Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (2 page)

E
stelle seemed so relaxed
in her rocky throne, her gold nails curling over its leafy armrests. Emerging from steely clouds, the rising sun stained her antlers a lurid tangerine color. Behind her, an old, wooden belfry stood weathered by the ocean winds—so crooked it looked like it might topple over onto the rocky hill.

“Let me think a moment about where I should put you all,” said the Queen.

Fiona’s gritted teeth suggested she was struggling to control her temper. She couldn’t have been happy about the night patrols. Celia remembered little about Dagon, except that he was hideous and lived in the muck at the bottom of the sea, and she’d heard parents tell their children terrifying stories of the Picaroons to keep them tucked in bed at night.

Celia squinted in the rising sunlight. Estelle was taking her time, making them all wait. She enjoyed the control. Jealousy wound through Celia. Granted, Estelle’s domain was a rocky wasteland populated by feral wolf people, but it was
her
wasteland.

Celia seethed.
I should be Queen in my own land.
Instead, here she was, waiting on this wolf girl until she deigned to speak again.

She rubbed her hands over her chilled arms, looking around her. Even if Dogtown had nothing on the majesty of Maremount, it was compelling in its own way. The common’s grass was lush and full, and a salty breeze rushed through dirt alleys and past ancient, gnarled-wood houses. A stone temple towered over the southern edge of the green. Something about Dogtown’s jagged imperfection was almost... beautiful.

Estelle pulled a pipe out from the folds of her dress, lighting it with a plastic orange lighter.

Celia frowned.
Clearly, Dogtown isn’t as isolated from the modern world as Maremount.

Smoke curled from Estelle’s pipe, and her dark gaze fell on her guests again. “The sick girl will stay at Foxglove Manor, where she will receive the healing she needs.”

A middle-aged woman stepped forward, her dark hair teased into a towering beehive. A cigarette dangled from her mouth, and she waved a hand. “Hiya. I’m the healer.”

Estelle pointed at Thomas. “And you who carry her—” Another puff on the pipe. “—you will help look after her in the same house.” She sniffed the air, and her gaze turned to Alan. “A wolverine. You shall stay in Briar House.”

A willowy girl stepped forward, her brown hair cascading nearly to her waist.

Estelle extended a graceful finger toward Tobias. “The fire demon stays with me in Oread Mansion. I could use his strength, should our seafaring visitors become unruly.”

She puffed and blew another circle of smoke into the air, now staring at Celia. She had one of those long, steady gazes that made Celia want to confess every bad thing she’d ever done before Estelle read it in her soul.

“We’re running out of beds.” A note of irritation tinged the Queen’s voice, and she waved a hand toward Oswald. “The two blond-haired ones may stay in Hemlock House, and the bloodsucker will stay in the dog kennel. Borgerith has told to me she belongs with the animals.” 

Well, that was rude.

“The
dog
kennel?” Fiona snapped.

For the first time, Estelle rose from her throne, and the low growl in her voice silenced them all. “If you don’t like what I’ve chosen for you, you’re free to leave. You will not question me.”

Looking on as Fiona struggled for mastery of her emotions, Celia choked down her own impulse to argue. They had nowhere else to go. They were being hunted by deadly forces—the Purgators, and probably her father’s army from Maremount.

And as much as Celia hated to admit it, she had to admire Estelle’s decisiveness. The moment she allowed anyone to question her, it would open the door to her own downfall.

Celia tried to catch Fiona’s eye, but her friend was staring down Estelle. Gods, she hoped Fiona would be rational right now. A kennel was better than death. Even sharing a house with Oswald was better than death.

Fiona forced a smile onto her face. “It’s fine. I’d take a Dogtown kennel over a Purgator mansion any day.”

Estelle smiled. “It’s settled, then. You may stay for the summer. Your sanctuary will include food. And if you can pay for it, someone will sell you new clothes. You’re all tired and should rest for the day. We will meet again for dinner.”

She dismissed them with a flick of her hand.

Oswald turned to Celia, glacial gray eyes boring into her. With his blond curls and pretty features, he should’ve looked like an angel. But the blood, scars, and mangled collarbone kind of ruined the image. And then there was his deeply unsettling silence. He’d hardly said a word—not since he’d learned that Tobias was demon marked. It clearly pissed him off, though he hadn’t got around to explaining why. And Tobias didn’t seem eager to talk about it.

