Free Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga by S. M. Boyce Page A

“Wait, what?”
    “That’s how I broke my tie to Niccoli. I stole a drenowith’s soul. He can’t control you if you’re stronger than him.”
    “And how did you steal a muse’s soul?”
    “The trick is to make it trust you.”
    “Well, ain’t it that easy,” Agneon said with a snort.
    Stone shrugged. “You asked. I answered.”
    Agneon downed the last of his beer and scooted the mug closer to the bartender. “I still have to kill you, you know. An order’s an order.”
    “It is.”
    “I’ll do it next time.”
    Stone nodded and stood. “I can live with that agreement. But boy, watch out for your child. What we are is inherited, as is your—well, gift. If your kid has power even remotely like yours, Niccoli will want your child same as he wants you. He will want your children more than he wants anyone else, and he’ll turn everything you love into leverage if he has to.”
    The smile faded from Agneon’s face. “I know, old man.”
    The warm glow of the bar snapped away. The dark office returned. She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, a grin stuck to the corners of her mouth. Relief sent a rush of adrenaline straight down to her toes—at least it hadn’t been a violent memory. She sighed.
    Three memories down, and a whole second story to go.
     

    After going through the memories in the office, Kara didn’t even bother keeping track of time. At some point, the gray sunlight faded. Stone came in and handed her a lit candle in a lantern before returning to his place on the porch, all without saying a word.
    Kara explored nearly every room—all except the one with the trail of dried blood coming from it. As a child, her mother slept beside Agneon’s office, her bedroom complete with white wicker furniture and stuffed animals. The chamber next to Ellen’s was Miriam’s personal space, filled with books and sewing materials. The room between that and the blood-soaked door was an armory.
    The second story contained much darker memories than Kara prepared for. She witnessed Miriam cross-stitching while Agneon lay in her lap, confessing his recent murders. The woman had grimaced, but remained silent. Kara also pressed herself against the wall in yet another memory, when Agneon screamed at the top of his lungs in his armory, his anger boiling over after a recent battle. He’d killed families. Mothers. Children—even one who looked remarkably like Ellen. He’d come home and sent the girls on a picnic only minutes before he hurled an axe into the armory wall.
    Memory after memory sprang forth from the various objects upstairs, each more hateful than the last. It seemed like they got worse as Kara moved toward the blood-stained door. She wondered if the blood had been left on purpose, to steer her toward the office first. But now, Kara stood before the last door, her lantern’s candlelight casting flickers on the paneled wood. Part of her didn’t trust herself with a candle after her episode in her own study, but it wasn’t as if she had a flashlight. She could probably make one of those explode, too.
    Her grip on the lantern’s handle tightened. She steadied herself with a deep breath and straightened her back.
    Here goes nothing.
    She reached for the polished handle, and a pang of relief shot through her that no blood managed to get on the doorknob. The door creaked open at her touch. The lantern’s flickers swept into the darkness, bringing the shadows to life. A mirror on the opposite wall snatched the candlelight and shot it across the room. The corners of a dresser popped into view. Near its feet, a shattered vase and wilted flowers lay on the floor in a circle of carpet one shade darker than the rest. The posts of a bed appeared beside the broken vase, a white down comforter across the mattress. Though exhaustion tugged at Kara’s eyes, she wouldn’t dream of lying down in her grandparents’ bed.
    Carpet fibers muffled her footsteps as she walked in. She peeked back at the smeared