Back in her own cabin, she sat on the edge of her bed, her spine stiff. Really, the only thing she had going for her in this whole ordeal was that she had nothing left to lose. Except my life.
She lay back on her bed, trying to will her muscles to relax. She just needed to remember the image of the sea’s beauty, the way Lir had showed her. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture the vibrant coral and seaweed, the waters teeming with life. But each time she thought of the ocean, an image of inky blood set in, poisoning the water. Her legs were trembling. It was either death by fire, or death in the water.
At the sound of her door creaking, Fiona’s eyes snapped open. Grim-faced, Lir stood in her room, holding a newspaper.
He knows.
He glared at her. “Did you know before you came here?”
“Know what?” she whispered.
“That your father killed my father.”
She shook her head, and a pit opened in her stomach. He was going to kill her. He was going to drag her to Dagon himself, and slit her throat under the water.
Maybe she could still get out of here. Closing her eyes, she began to whisper the transformation spell, but in the next second a hand clamped over her mouth, shoving her against a wall. Her head knocked against the wood, and pain blasted through her skull.
His eyes flashed with a bright light, like St. Elmo’s fire. “I want to know what you knew before you came here. Don’t lie to me.” His hand slid from her mouth.
Panic ignited her nerves. There was nothing left but the truth. “I didn’t know he’d ever been to Gloucester until I got to Dogtown. The werewolves told me he’d tortured people to death. That he was looking for pirate gold.”
“He was looking for the relic. He thought it was gold. It isn’t.”
Fiona’s heart skipped a beat. “You have the relic?”
“It’s what we guard.”
She loosed a shaky breath. “So what is it?”
“It’s useless to you. It’s not gold, if that’s what you’re after. It’s the finger bone Nod wears around his neck, and it will do nothing for you, unless you’re already a demon.”
Shit. She’d never get that off him, even if she became a Picaroon. “I’m not after gold. I’m not like my father.”
“So you just innocently ended up here?”
“I didn’t know of any connection until you told me your father had been killed; that it was his body on the beach. That’s when I knew. But I couldn’t tell you. The werewolves want to kill me. The Purgators want to kill me. I had nowhere else to go.” It somehow felt good to tell Lir, like a confession. “I saw him on the beach, after he was dead. The sea washed the sand off him.”
Lir relaxed his grip on her, and his face softened. “The sea is death to you.” He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “You’re here because you had no other options. I thought you were just a spoiled girl looking for adventure.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I was until March. But a lot’s changed since then.”
He glanced away. “I didn’t want you here.”
“You made that clear.”
“It’s not because I don’t like you. It’s because Dagon kills indiscriminately. He takes more and more souls every year. And then there’s the recruits murdering each other. It’s insane that we’re still doing this, hurling one life after another into the sea to feed him. I watched my two younger brothers plunge into the depths, and they never made it out again. They were fourteen and fifteen. I let them die.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
“I could’ve stood up to Nod. At least, I could’ve tried.”
“Is that what came to pass?” she asked. “Your vision showed you something that came true.”
“That was it. And here’s the thing. Out of those who survive, most aren’t the same. They lose their humanity.”
“Even Nod?”
“Especially Nod. He won’t let the dream of the Guardians die, even though it no longer makes any sense. Even though we have to kidnap people to join us. Dagon has taken over his mind like a sickness. I’ve been telling myself all our recruits were degenerates and criminals, so it didn’t matter. But I was lying to myself. Some of them are, but we’ve been taking innocent people from Dogtown. Jacques has watched his friends die, not saying a word, but I know he’s breaking inside. When you volunteered—it made it that much harder to live with the lie. We’re just murderers. We pull people from their homes, and we send them to their deaths. What else can you call it but murder? I can’t live with it anymore.”
“So why don’t you leave?”
“He demands lifelong service,” he said. “The others would hunt me down and kill me.”
Coldness washed over her. “So even if I live, I’m stuck here for life and might lose my humanity.”