But mostly, Oswald hated having to spend time with Celia. That much was pretty clear. He blamed her for being a Throcknell—the architects of his misery. He hated her for his torture, his sister’s death, all the inequality in the world.

In fact, all were things she really had no control over. She crossed her arms, glaring back at him.

Footsteps cut their standoff short, and a man stepped between them, his hair a shocking white against his dark skin. “I’m Cornelius. I live in Hemlock House. I’ll show you the way.”

“Celia,” she offered, thrusting out a hand. It was all he needed to know. Her royal title probably wouldn’t go over well here. “The creepy guy in the bathrobe is Oswald.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Cornelius turned, striding over a dirt path that led out of the common, toward the rising sun. On either side of the road stood weather-beaten houses, their steep roofs jutting in different directions like old gravestones. Their irregular windows were inset with tiny, diamond-shaped panes.

She shot a quick glance at Oswald. She’d be sharing a house with a maniacal gutter rat. Not only did he hate her, but he was dangerous. How could someone slaughter two trained Throcknell guards in twenty seconds flat? She’d have to sleep with one eye open.

“Cornelius,” she ventured, “is Estelle’s word always final? Does she ever change her mind?”

The man shook his head as they turned into a smaller alley. “She’s the Queen. What she says, goes. And she knows I have two rooms.” They slowed before a small, sharp-peaked house painted black and he opened the front door, beckoning them inside.

Celia smiled as charmingly as she could manage. “Are they close to each other?”

Pausing on the front step, Cornelius glanced back at her.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be right next to each other. My two boys used to live with me.”

Oswald’s pale, frosty eyes met hers, and the hair rose on the back of her neck.

She searched for something else to ask the werewolf so he wouldn’t leave her alone with the Tatter. “What’s the deal with the sea demons? How often do they come to Dogtown?”

“I’d say about once a year, for tribute. Once they wanted gold, but lately they’ve started taking other things.”

“Like what?”

“People,” he said quietly.

The Picaroons,
Celia thought, with a sinking feeling.
That’s why he has two extra rooms.

O
read Mansion was
the grandest house in Dogtown. Lanterns cast warm, flickering light over animal-skin rugs and a faded tapestry: a woman walking through the woods with wolves. A copper chandelier dangled from a lofty ceiling.

Tobias and Estelle sat before an enormous copper cauldron that bubbled in a cavernous marble fireplace. A sweet, herbal smell filled the air.

Tobias gripped a hot mug. “You said there was someone here who sold clothes? It would be nice to have a bath and get dressed at some point.”

The cauldron’s warmth had flushed Estelle’s cheeks. “I can help you with the bath, but I’m not sure about the clothes. I like you in what you’re wearing now.”

Tobias nearly spit out his beer.

She smirked. “Was that too far? That’s right—you’re from Maremount. When they sealed off the city, they left out people like me. Someday I’m going to figure out how to get in there, and I’m going to have a lot of fun with all the puritanical men.”

“Right. We’re terribly shy.”

Puritanical.
That was pretty much the opposite of what Oswald would say about him. His friend had once caught Tobias stepping out of the House of the Swan Ladies, clothing rumpled, when he should have been with Eden. Oswald had punched him in the face and called him a filthy whoremonger.

Which, maybe, he was. But it wasn’t like he paid for it. They actually
enjoyed
his company.

The teeth on Estelle’s necklace made a gentle clicking sound as she leaned toward him. “How did a fire demon end up with a bat girl?”

“She’s a friend from school. She’s a nice girl. Honestly, she doesn’t spy for anyone. She hardly knows any magic.”

“There’s something very wrong with her. You know that, don’t you?”

“She saved my life.” He cocked his head. “More than once, come to think of it. Tell me—why do you hate bats, but you’re fine with fire demons? My magic is more powerful than Fiona’s by far, and I’m bound to Emerazel. What if I were spying for the fire goddess?”

She ran a finger over the rim of her cup. “You can spy all you want, but Emerazel and Borgerith, Our Lady of Stone, are allied. Mishett-Ash of the Skies, too. If you know anything about Emerazel, you would know that already, so I don’t imagine you’re spying for anyone.”

