Chapter24
Megan
The second the dust settles after hours of chasing ghouls across the cursed grounds of Crypt Mansion, I feel a vision coming on.
Fast.Vicious.Slamming into me like a punch to the chest.
“Owen!”I call out and hear him shout my name in turn.
Then everything goes black.
I don’t hit the ground.
I land in his arms.But I’m not really here.
I’m moving through fog.Drifting deep, underground.
And he’s there.
Arnold Gregory Bartholomew Ferdinand Crypt.
The bastard warlock floats above a pit of shivering spirits, madness etched into every line of his translucent form.He’s weaving something vile—drawing power from the dead, their souls sucked into the gaping maw of his cursed, not-quite-dead essence.
He isn’t human anymore.
He wasn’t even alive to start with.
And when he died, his evil stayed behind.
I snap back with a gasp, clinging to Owen’s shirt, my breath ragged.
“He’s been feeding on the dead,” I whisper.“He’s never been gone.And because of this rift, he’s trying to come back.”
Preacher’s soot-streaked face turns grim.
“He’s making a vessel.Trying to manifest.”
“To life?”I breathe.
Esmerelda steps beside him, her hands glowing as she begins casting.
“Not life.Something worse.A revenant.A corpse that steals essence to stay tethered here.Abhorrent.Twisted.”
I nod, pushing to stand.Owen helps me, hands gentle but tight with concern.The sky’s already too dark, the air thick with pressure—like the whole world is bracing.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight,” Owen mutters, golden eyes flicking upward.
And I feel it.
Wrong.Ancient.Hungry.
The land holds its breath.Shadows stretch unnaturally long.Ghosts swirl in a perimeter like they’re waiting for orders.
“You feel that?”
He nods once.His body is taut beside mine, barely human.His voice is a growl.