“There’s a good chance.”
She hugged herself. “I think I might be evil.” She didn’t mean to say it; the words just came out.
“Why? Did you kill the other recruits?”
“No.”
His brow crinkled. “Then why?”
“It’s in my blood.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how it works. We’re all animals here, but until you go on a rage-fueled killing spree, you’re not evil. You just need to survive. Dagon will show you things you don’t want to see, and you’ve got to get through it without losing your mind.”
Too bad for me, it’s already half gone.
* * *
There was an oddly festive atmosphere on the ship as they sailed to Fiddler’s Green by the setting sun. Valac played his fiddle, and Nod and Marlowe sat on the deck, working their way through a staggering amount of rum. Ives leaned against the mainmast, sipping his drink. There was nothing behind his pale eyes—just a deep, vast emptiness.
Fiona was in no mood for a party—and neither was Lir, judging by the grim expression he wore.
Still, when Jacques approached Fiona, holding out his hand for a dance and flashing his most charming mile, it was hard to say no. He pulled her into a reel, and as they stomped over the floorboards, she tried to shut Dagon out of her mind. If these were to be the last few hours of her life, a few minutes of respite would be nice. Over Jacques’ shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Nod sloshing his drink, singing about a romance between a selkie and a sailor.
As Jacques whisked her across the deck, he leaned in to her ear, whispering, “Don’t trust them.”
Ice rushed up her spine. “Who?”
“Nod. Valac. Marlowe. They lost their humanity when they met Dagon.”
“Marlowe too?” she breathed.
Jacques twirled her into the shade, away from the captain. “Ask him what’s in his satchel. Ask if he has Rohan’s ring.”
“Are you sure? Why would he do that?”
He twirled her across the boards. “No idea, but I saw him take out the ring to gaze at it when he thought no one was around.”
“Why haven’t you told Nod?” she asked incredulously.
“I told you: can’t trust him. You need to get out of here while you still can.”
Marlowe—but why? Anger kindled, and she couldn’t keep up the charade. She pulled away from Jacques, shooting a glance to Marlowe, who was trilling shanty at the top of his lungs.
Nostrils flaring, Fiona crossed the deck, trying to project a sense of calm. She could rip the satchel from Marlowe’s shoulders, but he was a billion times stronger than she was. She’d have to play nice. As she approached, she plastered a smile onto her face and extended her hand in invitation.
Marlowe grinned, taking her hand, and she pressed herself against him in a slow dance. He looked down at her, licking his lips. He probably didn’t get much female attention—not when he was around men like Lir and Nod, who looked like demigods.
As he spun, she caught a glimpse of Lir’s frowning face. Ignoring him, Fiona ran a hand down Marlowe’s chest and heard his breath catch. Just the way I want him—completely distracted. She ran her h
and lower, and Marlowe grinned. Abruptly, she grabbed the bottom of the satchel, dumping it onto the deck.
Two things clattered on the floorboards: a small, white bone, and a silver ring that rolled across the deck, glinting in the ruddy sunlight.
Rohan’s ring.
Fiona broke away from Marlowe, snatching the ring from the floorboards. As if sensing the tension in the air, Valac stopped playing his fiddle, and silence descended. All eyes were on her as she turned the silver skull ring in her hand. Her gaze met Marlowe’s. “Did you kill Rohan?”
“What made you dump out my satchel?” he demanded.
Jacques clearly hadn’t wanted to accuse one of the other Picaroons publicly, or he would have done it himself. Her body burning with fury, Fiona simply shook her head. “It was an accident. Did you kill Rohan?”
Within a second, Lir was at Marlowe’s side, tearing the satchel from his shoulder. Marlowe paled as Lir pulled out Ostap’s wristband. “Did you find these in one of the recruits’ rooms, Marlowe?”
Nod’s shoes clacked over the deck, and the sun washed over his blue velvet suit, staining it purple. “Don’t lie to us.”