“Right.” An alliance. He had no idea what gods needed allies for. What exactly did they
do
? He’d never paid attention to religious studies. Oswald soaked those lessons up, but the gods were too remote to hold Tobias’s attention. Or at least—they had been at one time.

She eyed him over her cup. “How do you like your dire drink?”

He took another sip of the warm, spiced beer. “Delicious.”

“Dire drinks are our way of life. Sometimes, they mean beer. Other times, potions. Everything comes from the cauldron. Through Borgerith’s copper, she gives us life.”

Right. The gods all had their own metals. “I see. A town of healers. I guess I’m in good hands if I get injured, then.”

“My hands are all yours.” Her eyes roamed down his chest. “Why did you do it? Why did you commit yourself to Emerazel, knowing the consequences?”

That was the thing. He hadn’t exactly known the consequences, but it seemed like the kind of thing he couldn’t admit at this point. “I was stuck in a tight spot.”

“Emerazel must inflame you at times. Is it true that fire demons have uncontrollable passions? That must be interesting for a Puritan like you.” The beginning of a smile played on her lips.

He stared at the steam rising from the cauldron. “Those consequences you mentioned…”

“Yes?”

“Do you know the details?”

The Queen smiled unreservedly now, sinking lower in her chair. “You mean you don’t?”

“I haven’t had a lot of time to research it.”

“Everything comes with a price. Knowledge about what that means,” she pointed at the scar on his chest, “comes with a particularly high one.”

“I can pay you.”

She ran a finger along his scar. “Not gold. I’ll think of something.”

Seven hells.
“Or you could just give me the information because it would be a nice thing to do.”

Leaning back, she pulled out a small, silver flask and unscrewed the top. “You need some of this. Maybe it will loosen you up a little.” She filled his cup to the top with a sweet-smelling liquor before filling her own cup.

Tobias took a sip of his new brew, now a mixture of bitter beer and rum. “I take it you won’t tell me anything about my fire powers.”

Her fingernails drummed on her cup. “What do you know of the history of the gods?”

“Only the stories told to children around the hearth. That the gods once lived in the heavens, flickering from one universe to the next, creating stars and watching them die, until some of them took a special interest in earth—the only world with language. They wanted to see what we would do with Angelic. But in giving us Angelic, they committed a terrible sin, and a war erupted. As punishment, the gods who’d transgressed were imprisoned in the earth and moon.” It was all he could remember. “How does that relate to my scar?”

She fixed her cold stare on him. “I’m not a nice person, Tobias. I’m a strong person. Niceness and strength don’t mix that well, I find. Which are you?”

He sipped his brew. “Still working that one out.”

She held his gaze. “They’re coming for you, you know.”

“Who?”

“The Purgators. The Throcknells. Everyone who wants to kill you. Your time on earth is limited.” She quirked a smile. “Might as well enjoy yourself.”

G
asping
, she awoke to the sound of dogs barking in the stall next to hers. She blinked, staring at the thin streams of moonlight that slid through chinks in the rough kennel walls. The hay beneath her scratched her bare shoulders, and the smell of the hounds was nearly suffocating.

Nightmares had plagued her sleep. Her subconscious had chosen to show her Jack, his stomach gnawed open by the Fury while fire blazed around him. Flames had singed his porcelain skin, and he’d howled in agony.

She lay in a fetal position, facing the wall. She wished more than ever that she could go home, that she could sit in Mom’s cluttered kitchen eating pasta and listening to the radio.

Outside, a keening sound pierced the air. She listened closer. It was the wolves—the familiars—howling into the wind.

Must be a full moon.

She glanced at the cell phone by her head. Eight at night, and still no word from Mom. She must have lost her phone, because there was no way she’d ignore Fiona this long. One way or another, Fiona needed to get her a message. When her familiar caught up with them, she’d send him off on a mission.

After dinner, she was supposed to patrol the woods, looking out for sea demons. Wandering in the dark was no problem, but the threat of the sea demons made her blood run cold. She’d always known that something dreadful lurked in the ocean’s depths.

She sighed. It was oddly warm in here—too warm, for a spring night in New England.

Next to her ear, she heard a low murmur, and she jumped, flipping over. Tobias lay beside her, sleeping. He was murmuring about “apple cakes”
and hugging a pile of clothes. At least
someone
was having nice dreams.

