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Wesley’s heart had picked up speed. “What does that mean,” he said to Dr. Wright, “ your distant uncle’s curse that runs in your veins ?”

Dr. Wright had already removed his glasses. Now, he grabbed the edge of his beard and tugged. “This thing itches like mad.”

A moment later, the beard was dangling from his hand, and Wesley was looking at a man he’d met a handful of times several years ago: the prior Duke of Valemount, who’d been lost in a hunting accident on safari.

“You’re Lord Valemount.” Wesley’s eyes had gone wide. He looked between his two captors. “But then—but why—”

“But then why have I pretended to be dead these last two years while my younger brother stepped into the role of the duke?” Dr. Wright—no, Alfred Fairfield, the actual Duke of Valemount, scoffed.

“Do you know how hard it is to act with any secrecy when you’re a duke?

I couldn’t get a bloody thing done until I got Louis here to take up the mantle for a bit. ”

Wesley could see a resemblance between them now, the same thick chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, just like Lady Nora. But Louis, the younger brother, was taller, with broader shoulders and a sharper jawline.

“Why would you need secrecy?” Wesley said. “And what curse ?”

The only family Wesley knew of that was cursed were the de Leons. But then, the Valemounts were descended from the sister—did the Valemount line somehow share Sebastian’s family curse as well as the blood?

“The original Duke of Valemount married a Spanish countess with magic of her own,” said Alfred.

“But her brother was a tool of the Spanish Inquisition and came looking for them. This inquisitor used their shared blood to take control of her relic and curse the duke’s bloodline so that none of their descendants could ever use magic. ”

He snorted, a deeply bitter sound. “We can’t use it, and it won’t work on us. Our entire line might as well have blood made of lead.”

That was why Rory couldn’t scry any of their possessions.

Wesley looked between the real Duke of Valemount, Alfred, and the brother, Louis, again, because something wasn’t adding up.

“But you said you control a relic,” he said to Louis.

“How could you control something with magic if you’re cursed to be unable to use magic? ”

“Blood will out, as they say.” Louis turned the revolver back and forth. “I don’t share the curse.”

Why would that be? If it was a blood curse, like Sebastian’s, passed down through the paternal line just like the title—oh. “Because you don’t share a father ,” Wesley said, in realization. “And of course your father could not be known as a cuckold, so your parents hid that you’re a bastard.”

“I would have gone my entire life not knowing the truth either,” Louis said, sounding as bitter as Alfred now, “if it wasn’t for magic.”

“Magic is a gift,” Wesley said tightly.

“It’s a curse,” Louis said, just as tight.

“I have farsight—but not like you, where it’s useful.

No, I have magical farsight that lets me see through the eyes of others when I touch their possession—and it works without my consent or control.

” He gave a frustrated huff. “I went years without knowing I had magic, because the Valemount curse means my magic won’t work on their possessions.

But then war came and, well. As I said: it’s a curse.

Everyone knows I was sent home from the front; they don’t know I came home raving. ”

“It was war ,” Wesley said. “No one with a speck of empathy should judge you for wounds of the mind, not just the body, regardless of whether you have magic. And now you’re here, with your half brother, who wants to destroy magic—”

“Good,” Louis said viciously. “I want it gone. Magic has brought nothing but misery to me, while enriching so many others who never deserved it.”

“Why should Louis have suffered? Why should I be cursed while a family like the de Leons thrive?” Alfred said. “It isn’t fair.”

“You’re a fucking duke ,” Wesley snapped. “Are you really complaining something isn’t fair?”

“Watch your bloody mouth,” Alfred said, as Louis pressed the revolver against Wesley’s chest. “You’re only alive because your death is about to be useful.”

Alfred held out his arm, his layers of sleeves riding up to show the golden cuff encircling his wrist. “This was Mariana de Leon’s relic, all those generations ago,” he said, running a finger over it reverently.

“Her power to curse, trapped in here, growing and strengthening over the centuries. I brought it to that paranormal who heard magic, weeks ago, and thanks to him I know how to free it.”

“Alasdair Findlay.” Wesley gritted his teeth. “You convinced him to join your plot to destroy magic, only to murder him after? Did you sneak into his hospital room as Dr. Wright?”

“I couldn’t let him share my secrets with all of you, could I?” Alfred ran a finger over the cuff reverently. “The inquisitor tried to hide the truth from his descendants—that it takes the death of de Leon magic to unlock the curse cuff. The same magic that’s now buried in you .”

