Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (23 page)

S
omething was wrong
. Tomorrow was the day the hellhound would come for him—his last day on earth—but his mind was on Fiona.

He wasn’t sure how he knew, but could sense a change in her. He circled over the
Proserpine
, which stood moored by the Fiddler’s Green in the darkening evening. One of the Picaroons remained on the ship, bound by iron chains. The others filtered out of a sea grotto, jubilant.

Black clothes drenched, Fiona emerged from the cove and shoved a gold coin in the Captain’s hand, grabbing his pipe from him and sticking it in her mouth. One of the Picaroons leaned in close, lighting the tobacco, and Fiona took a deep breath. Victorious, she held her arms over her head.

Tobias circled overhead. Was that a tattoo peeking out from her shirt?

But she wasn’t quite the same. She moved differently, fluidly, like ink in water. He had the feeling that something dark and primordial lay coiled inside her.

The Captain called the skiff to him, and it drifted over the water to the shore. As the sun disappeared, Fiona raised her face to the dusky sky, a faint smile on her lips. Her eyes landed on Tobias—no longer amber, but black as pitch and fixed right on him with a stony glare. A chill rippled over him. She was as beautiful and cold as a marble statue.

Losing interest, her eyes roamed to the skiff, and she stepped in. She was one of them—a Picaroon.

No, she was something else. Something he’d never seen before.

She’d made it. He was certain all along she could do it, and now he just wanted to wrap his arms around her. But he was no longer sure she’d welcome his embrace.

Turning a wider arc, he watched as Nod rowed the skiff to the
Proserpine
. After it pulled up next to the ship, Fiona effortlessly scaled the side, and the Picaroons followed.

She leapt gracefully to the deck, sauntering around the bound Picaroon, her arms held out to her sides as if luxuriating in the wind’s caress.

The Captain swaggered across the deck, scratching his beard as he glared at the captive. “Brother. You’ll be relieved to know your little protégé survived. Only, Dagon didn’t take her. The night god did. I don’t suppose she’ll need you as her knight in shining armor, now.”

The bound man’s eyes lingered on Fiona, but he didn’t say a word.

“Set him free,” said the Captain.

A pale, lanky man wearing a leather satchel strode over. “Are you sure, Captain?”

“He’s my brother.” The Captain’s voice was like gravel. “He’ll always be loyal to me. Fiona? She remains unproven. She’s not really one of Dagon’s.” A man with dark skin and dreadlocks freed the captive as the Captain approached Fiona, grasping her shoulders.

The Captain approached her, grasping her shoulders. “Fiona is bound to a different god. Our gods are allied, so maybe she’ll be loyal to us. But I spied on her when she left our ship that night. The sea is my scrying glass, you know.”

“And where did she go?” asked the lanky one.

“To see a fire demon. One of Emerazel’s followers. In fact, she was quite
friendly
with him.”

Lanky circled Fiona. “She consorts with the light gods. What if she betrays Dagon?”

The Captain smiled. “I have a simple enough solution for that. I know how the little bat can prove her loyalty.”

Only the slight tilt of Fiona’s head suggested that she had any interest in this conversation.

“We’re going to make a trip to Dogtown,” he continued. “We’re going to find the fire demon, and Fiona is going to use her new powers to destroy him.”

Fiona’s smile was cold and lethal.

A strange sort of relief washed over Tobias. He had only one day to live, and now he knew how he was going to die. He had to do nothing, only wait for Fiona to find him. His executioner would come, beautiful and terrifying.

T
he fire burned
warm in Mariana’s room. The whole house reeked of that woman’s hairspray, and it was a wonder the entire place didn’t go up in flames every time someone lit a match. Celia glanced out at the cloudy night sky. It was nearly impossible to see anything in Dogtown when the skies were dark.

It was unbearable living in the same house as Oswald when they barely spoke, when that kiss had knocked her world upside down while he, as far as she knew, didn’t even care. Maybe he’d just been messing with her head after she’d pulled her stupid seduction move in training. She needed to stop thinking about him. She was pretty sure he came from a family of criminals, and it was absurd to think they’d make a good match.

She turned to her friends, who warmed their hands before the flames. “Tobias hasn’t been around as much lately.”

