Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (19 page)

F
or three days
, she’d left her room only when required. Silently in the early mornings, she ran with Lir. During their swims, she didn’t utter a word. Not that Lir seemed to care.

Through mealtimes, she’d wordlessly pushed her food around her plate, trying to force out the images of bloodstained hands swirling in her mind. She wasn’t even sure what they’d done with Rohan’s body, and she didn’t want to know. At least Lir hadn’t made her use a sword again.

As she’d been doing for most of the day, Fiona lay on her bed. She could tell by the goose bumps on her arms that a storm was rolling in, and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She had a sudden longing to take to the skies. It had been too long, lying here stagnating in her bedsheets.

Throwing off her covers, she wiped a hand across her cheek, drying a rogue tear. What she needed was reassurance. She knew it had been an accident but somehow still felt like a murderer. If Tobias had been here instead of Lir, it would be different. She could almost feel his warm, masculine arms and his soothing, earthy smell.

What was he doing now? She was a jerk for leaving him so abruptly, right after he’d just learned he was doomed to an afterlife in the inferno. His absence ate into her like acid, leaving a hollow in her chest.

She stood, pulling on a freshly laundered shirt and tying a scarf around her waist. Maybe she could talk to Lir. He wasn’t like Tobias, but it was worth a shot. After all, he was supposed to be her guide here, wasn’t he? Maybe he could help her sort through the chaos of her mind.

Barefoot, she padded to his room and knocked on his door.

“Yes?”

She pushed open the door to find Lir leaning back against his pillow, pen poised above his notebook.

“Can I come in?”

He straightened. “What do you want?”

Not exactly the welcome she’d hoped for. “I just don’t understand what happened with Rohan. Do you think it was…” She wasn’t entirely sure what her question was. “Do you think I’m responsible for killing him?”

Lir frowned. “I don’t think I understand.”

“I stabbed him. You said it was safe—”

He slammed his notebook shut. “We’ve been over this. I said the sword was safe, but I was wrong, because someone poisoned it. What more do you want from me? You’ve taken up with a group of murderers by your own choice. If you’re looking for me to make you a cup of tea and tell you everything will be fine, you’re in the wrong place. I’ve never told you everything would be fine. In fact, I’ve told you that you were making a terrible choice, and you stayed on the ship anyway. None of the other men want you here. Maybe if you’d listened, Rohan would still be alive. So I suggest you go back to your room and figure out what you need to do to survive here. You’re fragile, and your chances aren’t good.”

His words hit her like fists, and she backed away. She’d disrupted everything. If it weren’t for her, Rohan would still be alive.

Half in a daze, she found herself climbing the stairwell to the deck. Large waves rocked the ship, and the boards were slick. Thunder rattled the dark skies. Storm clouds tumbled over the horizon, and she had a sudden desperation to get the hell out of here.

Closing her eyes, she muttered the transformation spell, and the snapping of her bones felt like a blessed relief. She took off.

Soaring over the churning ocean, cold winds rippled over her wings. She’d killed Rohan. She’d run away from Dogtown to escape her fate, but of course she couldn’t. Wasn’t that what all those Greek plays were about? She’d been destined to murder. Even Estelle had seen that.

Lir hadn’t given her permission to leave, but she didn’t care. Maybe she wouldn’t go back. Maybe she’d risk a mauling at the hands of the werewolf queen to escape the Picaroons.

She wanted to wrap her arms around Tobias. She was an idiot for leaving him in the first place. But she wasn’t the same person anymore, and maybe he wouldn’t see her the same way. She’d stabbed one of her friends with a poisoned sword, and there was blood all over her hands.

An image flashed in her mind: Tobias’s panicked eyes when she’d declared she was leaving. She’d abandoned her friends for a pirate ship full of sociopathic demons. Maybe she belonged among the outcasts, but the loneliness cut her to the bone.

She circled lower over Dogtown, enviously eyeing the warm lights flickering in the windows of crooked houses. Did they know how good they had it here? Probably not. Like an idiot, she’d never appreciated her own home when she had one.

She swooped lower still, swinging past Estelle’s house and Tobias’s open window. She sensed the contours in his room, but apart from a bug or two, nothing moved within. No heart beating, no lungs drawing breath. Disappointment welled in her.
Where is he?

Circling Estelle’s mansion, she felt a surge of panic. Estelle had been after him as a mate. What if she’d succeeded? But that was a stupid thing to worry about. It was none of Fiona’s business. She’d left him here.

She flew south, swooping lower over the trees. A strong aura crackled through the woods, drawing her in. Someone with powerful magic prowled through the oaks. Someone whose skin rippled with heat. Tobias was prowling alone through the forest like some kind of beast.

