The shack's door hung off its hinges, splintered by the kelpie's attack. Ethan hesitated on the threshold, the scent of damp wood and gunpowder clinging to the air. Rowan pushed past him, her silver hair catching the moonlight. "Your grandfather said the chest is in the loft."
Ethan followed, his boots crunching on broken glass. The loft was a chaos of overturned furniture and charred books. Rowan knelt beside a rusted iron chest hidden beneath a moth-eaten blanket. Its surface was etched with the same triskele symbol as the pendant—a trio of spirals coiled like serpents.
"Your grandmother's work," Rowan murmured, running a finger over the symbol. It glowed faintly at her touch. "She bound it with blood magic."
Ethan's pulse quickened. He'd seen similar symbols in Grampa's forbidden books—omens of celtic geis, unbreakable oaths that bound fate itself. "How do we open it?"
Rowan drew her dagger, pricking her thumb. A drop of blood fell onto the triskele. The chest creaked open, revealing a leather-bound journal, a vial of black liquid, and a tarnished silver ring.
Ethan grabbed the journal. The pages were brittle, scribbled in a shaky hand: "The kelpie's curse spreads through the bloodline. Only the bridle can contain it… but to wield it, a sacrifice must be made. My daughter's child will be the key."
He froze. "My mother?"
Rowan snatched the journal. "Your grandmother planned to use you as a vessel. The bridle's power requires a host—someone with both kelpie and human blood." She turned to the vial, her voice sharpening. "This is blackthorn venom—a poison that can neutralize the kelpie's curse… or amplify it."
Ethan's mind raced. The boy in the river, Grampa's warnings, Rowan's sudden appearance—all tied to his grandmother's obsession. "Why didn't she finish the ritual?"
Rowan hesitated. "Because she loved your grandfather. When the kelpie demanded a sacrifice, she chose herself instead of him. But the ritual backfired. The curse corrupted her, turning her into a thrall." She nodded at the ring. "That's hers. It's tied to the bridle's magic."
Ethan picked up the ring. It throbbed against his palm, its surface etched with a single word: Níðhöggr. The kelpie's true name.
Before he could ask more, the floorboards groaned. A shadow passed over the window—a figure cloaked in mist, antlers sprouting from its skull. Rowan cursed, shoving Ethan behind a wardrobe. "It's a dullahan—a banshee of the rivers. The kelpie's death must've summoned it."
The creature entered, its bony fingers dragging a rusted scythe. Its face was a gaping void, save for a single eye glowing in its chest. Ethan's skin crawled. He'd read about the dullahan in Grampa's books—spirits that collected souls marked by ancient curses.
Rowan hurled her dagger. The blade passed through the creature's misty form, embedding itself in the wall. The dullahan shrieked, swinging its scythe. Ethan ducked, grabbing the vial of blackthorn venom. He smashed it at the creature's feet, the liquid erupting into a cloud of purple smoke.
The dullahan staggered, its form flickering. Rowan seized the moment, yanking Ethan toward the chest. "Take the ring! We need to reach the river—now!"
They fled into the night, the dullahan's wails echoing behind them. The Thames surged ahead, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly glow. Rowan dragged Ethan onto a rickety boat, thrusting oars into his hands. "Row! The dullahan can't cross running water."
As they pushed into the current, the dullahan appeared on the shore, its antlers scraping the sky. It raised its scythe, and the air filled with the sound of cracking ice. The river's surface froze, spreading toward the boat.
Ethan's hands shook. "What do we do?"
Rowan grabbed the ring, pressing it into his palm. "Put it on. Now."
The ring burned as Ethan slid it onto his finger. The river responded, the ice melting where the ring's shadow fell. The dullahan screeched, retreating into the mist.
Rowan collapsed against the hull. "The ring's tied to the bridle's power. It repels the kelpie's minions… but only if you accept the geis."
Ethan frowned. "Geis?"
"A binding oath." Rowan's gaze hardened. "Your grandmother swore one to the kelpie—to protect the bridle at all costs. Now it's your turn."