“It must mess with his head,” said Alan. “Knowing he could end up in eternal flames if he doesn’t figure something out. I want to help him, but I have no clue how.”

Celia joined them in front of the fireplace. “I think Estelle knows more than she’s letting on. Oswald and I spied on her. She gets some kind of visions from that cauldron of hers. We saw her ask about Tobias’s curse and get an answer.”

Mariana stared into the flames. “So what did she see?”

Celia shrugged. “That, I don’t know. I told Tobias to ask her. But I feel like we need a powerful philosopher to help us. Someone who’s been learning about all this stuff for years. Someone like…”

“Jack?” asked Alan. “Too bad the Fury ate him. Taste of his own medicine, I guess.”

“He’d be lucky if the Fury ate him,” muttered Mariana.

“Better than being left with the Purgators.”Alan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him.

Interesting,
Celia mused.
Apparently they’d been spending a lot of time together. She took a deep breath, warily surveying her friend. “You still haven’t told me what exactly happened to you there.”

Mariana jiggled her leg nervously. “You sure you want to know?”

She nodded.

Mariana bit her lip. “They kept me in a box most of the time. A small box with holes in it, so they could stick needles through. They wanted me to give up names of other witches. Sometimes they’d take me out and hold my head under water so it felt like I was drowning. Other times, they’d take me in front of a fire and tell me they’d burn me. They said it wasn’t torture unless it left permanent marks.” She swallowed hard. “They made me watch Connor burn. After that, I was in the box again. This time, it was with venomous spiders. Black widows. They bit me, poisoning my blood, burning me from the inside out with their venom until I thought I was going to die from the pain. That’s when Fiona found me.”

Even though the fire blazed before Celia, a deep chill had spread through her bones. How was it that these sadistic bastards kept closing in on the people she cared about? The Purgators were no different than the men who’d cut off her mother’s head, or those who’d tortured Oswald.

She hated thinking about that day. She could almost picture the executioner’s smile as he raised the sword, and her head swam with visions of blood. Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it down. Reaching out, she touched Mariana’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“At least I’m alive. Connor wasn’t so lucky.” She turned to Celia, her dark eyes suddenly intense. “We’re still not safe. They’re coming for us. And the veil won’t protect us forever.”

The words sent a shudder up Celia’s spine. They were like trapped animals here. Oswald and the werewolves wanted to hold their ground and fight.

Alan pulled Mariana closer. “We’ll figure something out. I’m going to do everything I can to keep my friends safe.”

A smile played over Celia’s lips, and she had a sudden desire to leave these two alone. “I’m gonna get back to Cornelius’s house,” she said, standing. “Tomorrow morning we’re supposed to get up early so I can twirl a pike around like a demented majorette.”

Mariana frowned. “I’m coming with you tomorrow. I’ve been sitting in this bedroom too long. I want to learn how to injure those dickheads on sight.”

Well, then. Mariana’s back.
Despite the murderous look in her friend’s eye, Celia knelt down to embrace her, knocking Alan’s arm out of the way. “I’ve missed you.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she rose and walked out of the house. At least she still had her friends. Everyone except Fiona.

Celia trod a path on the outskirts of the village, the shortest route back home. The streets of Dogtown felt eerily silent tonight, and there was an unnatural stillness in the forest that made her uneasy.

She’d have to speak to Oswald. But how could she do that without making it seem like she cared what he thought?

An icy breeze chilled her skin, seeping through her dress and raising goose bumps. She glanced into the dark forest. Something seemed wrong. She felt—
exposed
, like at any minute someone could tear her from the path and shove her into a small box full of spiders.

She moved faster along the path, eager for the warmth of Cornelius’s house. Turning into the village, she broke into a run. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she sprinted through the streets, nearly tripping on her dress.

As she darted past the kennel, someone grabbed her arm. She nearly screamed before she saw Oswald’s face. He covered her mouth, pulling her in. “They’re here.”

As he whispered the words, bells clanged through the streets.
The alarm.
Her stomach clenched. “The Picaroons?”

