She plunged down again, staring in disbelief at the scene before her. Tobias was lowering his flames. Jacques and Lir were fighting Nod and Valac in a frantic blur of clashing swords, so fast she could hardly see what was happening. All she knew was the Guardians were no longer unified. She’d caused a full-blown mutiny, and Lir had finally turned against his brother.
Her jaw dropped as she watched Lir roar, shaking the earth with his fury as the sky unleashed a torrent of rain. He moved so quickly, she didn’t quite see his hands snap his brother’s neck, but she heard the horrible crunch of bone and sinews. Seconds later, Jacques ran his sword through Valac.
Fiona’s hands shook. They’d done it. It had been horrible, but they’d won. Through the driving rain, she gave Tobias a weak smile. His eyes blazing, he walked to her, past the lifeless Guardians.
She opened her palms, glancing down for the relic, but froze in place. Her hands were empty.
Dread enveloped her, and she whirled around to find Jack, standing side by side with Munroe.
53
Jack
Watching Fiona ascend into the night sky, he’d had to catch his breath. She’d held a rangy Picaroon in her arms, flinging him to the earth like a child hurling a despised toy. Somehow, she’d managed to become an acolyte of Nyxobas, granting her the night god’s powers. Jack’s true love had faced her own destruction and come out the other side, a stunning agent of death. Gods, she was perfect. He would do anything for her.
But he’d needed to tune her out, and he’d forced himself to scan the earth, searching for something that looked like a bone until his eyes had fixed on a tiny sliver of white. It had only taken a few seconds for him to snatch it.
“Jack?” Munroe gripped his arm. “Do you have it? Can we get out of here?” Her pale skin shone like a beacon in the stormy night, and he caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes. He felt a strange swell of protectiveness.
His gaze locked on Fiona, who stood before him, staring. Death at her hands seemed almost tempting. Gripping the bone tighter, he glanced at the fire demon—the reason she’d been fighting. The realization rose in him like a sickness.
“Jack,” she said. “Give us the relic.”
Munroe tugged his arm. “What’s wrong with you? Let’s go!”
Fiona’s darkened eyes bored into him, and he felt a desperate urge to take her face in his hands and kiss her, as he had in Boston. This might be the last time he’d ever see her. But she didn’t want him. She wanted the fiery Tatter boy.
Could I be happy with anyone else? Jack glanced at Munroe, who sidled up to him as close as she could. It was good to feel needed. And for some insane reason, Munroe seemed to have faith in him.
He just had to break Fiona’s heart if he wanted to save himself.
Then again, if he was good at one thing, it was gnawing through bone.
Lifting the relic to his mouth, he bit down, gnashing through the center of the bone. When he swallowed the hard lump, he felt his body fill with a clean, white light. His chest felt lighter, as if the vines crushing his heart had suddenly withered away. As winds whispered, his mind blazed with beautiful images. The orchard in Salem. Elizabeth’s pale skin. Fiona—telling him she would sweep the monsters away. His phantom life with her, swept away, replaced by Munroe in a butter-yellow house in the woods, drenched in jewels.
When he opened his eyes, voices rang in his head. The voices of the dead—hundreds of years of his victims, calling his name. He clamped hands to ears. “Not now!” he roared. The voices fell silent again. He owed them his attention, but he’d have to deal with them later.
Fiona stared at him, arms crossed. Waiting to find out if she needs to rip out my heart, or if I’m going to save her little friend.
His eyes lingered on her body, coiled with energy. “Don’t worry, my love. I saved some for your Tatter.” He tossed the other half of the bone to the fire demon.
Tobias’s hands clamped around it, but the fire of hatred never left his dark eyes. Fair enough, Jack decided. I don’t care for him either. But she does.
Fiona heaved a sigh of relief, rushing to her beloved demon. Sickening, really—the stupid devotion between them. And me, left here to watch.