Something seemed strange, but her heart thrilled as she flew faster through the branches, circling over his head for a moment. He paused, his eyes meeting hers. Rain soaked his clothes and hair, and his shirt clung to his muscled chest. Transfixed by his otherworldly beauty, she gazed at the sharp cheekbones and the blood-red glow in his eyes. His gaze locked on her with a predatory stillness. At times like this, when she caught him off guard, it was almost like a mask of humanity had fallen away.

Disturbed by his feral gaze, she nearly forgot to transform.
It’s still him,
she told herself, willing her bones and muscles back to their human form with an agonizing lurch. She hunched over, clutching her gut, before glancing up at her friend. He prowled closer with that unnatural grace that took the breath out of her. For an instant she wondered if he’d lost his mind entirely, and she took a step back, knocking into an oak tree. She didn’t want to be on a crazed fire demon’s bad side. Not one with his strength.

His eyes raked over her body, lingering on her bare legs, before rising again to meet hers.

“Tobias?” she said in barely a whisper.

His chest heaved, and the blaze in his eyes subsided, leaving behind dark, glistening pools.

“Hi,” she said. God, it was good to see him. “I’m still alive.”

“I knew you would be.” He stepped closer, lightly touching her shoulder. “But what’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath. “I think there might be something wrong with me. I think I might be a little crazy. I’ve done something bad.”

“What did you do?”

She couldn’t bear to tell him yet. “Something I can’t undo.”

“That sounds remarkably familiar.” He inched closer. “Is that what made you come here?”

“I wanted to see if you were okay. You know, with the whole… hell thing.”

“Apparently, I need the relic.”

“What the hell is the relic?”

“I have no idea. Something that will help me. Something that… other philosophers are also looking for.”

“We’ll find it for you.” Drinking in his familiar smell, she felt such a deep relief that hot tears stung her eyes. She wanted to throw herself into his arms so badly that she could hardly put a sentence together. “It’s really good to see you.”

Inhaling deeply, he brushed his fingertips against her cheek. His touch sent a thrill over her skin, and he stared at her as if he hadn’t seen another human being in centuries. “I don’t want to leave you yet.”

She had no idea what he meant, but stood transfixed by him, her breath coming faster. He trailed his fingertips down her neck, igniting her skin with his touch, inspecting her throat like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “What do you mean, ‘leave me’?”

Closing his eyes, he slid his hand around the back of her neck. Her heart pounded faster. How many times had she imagined him looking at her like this? She inched closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was excruciatingly conscious of every place where his skin met hers.

Tobias’s fingers trailed down her back, his touch impossibly light, but electric. Leaning into her, he brushed his warm lips against hers. Just a hint of a kiss was all it took to send flames through her body, weakening her knees. She wanted to pull him into a deeper kiss, but his mouth drifted lower, grazing the crook of her neck, teeth skimming her skin.

He kissed her neck, and her breath caught in her throat as she melted into him.
Yes.
He lifted his face, pressing his warm mouth to hers, kissing her with a hungry intensity, like this was his last moment on earth.

Her fingers roamed up his shirt, over his smooth, hot skin. She wanted all of him. She wanted to rip his shirt off and push him into the dirt. She wanted—

He pulled away, head cocked to listen to something in the woods.

“Why did you stop?” It came out more annoyed than she intended.

“I heard something,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Estelle. She’s coming.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She had to get out of here, but she was unwilling to let go, and his warm body stayed pressed against hers. She stroked his soft neck, just below his jawline.

He trailed his thumb along her cheek. His eyes glistened. “Maybe we should go somewhere else. Out of Dogtown.”

“Where?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Something grated in the back of her mind. “Why is Estelle coming?”

“She’s looking for me.”

Fiona frowned. “And why is she looking for you?”

“No time to explain. We should leave. If she finds you with me—”

“She’ll be jealous?”

He averted his eyes, looking flustered. “Something like that.”

I knew it.
“Did something happen with you two?”

He lowered his eyes. “Just a kiss. There was a woodwose—”

Fiona felt the breath knocked out of her. “Actually, I don’t need to know.” She dropped her arms from his neck. “It’s none of my business. I wasn’t even around. I’m sure she’s very exciting.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that last thing, and she hated herself for the way her voice broke. She was failing at nonchalance.

“It was only a kiss. She just happened to be there at the right time. The wrong time, I mean.”

And what just happened with us—was that only a kiss?
“It’s fine. I actually have to get back to the ship. Anyway, I probably just happened to find you at the wrong time, too.”

Before she could make herself feel any worse, she chanted the transformation spell, and black wings ripped from her back. She lifted off into the iron-gray clouds.

H
e woke at dusk
, the cold light slanting in through thick glass. There was no point anymore. If only he could sleep, quietly and eternally.