“I had to kill them.” Marlowe stared at the deck. “They broke your rules, Captain.”
“What are you talking about?” Nod barked.
Marlowe’s cheeks burned. “They were insubordinate. I couldn’t allow it. Berold threatened to meddle with Fiona. Rohan openly disagreed with your choices for the sailboat assignments. And Ostap argued with you about Fiona’s desertion. The only reason she’s not dead is that you never forbade anyone to leave the ship. Otherwise I’d have killed her myself.”
Still leaning against the mainmast, Ives shot her a smug look, as if to say I told you so.
“I forbade anyone from murdering the recruits,” Nod growled, his eyes darkening.
Marlowe met his gaze. “In your wisdom, you forbade the recruits from murdering each other. I’ve never broken any of your rules, Captain. I never would. I’m here to serve you, and to guard the relic in our ancient tradition.”
Fiona’s heart thudded. Nod can’t let him get away with this.
To her horror, the Captain grinned and clapped Marlowe on the back before turning to her and Ives. “Now you see what I expect of you, if you survive. I demand unwavering loyalty. Once Dagon blesses you, you will be mine. Together, we will protect the relic from falling into the wrong hands. This is our sacred mission.”
Fiona felt sick. Slave to a maniac. She turned, facing the ocean, and tried to keep down her lunch.
In the next moment, Lir was beside her. “It’s not too late,” he whispered. “You can still get out of here.”
“How? Will Nod let me leave?”
He shook his head. “No. You’d have to escape with me.”
Tears of gratitude stung her eyes. “Where would we go?”
“Keep your voice down. I could take you to Mount Acidale, or Atlantis. I don’t know. But you need to decide—”
His words were cut off by a thick hand around his throat. Nod yanked him backward, choking the life out of his younger brother. “You will not steal my recruit,” he boomed.
46
Fiona
Fiona stood in the cove, listening to the gentle lapping of water against rock. Reaching behind her back, she touched the new tattoo, feeling the slightly raised edges where Lir had marked the wings.
Nod had nearly murdered him as Fiona had looked on screaming. But before Lir’s heart gave out, he’d clamped the first mate in irons instead. Maybe he’d lost his humanity, but he hadn’t been able to murder his brother.
In the bay, the Proserpine bobbed gently and the hot-coral sun dipped lower on the horizon. Lir remained on the ship, bound to the mast.
It didn’t look like the right sort of day for plunging to the depths to meet a shadow god. Surely there should be lightning and whirlwinds, maybe the angry face of the storm god. Instead, seagulls gently swooped below pale-lavender clouds. Of course, if she was going to die a horrible death, nature really wouldn’t care. It would just get on with things.
She shot a quick glance at Ives, who hummed placidly, waiting. Jacques stood across from them, running the brim of his hat through his fingers. For the first time since she’d met him, Fiona saw him looking nervous. He obviously wanted to be anywhere but here. He must have seen more than a few of his Dogtown friends sink to their deaths in the trials.
Gently rubbing his bone necklace, Captain Nod crossed the rocky shoreline, dressed in a blue suit flecked with gold. Apparently, this was a big night for him.
Fiona closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. There was no turning back from this. She would either die, condemned to a watery afterlife, or she would emerge from the waters as a Guardian. Perhaps someone like Nod, with only lingering scraps of humanity. Her father’s darkness could overwhelm her—set in like a rot that would eat away everything good her mom had managed to instill in her. She could find herself turned into a coldblooded killer.
She swallowed hard, watching as Nod looked her up and down. “My two beautiful tributes. You’ve made it this far. As far as I know, one of you is a bit murdery. Maybe you both are. But we don’t make judgments about good and evil. It’s Dagon who decides your value. You will swim into the cove, and you must not return until you’ve retrieved the gold coin from Dagon. He will either kill you, or grant you his favor. And as much as I love to feed our god, I’m hoping for at least one more crewmember, so try not to die.”