Away from the warmth of his body, she shivered, hugging her knees to her chest. Things had been strained between them on the car ride here, ever since she’d learned that he’d been lying to her. He’d lied about the mark on his chest, about sneaking around at night, about finding ways to kill Jack, about the fact he was no longer—what? Fully human? No one seemed to know.

All she knew was that he’d nearly burned down the entire Purgator temple with his mind.

Maybe she’d been unfair to him, but it wasn’t his demonic powers that pissed her off. It was all the lies. Had deception always come so easily to him, or was it a demon trait?

Regret twisted in her chest. God knew how many times she’d lied to Mom, but for some reason when Tobias did it, it really bothered her.

She glanced at his sharp cheekbones and dark hair. His beauty almost made it hard to stay angry. His lips looked soft. What would it be like to kiss a fire demon? Would it be slow and simmering like a charcoal brazier, or would he bring with it the frantic intensity he’d used in the Purgator fight, igniting the trees like torches? She had the strongest urge to touch his skin.

Tobias stirred in his sleep.

Glancing away, she was suddenly terrified that his demon powers included telepathy. “You snuck in to sleep next to me. I’m not sure if that’s creepy or sweet.”

He sat up, hair rumpled from sleep. “I thought you might be cold. And I brought you clothes.”

A piece of hay stuck in his hair, and without thinking, she reached up to brush it out. “Thanks.”

He raised his brows at her torn bodice. “You probably want to get out of that dress.”

A blush warmed her cheeks, but he was handing her a pile of clothes. “That was nice of you.” She took them, eager to get out of the shredded ball gown. She picked through the clothes: folded dresses, sweaters, a scarf, canvas shoes, and several pairs of—
Did he seriously buy me underwear?

She pulled out a long, sea-green dress. “This is beautiful.”

Tobias rose, stretching his arms over his head. “The wolves have made dinner. They’re serving it on the common. I can walk you there. I’ll wait outside while you change.”

“No need.” She cringed.
Why did I say that?
“I mean—just face the other way.”

She saw a flicker of a smile before he turned to face the doors, but ignored it. She groped around her back for the dress’s zipper, her arms straining, but the fabric was smooth and uninterrupted. There weren’t even any buttons.
What the hell?

She’d never seen the back, now that she thought about it. It had appeared on her through a magical spell before the Purgators’ ball, and whoever designed the spell had failed to include any modern conveniences—like a zipper.

She cleared her throat. “Um, Tobias? I’m not sure how to get the dress off.”

“Do you need help?” He cast a quick look over his shoulder.

“You don’t have scissors, do you?”
Idiot.
Of course he didn’t.

“No. Do you want me to rip it?”

Heat bloomed in her chest. “
Rip
it?”

“I could get Celia,” he offered.

“No—it’s fine. Just rip the back.” She turned, pulling up her hair.

His feet rustled over the hay, and she felt his fingers brush against her back before he gripped the fabric. She felt the bodice loosen with a loud tear, and cool air greeted her back.

“Thanks.” She gripped the front of her dress.

He stepped away, facing the opposite wall, and she slipped out of the torn gown, then her underwear. The chilly night air raised goose bumps on her skin.

Slipping a pair of the new underwear over her hips, she found that they fit perfectly. She brushed a few pieces of hay off a green dress and pulled it over her head. The crocheted fabric hugged her body. Tobias had done a fantastic job choosing it, as if he somehow knew her exact measurements.

She ran her hands over the fabric. “It’s just the right size.”

He turned, flashing a smile. “It suits you.”

She stepped closer to him, and for a moment, an image flashed in her mind: pulling him into the hay, running her hands over his—

“Fiona?”

“What?” Her mouth went dry.
Shit. He really can read thoughts.

“You were staring. You look like you saw a—”

“A monster? I guess I did.”

A muscle worked in his jaw, and he pivoted, jamming his hands into his pockets as he walked out the door. “Are you coming?” he shouted over his shoulder, marching ahead.

She hurried to catch up with him, inwardly cursing herself for being a jerk. Sea breeze rustled the hillside grasses, and the air smelled faintly of cedar smoke and fish.

Reaching Tobias, she shot him a quick glance, but his dark eyes didn’t leave the craggy, windswept slope.

Why did she always do that when caught off guard—find a way to make the other person even more uncomfortable than she was? It might be her best armor, but it left her feeling cold.