But it wasn’t a quiet sleep that lay in store for him on the other side of death, and if he gave in now, it was all for nothing. Four hundred years, wandering this earth as a reviled abomination, with a trail of crumpled corpses in his wake—for nothing.

He ran a hand over his chest. One swift movement was all it would take to rip his damned, beating heart out and end his own miserable existence. “Alone,” he whispered. “I’m going to die alone.”

“Uh, hello? I’m right here.”

Munroe.
Jack bolted upright, wincing at the excruciating pain in his gut. He needed his gods-damned athame.

In a chair in the corner of his room, Munroe sat in the shadows. He strained to see in the dim light. Her deep-red hair tumbled over a green dress.

Jack’s mouth watered at the sight of the girl—her unblemished skin, the blue veins running just below it, ferrying blood to her young heart. She was a slip of a thing, but with just enough meat on her bones to stoke his appetite. “What are you doing in here? Has no one told you I’m dangerous?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m your new fiancée. Though, based on what you were muttering, you’re not super psyched about it. I can’t say you’d be my first choice, either, but I’m sort of low on options at the moment.”

“My fiancée. Right. George is an amazing alchemist, but he’s not exactly in touch with reality.”

“At least he gave me a place to stay when he found me wandering by the river. I’m not welcome in the House of Ranulf anymore. What was the phrase my mother used?” She cocked her head. “Demon-tainted. That succubus bitch was right about that.”

Jack eyed her more carefully as his eyes adjusted. She was trying to mask her emotions, but her eyes glistened. To be rejected by one’s own parents was a pain he knew too well. “So you’re stuck here with the demons,” he said.

“Is that what you are? It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s Purgator propaganda. It’s a little hard to trust my parents now that I know they lit my classmates on fire, you know?”

There was no point lying to her. She had no power anymore, and there was a good chance his appetite would get the better of him anyway. “A mortal demon, yes. I’m committed to Druloch, one of the shadow gods. And when I die, my consciousness will live on, trapped in the decaying roots of a hanging tree. As it happens, I haven’t been looking forward to that, so I’ve been putting it off for some years.”

“And that’s why you were looking for this relic. To fix your afterlife problem.”

“Exactly.” He rubbed his eyes. “Except no one knows
what
it is, let alone where. And quite frankly, I’m tired of looking.”

“You’re just giving up. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of leader.”

“Ah.” His head throbbed. He wasn’t getting any better. If anything, he was growing weaker. He could hardly stand. “Well, if you’re pinning your hopes on me, they’re sadly misplaced. I have nothing.”

She leaned into the light, her voice low. “I see. You’ve hit one bump in the road, and you’re ready to rip your own heart out. Might as well send your soul to Druloch now.”

“It’s a little more than one bump in the road. Do you have any idea how old I am?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. Old. Twenty-five?”

“Close, give or take three hundred fifty. I was a judge in the Salem Witch Trials, in fact. A low point in my life, but certainly not the only one.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re ancient. How have you stayed alive so long?”

“You don’t want to know.”

She stood and cocked her hip. “Okay, so explain this to me. You’ve been failing at life for four centuries. Why give up now?”

“For one thing, I’ve lost my athame and George has trapped me here. For another, the succubus is the only person who knows where the relic is. George is the only alchemist knowledgeable enough to weave the spell, and the two of them are somewhat at odds, if you haven’t noticed. Lastly, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m destined to die alone.”

She threw back her head, auburn hair cascading down her back. “Oh my God. Is this about Fiona dumping you? You have got to be kidding me. What do people even like about her? Seriously, can you fill me in? Because all I see is an irritating, frizzy-haired idiot.”

Jack inhaled deeply. Strawberry lip gloss—a little sweat. Maybe she’d make one final meal before he died. He’d never tasted the blood of a Blodrial follower. “You know, I don’t really see how any of this is your concern.”

“It’s just I heard you were some kind of amazing leader, but you’re telling me you’re not even that good at magic. At least not compared to George, who’s obviously a total lunatic.”

“You know how I mentioned dying alone? It’s starting to sound more appealing,” he growled, his appetite growing. “You’d do best to watch your tone.”

She stepped closer. “Oh, really? Am I supposed to respect someone who lies around hoping to die?”

He rose, standing inches from her. “I raised an army of Harvesters from the ground. I can control people’s bodies with a few magical words, if I want to. I took over the illustrious city of Maremount. The Throcknell King trembled before my power, and you walk in here and insult me while I lie convalescing?”

“Convalescing. That’s what you were doing? It kind of seemed like you were about to kill yourself.”

The girl was infuriating. “What business is it of yours?”