“They’re lowering the veil, and erelong the others will follow.” Something glinted in the darkness. He was handing her a pike. “Take this. You must fly with Mariana—somewhere safe. She’s not ready to fight. Get her to the belfry, fast as you can. That’s our meeting point. We’ll chant the spell to get us to Maremount. If all goes well, the Throcknell army will be trapped here. Are you ready?”

“No.” Screw it—if she was facing a horrible death, she could face telling him the truth. Her legs began to tremble. “I don’t want to die. Is that such an awful thing to admit? I’m only seventeen. I know my dad’s going to kill me. He’s going to cut off my head, like he did to my mom.” She sounded like a coward, but she didn’t care anymore.

Oswald stared at her. To her surprise, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Everyone’s scared of dying. But he’s not going to kill you. I won’t let it happen.” She could feel his heartbeat thumping through his shirt.

It felt amazing to have his arms around her. Her pulse racing, she dropped her pike, slipping her arms around his neck. She heard his sharp intake of breath, and her gaze trailed to his full lips, slightly parted, then to the long, bronze eyelashes that lowered over pale eyes. Dropping his weapon, his arms tightened around her waist, and his lips were on hers. He kissed her softly, running his hands over her back, lighting her on fire with his touch. She reveled in the kiss, not wanting the moment to end, and her hand trailed down the front of his shirt.

A distant scream pierced the night. Oswald pulled away. His eyes roamed over her face before he seemed to wake from a dream. “Grab your pike.”

“
F
iona will be
with the Picaroons,” she whispered, touching Oswald’s arm.

He gazed into her eyes, measuring his words. “She might not be the same. She’s with the shadow gods now.”

Dread bloomed in her chest. Of all their enemies tonight, she didn’t want to find her closest friend among them. “I need to tell Mariana and Alan. They’re still at Foxglove Manor, and they won’t know what’s happening.”

“Chant the spell to turn us invisible.”

Celia whispered the words, and she felt the aura ripple over her skin. She watched as Oswald’s silhouette disappeared.

He touched her shoulder, and she felt his warmth as he leaned close, their chests almost touching. Brushing her hair from her ear, his fingers grazed her neck. He whispered, “We’ll get your friends. You need to take Mariana into the woods. If anyone is chasing you, try to lose them in the forest. If we make it, we’ll find you after the battle. Kill anyone who gets in your way.”

“I’m not killing Fiona.”

“No need to fret about that. Noways you’ll kill a Picaroon.” She could feel him grasping for her hand, shoving something leather into it. “Take this knife, too. It’ll be easier for you than the pike.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to slay Throcknells,” he barked, before touching her arm. “Not you, of course.”

She holstered the knife to her waist, then grabbed his hand and broke into a run. Or as fast as she could run with the clunky pike.
What a stupid weapon.

The alarm bell clanged in the nearby village, almost drowning out the sound of screaming. The air smelled of burning wood, and dark smoke curled into the sky.

Their feet pounded the gravel, and Celia’s lungs burned as they barreled over the path to Foxglove Manor. She hiked up her lavender dress.
If nothing else, I will die in a color that suits me.

When they neared Foxglove Manor, she could hear Mariana screaming, and ice flooded her veins. Someone had already got to them. Rounding the corner, Celia found Mariana and Alan standing before the house. Three Purgator soldiers boxed them in. Celia’s breath caught in her throat. One held a gun.

Covered in Purgator dust, Mariana gripped a can of the old woman’s hairspray.
That’s her weapon. Hairspray against a gun.
Celia’s feet pounded the earth.

Before she could ready her pike, Oswald launched an attack spell, taking out the man with the gun. But within moments, another soldier had sprayed dust over the two of them. Stunned by the pain, Celia dropped her weapon. The dust ate into her skin like an acid bath. Fighting through the pain, she grabbed for the knife at her belt.

Just as she drew the blade, Mariana lifted the hairspray. “Stay away from my friends!” Flicking a lighter in her other hand, she depressed the aerosol nozzle, washing the Purgators in a spray of fire. She’d made herself a flamethrower.

The Purgators’ black clothes blazed. Shrieking, they threw themselves into the dirt, trying to roll out the fire, but it only took a few moments for Oswald to end their misery, plunging his pike through their chests, one by one. At the sight of his battle frenzy, Celia’s heart skipped a beat.