Before Ethan could protest, the boat lurched. A massive shape rose from the water—a serpentine creature with scales like shattered glass, eyes glowing crimson. It coiled around the boat, its breath reeking of rot.
Rowan cursed. "It's a muirnín beag—a water spirit bound to the kelpie's service."
The creature lunged. Ethan raised his hand, the ring flaring to life. A pulse of energy erupted, knocking the muirnín beag back. The creature dissolved into black smoke, leaving only a single scale floating on the water.
Rowan stared at Ethan, her expression unreadable. "You've never used magic before."
Ethan shook his head, heart pounding. The ring throbbed, its power humming in his veins. "What's happening to me?"
Rowan turned away, her voice distant. "The bridle chose you. Now you're part of the curse… and the cure."
They reached the opposite shore in silence. Rowan led Ethan to a hidden cave, its entrance shielded by ivy. Inside, walls were lined with ancient runes and jars filled with preserved organs. At the center stood an altar, its surface stained with dried blood.
"Your grandmother's ritual chamber," Rowan explained. She knelt, brushing dust off a stone tablet. "This is the Book of Binds—a grimoire that records every geis ever sworn in the Thames Valley."
Ethan peered over her shoulder. The tablet listed names: Maeve, 1562; Connor, 1789; Eileen Reed, 1987. His grandmother's name glowed faintly. "What does it say?"
Rowan hesitated. "She swore to protect the bridle… but the kelpie demanded a price. Every generation, a Reed must die to sustain the geis." She pointed to a faded inscription: "When the seventh moon rises after the kelpie's fall, the last Reed will drown, and the curse will be unbound."
Ethan's chest tightened. "The seventh moon… that's next week."
Rowan nodded. "Your grandmother thought she could break the geis by sacrificing herself. Instead, she bound her soul to the kelpie. Now the ritual's incomplete—the curse lingers, and the next sacrifice is due."
Ethan staggered back. "You mean me?"
Rowan didn't answer. She turned to the altar, lighting a candle with her dagger. Shadows danced across the walls, forming the silhouette of a horse with antlers—the dullahan's mark.
"The geis is a loop," she said softly. "To break it, you must either die… or find a way to rewrite the ritual."
Ethan's mind raced. The ring, the bridle, the kelpie's name—all pieces of a puzzle he didn't understand. "What if I refuse?"
Rowan's gaze met his, icy and unflinching. "The dullahan will hunt you until you comply. And when the seventh moon rises… the Thames will flood, drowning everyone in its path. Including your grandfather."
Ethan clenched his fists. He thought of Grampa, lying injured in the shack, and the boy's charred body. "How do I rewrite the ritual?"
Rowan gestured to the tablet. "The Book of Binds can only be altered with a blood oath stronger than the original geis. But to do that…" She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You'll need to confront the kelpie's spirit in the Otherworld."
Ethan swallowed. "The Otherworld?"
"The realm where the dead and the fae coexist." Rowan retrieved a vial from her pocket, filled with shimmering silver liquid. "This is uisce beatha, fairy water. It'll open a portal… but once you're in, there's no guarantee you'll return."
Ethan took the vial, its coldness seeping into his palm. He thought of his grandmother's journal, her desperate attempts to save her family. "If I don't go, everyone dies?"
Rowan nodded. "Including you."
Ethan closed his eyes. The ring burned, a reminder of the geis he'd unwittingly accepted. "Then I'll do it. But I'm not going alone."
Rowan hesitated, then handed him a dagger etched with the triskele. "This will protect you from the kelpie's influence… for a time."
They stepped outside, the moon high overhead. Ethan uncorked the uisce beatha, pouring it into the river. The water rippled, forming a vortex of silver light.
"Follow the current," Rowan said. "It'll lead you to the kelpie's lair. But hurry—the portal won't stay open long."
Ethan took a deep breath and dove into the vortex. The water closed over his head, cold and silent. As darkness swallowed him, he heard Rowan's voice echo in his mind: "Choose wisely, Ethan Reed. The Thames never forgets… and neither do I."