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

by C. N. Crawford

  “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.

  51

  Tobias

  Standing atop Estelle’s throne, Tobias drew a deep breath of briny air, painfully aware that this would be one of his last. Fiona was coming for his neck. But before he would give his life to her, he would burn the Throcknell army to the ground.

  Gripping a pike in both hands, he listened to the earth rumble beneath him. A sword hung at his waist. It seemed as though the entire Throcknell army were storming up the hill—a thousand men at least. The werewolves formed a line in the common, some transforming. Others remained in human form, gripping copper-plated weapons. Thomas, Alan, and Estelle stood nearby, pikes ready.

  Fingers tightening around his pike, Tobias felt a rough hand grasp his chin, yanking it back, and a knife at his throat. Seven hells. Some of the Throcknell soldiers, cloaked by invisibility, had come for him in advance. Dropping his pike, he struck out with his elbow, cracking the ribs of an assailant. He felt a sharp pain as something lanced into his back. Another thrust of a blade ripped through his kidney.

  He was being stabbed, and he couldn’t even see his attackers.

  As his heart hammered, he could feel himself bleeding out. Someone jammed a knife through his ribs and yanked it out again. He gripped his chest, blood pouring through his fingers. He couldn’t breathe.

  So this was how he’d die. Better than eternal hellfire
, but he needed to see Fiona one last time—even if she wasn’t the same. An unseen spear lanced his gut, and he could feel his pulse begin to slow, his skin growing icy.

  Tobias’s eyes widened, and he stared at the night sky, until something interrupted the view—moonlight glinting off metal. Thomas stood above him, slashing his pike into unseen soldiers, the air filling the groans and gurgles of dying soldiers. Alan fought by his side, cutting through the invisible soldiers, and Tobias glimpsed the blood coating their weapons before his vision started to go dark.

  Someone was shouting his name, but his body had grown frigid, Emerazel’s fire all but snuffed out. His hand drifted over a gaping wound between his ribs. His body had been ripped open by Throcknell metal. An odd sense of calm washed over him, and he stared at the pinpricks of light in the night sky. Was this what it felt like when Mother died? And Eden?

  Thomas and Alan were talking to him, but he tuned them out. He closed his eyes, listening to the the pounding of feet on rock, thumping along like a heartbeat. The Throcknell army, advancing.

  He thought of Fiona, her slim body pressed against him in the woods. Her golden skin, wild hair, and bare legs. The look in her eyes when she’d first seen him. Gods, he’d give anything to see her one last time. His heart thrummed. He could feel himself glowing like an ember, and then a cold wind rippled over the earth, stoking his flame. His body crackled with light. Hot, molten power surged through him, enflaming his heart and limbs until his entire body blazed.

  Heat ignited his nerves, cauterizing his wounds. The fire was excruciating and euphoric at the same time. He gasped, trying to catch his breath. Grasping for his pike, he stood between Thomas and Alan, who clapped him on the back. The rest of the army was nearly upon them.

  Tobias swung his pike, and Emerazel’s inferno erupted through the metal, raining fire on the Throcknells’ front lines. Agonized screams filled the air, and to his horror, Tobias felt a shiver of pleasure, watching as they threw themselves to the ground, trying to douse the flames.

  As the Throcknells burned, the werewolves rushed in. The deafening sound of clanging metal rang across the common. Tobias jumped into the fray with his sword, and within moments he was lost in a whirl of slashing and blocking, his sword finding its mark again and again. He was the flames of Haphaestus from the depths of Mount Etna. He was the blazing gases of the sun’s core, and his body roared with glorious heat.

  “Tobias!” Alan screamed. “The Purgators are here!”

  Tobias heard helicopter rotors beating overhead, and his vision began to clear. The blades beat louder, and white lights danced over the trees surrounding the common. Holy gods. They’re going to cover all of Dogtown in that dust. He sucked in a deep breath before bellowing, “Wolves! Run for the trees!”

  A sword in her hand, Estelle caught Tobias’s eye. “Wolves! Retreat!”

  A line of ten helicopters approached, each carrying some sort of tank. “We are ordering you to surrender,” an amplified voice droned. “Do not try to run from us. Do not try to fight us.”

  Those in human form transformed, bolting for the trees, and Tobias followed, sprinting through the common. A confused swarm of Throcknell soldiers remained, at least half of them badly injured.

  Over the south side of the common, something red and shimmery began to spray from the tanks below the helicopters. Agonized shrieks pierced the air. Throcknells and werewolves alike scattered, trying to escape the pain, and another helicopter dumped dust. Throcknell soldiers ran for the ocean, desperate to wash it off. A victory for chaos.

  But something was happening to the helicopters. The winds blew harder and they began to fly erratically, swerving through the dark sky. As he stood by the edge of the forest, a cold breeze chilled Tobias’s skin. From the bottom of the hill, a silvery light glowed, the color of the moon. The wind grew stronger, blowing back his hair. Around him, the trees groaned.

  He stared, open-mouthed, as the helicopters slammed into each other and burst into flame.

  Fiona.

  One by one, each aircraft crashed and the flaming wreckage plummeted to the common, leaving great chunks of blazing metal over the craggy slopes.