Wesley drew a breath through his nose.

“And so you see, you have a part to play in all of this,” Alfred said, as Louis’s revolver dug into Wesley’s chest, over his heart.

“The curse magic in this cuff has been growing for centuries. And when I unlock it, I think its new strength will disintegrate the curse on my blood and free me. I think I’ll be able to use magic, as is my birthright, and wield this cuff relic to cast curses.

Then Louis will use his hunting relic to find paranormals, and I’ll destroy them. ”

Louis cocked the revolver as Alfred drew a silver dagger. “I wonder if I can curse magic itself,” Alfred said, almost dreamily. “I’m about to find out, aren’t I? Because the magic in you isn’t yours, but your death will kill it, all the same—”

Something surged through Wesley, a rush in his ears and chest like a tidal wave sweeping out with him at the center. Louis cried out and recoiled, dropping the revolver. A deafening echo split the air, leaving Wesley’s ears ringing as Louis shrieked even louder, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

“You idiot.” Alfred grabbed Louis by the collar. “You shot yourself ? Was the damn safety already off?”

“Well, this feels ironic,” Wesley muttered.

“The gun burned me,” Louis snarled. Red was welling under his palm where he held it tight to his shoulder. “I couldn’t hold it any more than I could hold a fire poker.”

Alfred brandished the dagger at Wesley. “What did you do?” he said, pressing the blade to Wesley’s throat as Louis struggled to retrieve the revolver, one hand still clutched to his bleeding shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Wesley said tightly, refusing to flinch as the dagger pricked his skin. “But I know Sebastian’s magic. And it will never let you kill me.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed, but Louis barked, “Alfred!”

Wesley glanced over to see Louis holding up the gun. The golden medallion set into the revolver’s wooden grip had dimmed; it was no longer glowing.

Louis looked to Alfred in shock. “Where has the magic gone?”

* * *

Sebastian found the priest hole exactly as Nora described, and followed the hidden staircase down to the small room with its single light.

From there, the underground tunnel trailed off into utter darkness.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate; he stumbled forward as fast as he dared, straight into the black.

His left hand he kept against the dirt wall for guidance, and in his right hand, he clutched Wesley’s revolver.

He passed several openings in the wall, the other tunnels that spread out under the estate grounds, he’d guess. But Nora had said the main shaft led to the crypt, and so he kept pushing forward, straight ahead.

After maybe a quarter of a mile, the faintest light began to glimmer up ahead. Sebastian slowed his steps but only slightly, moving as silently as he could through the tunnel. A few steps more, and he could just make out voices as well.

“—couldn’t let him share my secrets—”

“—disintegrate the curse on my blood and free me—”

“—not your magic, but your death will kill it, all the same—”

No.

“ Wesley. ” The whisper was torn out of Sebastian, fear surging through him and driving him forward even faster. Whatever they planned, he had to stop it—

Noise exploded up ahead, a man’s shrieks, a gunshot that shook the tunnel walls. Sebastian’s hand scrabbled along the dirt wall, mud raking up under his nails as he dropped his own gun and hit his knees, his heart stopping.

They hadn’t—

“I don’t know. But I know Sebastian’s magic. And it will never let you kill me.”

Sebastian’s breath left him in a rush at the relief of hearing Wesley’s voice.

He snatched the revolver back up and shoved up from the wet ground like a sprinter off the mark.

Wesley was alive, but he wasn’t alone, and someone had fired a gun.

He could still hear a man’s bellows, growing louder as he ran down the tunnel toward the light.

* * *

Alfred stared for a moment at the dimmed medallion. Then he grabbed the gun from Louis, whirling around to aim it at Wesley. “Call the magic back.”

“Why don’t you help your brother, Dr. Wright ?” Wesley snapped, yanking futilely again at the cuffs on his arms. “He’s losing quite a lot of blood.”

Louis now clutched a handkerchief to his wound, but it was already soaked a deep red. He stumbled a couple of steps backward and sat heavily on the sarcophagus opposite Wesley’s, his face a sallow and unhealthy green.

Alfred glanced over his shoulder at Louis. “Chin up, old boy,” he said to Louis. “Just a nick, isn’t it?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Wesley yanked at his cuffs again. “You brother is shot —”

“I didn’t come this close to removing my curse and having revenge on paranormals just to be deterred by a bit of blood.” Alfred jammed the gun under Wesley’s chin. “Call the magic back.”