His muscles tensed as the sound of roaring engines broke the silence. Armored vehicles, marked with Purgator insignias, rolled up the hill. Heavy machine-gun turrets were mounted on the roofs, and a deep voice droned out demands for surrender over a loudspeaker.
Jack might not have learned much in his four hundred years, but he knew that it wasn’t worth fighting toe to toe against machine guns.
An uneasy calm filled the air. Jack indulged in one final glance at Fiona before turning to Munroe and steeling himself for the storm.
She gripped his arm, her green eyes shining. “Let’s get out of here.”
The crowd erupted in screams as bullets ripped the air. Jack’s eyes swerved to his enchanted sapling at the common’s edge. He scooped Munroe up in his arms, whisking her across the rocky field.
“Hurry!” she screamed.
They reached the sapling and Jack hopped on, pulling Munroe on in front of him and clutching her waist as he chanted the flying spell.
He exhaled as his feet lifted from the ground, and the sapling carried them into the sky. Below, bullets cut through a horde of wolves scrambling for cover.
As they climbed higher above the treetops, one of the machine-gun turrets locked onto the pair. His heart skipped a beat, and the gun unleashed a hail of bullets.
They grazed his back, piercing his flesh. He was old enough that death shouldn’t scare him, but the thought of obliteration was still terrifying. Maybe what he feared most was what he’d have to face when he died—the whispers of those he’d slaughtered throughout the centuries.
Up into the night sky—Fiona’s night sky—wind rushed over his skin, and the sound of gunfire faded. Please, gods, don’t let them murder Fiona.
As he wrapped his arm tighter around Munroe, he could feel her heart beating beneath her ribs, could smell the jasmine in her hair. She could amuse him, at the very least. Tightening his grip around her, he savored the frantic thrum of her pulse, and was struck by the certainty that if he could enjoy his time on earth, he wouldn’t have to live in terror.
54
Tobias
He was standing between Fiona and the two remaining Guardians when the bullets rang out. All around them, humans transformed into wolves, desperate to flee. He watched in horror as a bullet pierced an old woman’s leg and she crumpled to the ground.
The fires burned within him. His body vibrating with heat, he threw back his head, calling forth the flames to blast the armored vehicles. He could feel Fiona’s presence at his side, stealthy and cool. She sucked in a deep breath, exhaling a furious storm that knocked the machine-guns off target.
He glanced at the Picaroons, who raised their arms, chanting a shielding spell. As they spoke, a shimmering dome appeared, rippling like a wake in a pond. Tobias let the fires recede, watching as Purgator soldiers fell from their burning vehicles.
The bell clanged out across the common—their signal to meet at the belfry.
The green-eyed one turned to them, his jaw clenched. “You need to get out of here. Get everyone out. There are more Purgators coming, and this shield won’t hold forever.”
A driving gale whipped Fiona’s hair into her face. “We’re going to Maremount, and you’re coming with us. The Throcknell army is in disarray, and they’ll be locked out of the city.”
The dark-skinned Picaroon nodded. “I’m going with my Dogtown family.”
The green-eyed Picaroon grimaced. “Maremount?”
“You’ve got nowhere else to go,” said Fiona. “And you obviously can’t stay here.”
Something clouded the sea demon’s eyes, and Tobias felt a flicker of sympathy.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Fiona and the Picaroons took off, darting through the rocky grasses. Before he left, To
bias shot a quick glance up to the sky, watching as Rawhed shot into the darkness. He’d had every chance to kill him just moments ago.
“Tobias!” Fiona shouted, and he broke into a sprint, powering up the hill to the belfry.
An enormous crowd had gathered, swarming around the meeting point. Estelle was screaming at everyone to hurry up, and Oswald stood on her throne, gripping the crumpled spell. Just below him stood Celia, Alan, and Mariana.
As the werewolves poured in, the shield began to fade.
“Oswald!” shouted Estelle. “Read the spell!”