Covered in blood and dust, Oswald surveyed his friends. “We must get you out of here. Now.”

“That was… intense,” said Alan.

Oswald wiped a hand across his mouth, leaving a smear of blood, his eyes lingering on Celia. “The princess will be a target for the Throcknells.”

She could taste her own death in the air, sharp and bitter. She handed her pike to Alan. “You take this. I can barely use it, and I’ve got a knife.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking it. “I’m gonna find Thomas and Tobias.” He glanced at Oswald. “Are you coming?”

“No.” High-pitched screams carried through the streets, but Oswald’s pale eyes remained locked on Celia. “I should stay.”

She wouldn’t have expected how relieved she felt to hear that, and had to suppress the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss his neck. Not in front of Mariana.

As Alan took off for the common, the others ran for the forest. Kicking up dust and rubble, they sprinted through the winding rows of crooked houses, the alarm bells still clanging through the narrow streets. They tore past Foxberry Fields, and Celia eyed the strange, silvery glow that hung in the sky tonight.

As they reached the forest’s edge, Celia threw a quick look over her shoulder. No Purgators or Throcknells, thank the gods. Under cover of darkness, they slipped into the woods, crunching over sticks and leaves. Celia’s skin still burned from the dust.

As they pressed deeper into the woods, something hit her full force in the chest, throwing her backward. A tendril of smoke curled from her clothes, and she gasped for breath. She’d been hit by someone’s magic.

“Celia!” Oswald knelt by her side for just a moment before springing up again, readying his pike.

Slowly, Celia pushed herself to her feet, watching as five Throcknell soldiers emerged from the shadows. A man with a blond beard grinned. “Why, hello. Is that our former princess?”

Her mind raced. They were going to drag her back to Maremount and saw off her head in the square, just like they’d done to her mom. Celia’s blood would drip through the drain beneath the Lilitu Fountain.

Oswald swung his pike in wide arcs, desperately trying to keep the soldiers at bay, but with the dust all over him, he couldn’t use any magic. Panic seized her. They would kill him too, but not before they tortured him again. Celia pulled the knife from her holster.

As Oswald whirled and ducked, stabbing one of the Throcknell soldiers, another pushed Celia up against a tree.

An oddly familiar smell hit her. Something murky—decaying leaves, moss, and blood.

The soldier smiled, thrusting her hands over her head and smashing them against the bark. She grunted, dropping the knife. “I always wanted to get my hands on the great whore’s daughter. I’ve heard you’re a wild one. Your mother was the same when they had her in the prisons. Did everything she could to save her life. Didn’t work.”

She trembled with anger as the soldier leaned in, sniffing her neck. Just over his shoulder, she could see Mariana fending off a soldier using flames, but there were more coming. Celia would have to deal with this herself, and right now, she was shaking with rage.

The smell hit her again: blood and mouldering leaves, like the bottom of a grave, and no less revolting than the soldier.
The woodwose is here.
Her body screamed at her to transform, but she was still covered in magic-smothering dust.

The woodwose’s murky scent ignited her with raw electricity, sending white-hot fury through her veins, just like it had before, when it had made her wild with bloodlust. Suddenly she was glad the soldier was close.

He had no idea what was about to hit him.

She head-butted him, knocking him back, and snatched the knife from the ground, bringing it up through his ribs and into his heart.

Another soldier swung his pike, but she swerved in close, plunging her knife into his neck. Blood sprayed over her, a sweet metallic scent. She wanted to spray the trees with red, to drink it like wine. Someone moved behind her and she whirled, ducking as a pike swung overhead. She jammed the knife into the soldier’s groin.

Her mind blazed hot like a star. All around her was prey, moving and pulsing hot, delicious blood through veins. These people had raped and murdered her mom. They wanted to do the same to her. She smashed her foot down hard on someone’s head, listening to the glorious crack of bone…

Something yanked her back, and she whirled, her knife ready to strike. But glacier-gray eyes stopped her. “Celia!” Oswald was white as a sheet, holding his hands out like he was taming a wild dog. “Celia. He’s dead. You killed everyone.”

Her entire body shook, and she looked down at herself—at the streaks of gore that soaked the lavender wool.