The cloaked figure stalked closer, a silver scythe in hands. She couldn’t see his face, and something about him was terrifying. Still, she wanted to embrace him. Anything to pull herself from this agonizing isolation.
But as he neared her, he raised his scythe, and Fiona’s stomach clenched. He swung for her neck and she felt a flash of pain, and then coldness surrounded her.
Icy water enveloped her, and she gripped something hard in her fist. Dagon was gone, but a delicious, dark power flooded her body, ancient and cold. Only one word howled in her mind. Nyxobas.
47
Jack
The succubus rubbed her legs together, luxuriating in Nyxobas’s power. She whispered in Angelic, and the golden circle that bound her hands disappeared.
She sat up straight, licking her lips, and fixed her dark eyes on Jack, immobilizing him. With her prey under control, she dropped her glamour, transforming from a beautiful young woman into a shriveled hag. Edging closer, she gripped his hair and pulled his face to her dusty, cracked lips.
Every fiber of his being compelled him to run, but he could no longer control his muscles. She clamped her desiccated mouth on his, like a lamprey seeking blood. His chest filled with gnawing emptiness, and he saw Fiona leaving him behind in the burning Purgator temple. She’d left him utterly alone.
Dying from the inside out, such exquisite agony, a gaping void—this was what it would feel like to live eternally in one of the shadow hells. For mortal demons like him, death would not bring a quiet sleep. It would be an unending nightmare.
As the succubus drew his memories from him, Elizabeth’s body flashed in his mind again, walking through Salem’s streets. But this time she was tied to the back of a cart on a cold January day, stripped to the waist. Teeth chattering, her lips had turned blue. This was a different sort of nakedness, one that made his stomach clench with rage. Jack’s father had walked behind her, flaying her with a switch. Blood poured from her wounds, staining the dress that hung at her hips. Even her perfect breasts were ripped apart.
Jack had been able to do nothing but stand limply by on broken legs.
When she’d died from her wounds a week later, Jack had felt as though his soul were torn in two. He’d no longer cared about right and wrong, about heaven or hell. All he’d known was that he would do anything not to feel that crushing impotence, the exquisite agony of losing someone he’d loved. He’d crawled to his father’s chest of drawers, searching for the athame. He’d never be powerless again. At least, that was what he’d hoped.
His eyelids fluttered, and the succubus clutched him tighter. Mercifully, Druloch’s power began to surge through him once again. Amauberge’s flesh grew soft, and her lips dampened. Her hand ran under his shirt, stroking his newly smooth skin, and he curled her hair around his fist, pulling her face from his. When she looked like this, he could keep going, but the hag would drain him if he kept at it long enough. Given enough time with her, even Druloch wouldn’t be able to save him.
Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and she moaned almost imperceptibly. “I’m not sure what’s my favorite part. Elizabeth’s fate in Salem, or when Fiona left you to be eaten by the Fury and you realized your entire existence was pointless.”
“You know, pretty as you are, I’m not really in the mood anymore.” He pulled her arms from his neck and rose, smoothing out his shirt.
“Just as well. I have a score to settle with my husband.”
Gods’ blood, he needed to get out of here. “Good luck with that. I have a flight to catch.” Crossing to the latticed window, he yanked it open and heard the hag screech as he leapt through the window to the garden below.
He raced over the grass to the riverbank, crossing the lawn in a fraction of a second.
Munroe stood in the shadows, her eyes wide. “Jack! What—”
George’s agonized voice interrupted from the house. “What have you done? Where is Jack?”
“What’s happening?” Munroe whispered. “How are we going to get out of here?”
He gripped her arm, yanking her to a copse of hemlock trees, but the idiot moved at a snail’s pace. “Hurry up!” Damned humans.
George’s cries rumbled through the ground, shaking the trees’ leaves. “You betrayed me!”
Jack spied a small sapling, and he pulled the athame from his pocket. Whispering a spell, he sliced through the trunk, felling it.
“What are you doing?” cried Munroe, clutching the bourbon.
The smell of rotting leaves filled the air. George’s dark fury was palpable, and Jack scrambled to rub the herbs on the tree. He straddled the sapling. “Get on,” he barked.
“What?”
Jack glanced behind him, catching a glimpse of Percy Plantation. Black vines crawled over the exterior, shattering windows. George’s form loomed in one jagged window. “Jack!”
His ancient heart hammered. “Get on and hold on tight, or I’m leaving without you.”
She hiked up her dress, and her trembling arm slipped around his waist.
Jack uttered the ancient spell for flight. Around them, the trees groaned, their branches thickening and reaching for him as his feet left the ground. The leaves curled around his skin, the wind whispering through them, Traitor. With a grunt, he broke through their sylvan embrace, racing into the chilly night air. Munroe’s nails dug into his flesh, but he was free.
48
Tobias
Something 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.
49
Celia
The 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.”
50
Celia
“Fiona 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.”
Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) Page 23