“George promised me a new life. I’ve got nothing left, except that I’m supposed to be engaged to you. And I thought, well, Jack has a lot of money, at least. I’m not asking for much. A modest mansion, somewhere my family can’t find me. A staff of people to do the cleaning so I never have to work. Jewelry and some dinner parties.”

“Is that all?”

“And George told me you were strong. I can see he was wrong there.”

“And why would I want you in my life?”

She looked perplexed. “Um, why wouldn’t you? I’m beautiful, and it’s not like you have a lot of other options. It would at least save you from dying alone.”

She had a strange sort of point. “I don’t know that I’m the rich man you’re looking for. I’m a monster. I sent innocent people to their deaths in Salem. I can’t count the number of people my army hanged.” He wrapped a tendril of her silky hair around his finger. “Oh, and did I mention that I stay alive by eating human flesh?”

She blanched. “George left that out when he was singing your praises.”

“It’s what keeps this beautiful face before you looking young and healthy. Something I learned from George. Human flesh, my pocket watch, and the spell of an ancient alchemist. Sometimes, I like to start with the belly. Other times, the neck.” His eyes roved over her body, taking in the curves beneath her silky gown.

She inched back. “Oh my God. You don’t want to eat
me
, do you?”

“You’re just my type, actually. But don’t worry. George has been feeding me human pâtés like a proper gentleman, so I can control myself. For now.”

Stumbling back from him, Munroe slumped into her chair. Her face crumpled. “What am I doing here?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you had anywhere else to go.”

She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. “I can’t be homeless. I wasn’t meant to be poor.”

Oh, gods. Here we go.
He ran a hand through his dark curls. “Look, I’m not really good with… this sort of thing. Can you do it somewhere else?”

“I’m surrounded by monsters,” she cried.

He closed his eyes, marshaling his patience. “If I recall correctly, your family drinks blood and lights children on fire. I’m not sure that I see a vast difference.”

“It was sacred blood from a god.”

“You took it from a Fury’s veins against her will.”

“It’s not like she’s human.” Tears streaked her face.

“Not any longer, no. But that seems a technicality.” He ignored her quizzical look. “Anyway, I believe I’ve made my point. We’re both doomed. We’re trapped here with the insane Earl, and we may remain here for some time. He has recounted his time in Jamestown every day for the past four hundred years, and I’m fairly certain he could keep going. Do you know about the first time he ate a girl? Rebecca—” He stopped himself. George had said someone named Rebecca was holding his athame.

She sniffled. “I miss the rush I got from Blodrial’s blood. I’ll never taste it again.”

“Quiet for a second. I’ve just had a thought.”

She looked up, wiping a hand across her face. “What?”

“Do us both a favor, would you? George has a bottle of 1971 Old Fitzgerald in one of his parlor cabinets. I think we could both use a bit.”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“And while you’re out there, would you please have a look at that painting of the plain girl? The one above the fireplace. Perhaps it detaches from the wall.”

“Why?”

“I need my knife back,” he growled, losing patience.

She frowned. “I’m not snooping around. What if George catches me? He might do that tree thing again.”

Jack crossed to her and lifted her chin, staring into her gray eyes and whispering a quick spell. He didn’t like having to control people’s thoughts, but he wasn’t exactly averse to the idea either. Munroe’s eyes widened, and her shoulders relaxed. Gods, he wanted to sink his teeth into her. “Munroe. I need you to look behind the painting. Find me the knife, and bring it here. Then search through the herbs in the china cabinet. Bring me cinquefoil and wolfsbane. And the whiskey, too. Don’t forget the whiskey.”

She nodded, pulling open the door and slipping out.

Jack ran a hand through his hair, pacing to the bed. Maybe the Purgator girl was right. He was meant to lead. If the gods couldn’t be trusted to create a fair world, he’d have to take matters into his own hands.

He crossed to the window, pressing his hand against the cool pane to look at the James River rolling beyond an overgrown bank. The sky had darkened, and a crow cawed. This house felt like a cemetery.

But he couldn’t die here. If he was going to shuffle off this mortal coil, it would be in a blaze of sunlight and ripped throats, with one last embrace in the arms of a beautiful woman. He could do that, at least.

Something the succubus had said percolated in the back of his mind. Amauberge had said she didn’t even know what kind of information the Voynich contained. And yet a few moments later, she’d mentioned its location. If he hadn’t been so desperate for death, he would have noticed her slip right away.

He needed to speak to her alone. He’d have to renegotiate the terms. To hell with George’s ten wives. He’d get the succubus her freedom, and face George’s wrath if he had to. He just needed to find the old hag.

A floorboard creaked outside his room, and Munroe pushed the door open, bourbon in one hand and the bottled herbs and athame in the other. She took a swig from the bottle, grimacing. “A knife and some booze. This is how our new life begins.”