Fiona felt numb. She had no control anymore—just a pawn in a war between the gods. Ives’ eyes swerved to hers, and he gave a curt nod.
The Captain opened his palms. “Begin!”
Ives jumped in first, splashing frigid water all over Fiona. She glanced at Jacques, who lowered his eyes. He doesn’t think I’m going to make it.
Nod glared at her. “I hope this isn’t insubordination.”
She shook her head. Her spine stiffened, and she leapt.
* * *
She raised her arms above her head, letting herself sink into the murky water. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest, and her mind screamed Run. Her entire being told her to struggle against the current, to crawl her way out, but she forced herself to swim lower. When she closed her eyes, she almost thought she could see blood swirling through the dark water, the ocean floor covered by a bed of corpses.
If she was going to survive, she needed to see the underwater world the way Lir saw it, and she tried to remember the cathedral. Pearly light pouring through the water’s surface, kissing the undulating seagrass. She almost had the picture in her mind, when something slick grazed her arm. Adrenaline flooded her veins, but it was too dark to see. Something enveloped her in its slimy embrace, and she fought against it. Dagon. He was here, and she was completely powerless against him.
Slimy appendages enveloped her, and she saw him. Lir’s father on the beach, his face missing and his flesh grayed and bloated with seawater. Her father’s work. Fiona’s entire body shook, desperate to free herself. But Dagon wasn’t finished, and the image shifted. Danny dragged a woman through the woods of Dogtown, and her arms and feet were bound. Iron hung around the woman’s neck, suppressing her magic. Danny stopped, and with a grin, he pulled a knife from his pocket. His face transformed, growing younger and more feminine. It was Fiona’s face, smiling as she held a knife over Mrs. Ranulf.
It’s not me.
She saw her mom, sitting in her kitchen in South Boston. Two men in black suits sat across from her, and as Mom’s jaw dropped open, one of the men pulled a gun and squeezed the trigger. Mom lay on the beach—her face was gone. What had done this? She couldn’t remember anymore.
Another image flashed before her. It was herself, holding a shotgun pointed at another Fiona—a phantom Fiona who didn’t know how to fight. She pulled the trigger and shot off the front of her own head. She watched as her body crumpled into the sand. Had she killed all those people? There was something wrong within her. Darkness poi
soned her blood.
Dagon’s tentacles tightened around her, and she saw herself wrapping her hands around Nod’s neck and choking the life out of him. What sort of an animal—
Lir said we’re were all animals.
We’re all animals.
She couldn’t breathe. She’d run out of air, and her legs began to convulse. Her own death lay below the waves. She’d always known it, always seen her own faceless corpse.
It was all over now. Gods, she needed breath.
Mariana’s face flashed in her mind, then Mom sitting at the table, grading papers. Tobias’s dark eyes. She longed to touch his face again, to smell the rain on his neck. She’d never see him again, never hear that strange, lilting accent or run her fingers over his skin, or pull him close and feel the heat that blazed off his skin.
Seawater began to fill her lungs, and just as her throat convulsed, it hit her. If she loved anyone, she was nothing like Danny.
* * *
There was nothing now—no tentacles pulling her under, no water in her lungs. No up or down. She drifted in an abyss, utterly alone. Her life had been but one quick burst of flames in the darkness, and now it was over.
She’d have given anything for one more day. If she’d really taken in every moment as she should have, she wouldn’t have spent so much time thinking about death.
Here, the isolation was painful, devouring her from the inside out. This was it. This was her death. Even the worst day of her life she would relive, if she could just live again and see the light and feel the rain on her face.
A deep, rumbling voice spoke in the chasm. “You’re not one of mine.” Dagon, rejecting her as a Guardian. “You belong to Nyxobas.”
Wait. What?
Something glimmered in the distance—a pinpoint of silvery light. And out of the glimmer, someone moved swiftly through the void. She felt so relieved at the presence of something else—anything else—she wanted to cry with joy.
Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) Page 22