  Tobias dropped his sword. She’d come for him. Blood roaring in his ears, he started into the common.

  Estelle gripped his arm. “Why aren’t you bringing your weapon? There are still Throcknells out there.”

  He turned to look at the Queen, her face fiercely beautiful. “Fiona’s here for me.”

  He crossed the grass, drawn to her as if by a gravitational pull. A silvery fog hung over the common, and when he saw her perfect form stride through the glow, he caught himself flickering between awe and terror. Her dark hair curled over her shoulders, and her body seemed to hum with strength. Byron, her familiar, had returned, and circled above her head.

  When she saw him, he thought he caught a brief moment of hesitation before she hurled herself through the air, fast as the winds of a hurricane. She slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, and he felt her hands wrap around his neck. In the next second, her teeth were at his throat.

  52

  Fiona

  Her hands closed around his throat, and her eyes lingered on his skin. She’d never seen him this clearly before. Of course she’d seen the sharp cheekbones, the dark eyes slightly turned up at the sides, his beautiful mouth. But now she could see every pore of his tawny skin, and the fire that danced beneath. She wanted to see all of him.

  For a moment, she had an impulse to sink her teeth into his throat. Nothing this beautiful could last forever.

  But she wasn’t here to kill him. He was her fire in the darkness, and she needed him. She leaned down, kissing his neck, and he shuddered with pleasure.

  “Why aren’t you putting up a fight?” she whispered. “I’m supposed to kill you. I have to make it look real.”

  She heard him gasp, but had to stay focused. She stood, grabbing him by the collar. His eyes widened, and she flung him across the common. Gods, this power felt glorious. And he’s a fire demon. He can take a little bruising.

  She leapt into the air, soaring on the wind before landing gently near him.

  He rose, staring at her. “I need you to kill me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The hellhound comes for me tomorrow. It’s the only way out of the fire.”

  Glancing down the hill, she saw Nod watching, his arms folded. If she didn’t make this look real, the Guardians would kill them both. She’d impressed him with her destruction of the Purgator helicopters, but what he really wanted was fire-demon blood.

  She ran at her friend, slamming her shoulder into him and tossing him into the air. Cool wind rippled through her hair, caressing her skin as they flew deep into the woods. They landed hard against a tree, out of Nod’s line of vision. Tobias grunted as his back slammed against the bark, and she had a sudden impulse to kiss him all over. But there wasn’t time for that now.

  He had a dazed look in his eyes, and she lifted his chin. “I need you to help me. Nod has the relic around his neck. I’m going to attack him. Do your best to keep the other Picaroons away from me. Don’t hurt them unless you have to.”

  Tobias stared at her, dark eyes shining, and he slipped a hand around the back of her neck. He pulled her in for a kiss, slow and deep, and she pushed herself against him, feeling the warmth of his chest against hers. For a moment, all thoughts went out of her head; she almost forgot who she was, why she was here.

  He pulled away. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Hand in hand, they slipped through the shadows, rushing through the trees. At the woods’ edge, she set her sights on the Picaroons. They were looking for her. Luckily for her, Nod had moved apart from the others, walking in her direction. She crouched before springing into the howling winds. When she plunged down again, she slammed her elbow into Nod’s head with all the force she could muster. He fell back, dazed.

/>   Fiona’s heart thudded against her ribs. Within moments, a circle of fire surrounded them. Tobias’s flames. She grasped for the relic around Nod’s neck. But by the next heartbeat, his hands were around her throat.

  Blue flames flashed in his eyes, and he tightened his fingers. “I thought you would be loyal,” he bellowed. “I trusted you.”

  Her windpipe closed. Under her feet, the ground trembled.

  She closed her eyes, and an image flashed in her mind. Nyxobas rushing at her with his scythe. She’d already died once today.

  Slipping her arms between Nod’s, she pried his hands off before slamming a fist into his throat. She snatched the relic from his neck. Leaping into the briny air, she cleared the flames. She landed again on the hard rock, searching for Tobias. He stood within another circle of fire, body blazing as he fought to keep the flames alive against Valac and Marlowe, who held their arms outstretched, chanting to douse them. Storm clouds roiled in the skies, and the ground rumbled. Dogtown’s death rattle.

  Shooting a quick glance to Lir, she found him staring, his mouth agape and eyes swirling green and black. She really didn’t want to hurt him. She just needed to get the relic to Tobias.

  She began to ascend into the air, but someone yanked her hair from behind, slamming her down against the rocks. In the next second, Marlowe was on top of her, his face contorted with rage. He gripped her hair, smashing her head against the stone, and pain exploded in her skull. He slammed her head down a second time, and she felt something crack. Her head swam; the breath left her lungs.

  She needed the night air. She needed to slip into the shadows, into the empty parts of the sky, and disappear.

  As her vision went dark, she felt her body charge with hurricane-force energy. She lifted her hips, flinging Marlowe to the side. When he thudded against the earth, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and jumped high into the air. Wild marine winds churned above the common, and she felt the first fat drops of rain from the storm the Picaroons had called up. Exhilarated, she dropped Marlowe to the rocky earth, listening to the thump of his body on rock.