Oswald launched into the Angelic spell, calling it out in a clear and loud tone. As he spoke, bullets began to penetrate the crowd. When Tobias heard the words “King Balthazar,” he felt a mixture of relief and dread.
Oswald was taking them to the King. Tobias closed his eyes, jumping at the lurch in his chest. When he opened them again, he stood with the same crowd of werewolves. Only now, they were just outside the castle gates.
They stood in Lullaby Square, and the only sounds were the whimpers of the injured.
He looked around at the crooked timber-frame buildings and the fortress that towered over the cobbled square in the darkness. It felt surreal being here, a bizarre sense of trespassing in his own home.
Panicked shouts echoed through the square. Already, werewolves laid into the guards at the castle gates. Estelle stood atop the Lilitu Fountain, joining hands with three other women to raise the veil around Maremount.
The King’s army wouldn’t be here to protect their sovereign.
Tobias felt a cool hand on his arm, and he turned to see Fiona. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and nestling into his neck. His pulse raced, and he ran a hand through her hair.
“Did you swallow it?” she asked. “The relic?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” He glanced over to the open portcullis. Thomas was leading the swarming werewolves inside. And somewhere among them, a Tatter hellbent on vengeance and two lethal Picaroons. The King didn’t stand a chance.
She pulled away, frowning. “What are you waiting for?”
He glanced down at the sad fragment of bone—this broken ivory nub that had once belonged to a goddess. They stood here, beneath the Lilitu Fountain, where Eden’s broken body had swung. Where Fiona had nearly lost her life to Jack’s brutal instinct of self-preservation.
“It’s a gift from the devil,” he murmured.
“You didn’t kill him,” she said. “You could have. You know I would have backed you up.”
A cool morning breeze ruffled Tobias’s hair. “Something stopped me. He looked… broken.”
Jack’s palpable misery had sapped away just enough of Tobias’s bloodlust. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to give in to Emerazel’s burning rage; to let it consume him.
Fiona cupped his face, staring at him. “Are you going to eat it, or will I have to make you? Because I’m not letting you die over this. I need you alive. I can’t stay in Maremount without you.”
A spark of hope ignited. “You want to live here with me?”
“Of course. And I want to see everything you’ve told me about. The pond, the nippexies, the mayflower festivals. I want you to show it all to me.”
Gods, it sounded like heaven. How could he resist? Gazing into her midnight eyes, he lifted the bone to his mouth, dropped it on his tongue, and swallowed. It caught in his throat for a moment before sliding down, shimmering through his body in ecstatic waves. He could still feel the fires burning in him, but he had a strange sense that he could control their intensity.
When the last of the goddess’s light burned through him, unwelcome images stirred in his mind. The purple lumps on his mother’s throat as she took her last, gasping breaths. Tobias’s father William, lying in bed for weeks, too broken by the world to stand and dress himself. Then Oswald’s father—drunk and beating his young son with a wooden rod. A haggard face in the House of the Swan Ladies—blond hair, sunken cheeks, bruises on her neck. She looked like Eden, only sick and trampled down by the world. Who was she? He’d seen her before. Is that what Eden would have become, had she lived? He felt a wave of nausea, until Fiona placed a cool hand on his cheek.
“Tobias. Are you okay?”
His eyes snapped open. “Sorry. Some things just came back to me.” He wiped a hand across his brow. “My life here was never perfect, you know. Maybe I made it sound better than it was.”
“Maremount doesn’t have to be perfect. I just need you here.”
When she rested her hand on his cheek, his pulse raced, and his eyes took in everything: the gentle curve of her neck, the sharp, dark eyebrows, her lips slightly parted. He’d been with plenty of girls before, but no one had ever made him feel the way she did—as if he’d been walking around half asleep, until her presence roused him to find a world teeming with life.
He kissed her, and when his arms encircled her, he was struck by how delicate she seemed, her body so small. Her fingers roamed into his hair, and he kissed her softly, his tongue brushing hers. Elation transported him. He was finally home.
