answer me. Instead, he reaches for another text, this one wrapped in chains that seem to absorb the light around them. He unwraps the chains carefully, as if they might bite. “It can’t just be about a new hybrid power,” he says, more to himself than me. “These power measurements, the timing of the convergence, the required demon essence. It’s all designed to force an evolution. But there’s something else.” He points to a series of glyphs at the bottom of the page. “See these? They’re containment runes. Whoever designed this ritual wanted to ensure they could control the outcome.”

“Control what outcome?” But even as I ask, I already know. “They want to harness whatever she becomes.”

“A weapon,” Blackthorn confirms grimly. “Or worse—a power source they can tap into indefinitely. A magickal battery. The Hell magick isn’t for transformation. It’s meant to power her.”

“How?” Dread creeps up my spine. This is more insidious than I thought, and that was already pretty sinister.

Blackthorn’s eyes narrow as he studies the text. “The Demon essence acts as a catalyst, supercharging the Praxian energy. It’s like adding rocket fuel to an already potent mixture.”

I lean back, running a hand through my hair. “So they’re not trying to create a powerful being, they’re trying to create an inexhaustible source of power. One they can tap into whenever they want.”

“Precisely,” Blackthorn nods. “And if they succeed, the consequences are catastrophic.”

“We can’t let that happen,” I growl, slamming my fist on the table. The ancient tomes rattle ominously.

Blackthorn gives me a sharp look. “Careful with the books, Vex. Some of these are older than civilisation itself.”

I mutter an apology, but my mind is racing forward as it has a tendency to do. “Where does Anu fit into this? Is she an innocent bystander or what? The timing of it all stinks. I’m sorry, Luke, but we have to head back down to the tunnels and find Xanthos. He is the only living arsehole left that we can interrogate about all of this.”

“Why are you apologising? I quite agree it is the only course left to get answers.”

I shake my head. “The baby they are so desperate to create is bugging me. What is its purpose? If Tilly is already a demigoddess or more, why do they want her offspring? Why not just Tilly?”

“Maybe Xanthos can answer that for you because I can’t. I’m still trying to wrap my head around The Harvester Order and what their endgame is. If they want a magickal generator, who or what are they planning on powering up with it?”

“If you even think zombies, I take back my offer for help from earlier,” I say, jabbing my finger in his direction.

He gives me a grave stare. “Let’s fucking hope it’s not then.”