55
Celia
Flanked by Mariana and Alan, she stared at the King’s bare feet trailing over the flagstones. Thomas and Oswald were dragging him through the hallway in his nightgown. After the werewolves had overpowered the remaining Throcknell guards, Thomas had raided one of their rooms for iron collars, and one now encircled her father’s neck, totally suppressing his magic.
Mariana touched Celia’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said shortly.
“You don’t feel a little sorry for him?” asked Alan.
It was hard to rejoice in the pathetic display. She stared as her father’s large feet thumped down the cold, granite steps. Tearing into a furious rant, spit flew from his mouth. “I am a direct descendant of Borgerith! The gods’ blood flows in my—unhand me, you animals!”
There was a time when his roar would have made her tremble, but now she just wanted to look the other way in embarrassment.
She needed to remember everything he’d done: He’d murdered her mom. He’d withheld medicines and education from the Tatters. He’d tortured countless people, Oswald among them. She should feel victorious.
Instead, as she watched Oswald and Thomas throw him into a cell, she felt only a twinge of bitterness for the man who’d once ruled the kingdom with an iron fist. It didn’t bring her any joy to watch his red-faced tirade when Oswald locked the door to his cell.
She had an uncomfortable feeling he would die in there, ranting to the walls and the rats.
When Balthazar was secured in the Iron Tower, Thomas guided her and Oswald through the winding stairwells and tunnels, retracing the escape route he’d discovered weeks ago. Through the stone walls, she could hear shouts and breaking glass. All over the castle, wolves roamed wild, tearing through armories and banquet halls, leaving their mark on all the pointless, expensive crap that decorated the fortress.
A part of her hoped they’d tear the place down. Nothing good had ever come from these walls.
Just outside a wooden door, Thomas turned to them. “Celia’s old room. You all can rest in here.” He pushed open the door. Moonlight streamed in through the large windows that overlooked her bed. Celia sucked in a breath at the eerie familiarity of the place. So much had changed in the few weeks since she’d last been here, trapped as a prisoner.
Alan looked around. “Beautiful place. Don’t suppose you get WiFi here?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
Thomas rubbed his face. “I can’t believe we made it. It doesn’t seem real. Just weeks ago, I was lying here riddled with the plague. Oswald was completely broken on the stairs. Everything that’s happened since March…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I was lost before. I want to think I’m not lost anymore.”
She shrugged. “You’ve got us.”
“I’ve got you,” he agreed with a smile. “And we’ve
got work to do.”
Mariana crossed her arms. “What, like figuring out who the hell is going to run the city after the werewolves finish breaking shit?”
“Pretty much.”
“We just need to sort out a few centuries of oppression and class warfare,” said Alan, frowning. “No big deal.”
“There’s the Ragmen,” said Oswald, unconsciously tracing his fingers over his scars. “They’re already leaders among the Tatters. And most of Maremount is Tatters.”
Celia frowned. “They don’t have any experience in the city. They live out in the woods. You can’t lock up all the nobility.”
Oswald glared. “At least the Ragmen—”
“Guys,” Thomas cut in. “We don’t have to sort this out now. I’m going to come find you in the morning.”
Celia’s eyebrows shot up. “Where are you going now?”
He paused to look at his fingernails, suddenly avoiding their eyes. “I was going to meet Cadonia. See how she’s doing.”
Celia frowned. “The crazy one with the squirrel?”
He looked affronted. “Chipmunk, actually. She’s very nice. And I’m not sure that any of us are in any position to judge other people for being crazy.”
She sighed. “Whatever makes you happy, Thomas.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
She ignored the sarcasm in his tone, smiling as he took off out the door.
Mariana bit her lip. “Are there more rooms nearby?”
“For what?” asked Celia.
“Um, we kind of thought you two might want to be alone,” said Alan.
Have we been that obvious? Blushing, she pointed to a door. “Through there. First door on the right. And I’m guessing you two also want to be alone.”
Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) Page 25