A Witch's Feast

by C. N. Crawford

  CONTENTS

  Description

  Chapter One - Jack

  Chapter Two - Tobias

  Chapter Three - Fiona

  Chapter Four - Tobias

  Chapter Five - Fiona

  Chapter Six - Fiona

  Chapter Seven - Thomas

  Chapter Eight - Thomas

  Chapter Nine - Jack

  Chapter Ten - Fiona

  Chapter Eleven - Thomas

  Chapter Twelve - Fiona

  Chapter Thirteen - Tobias

  Chapter Fourteen - Fiona

  Chapter Fifteen - Tobias

  Chapter Sixteen - Thomas

  Chapter Seventeen - Jack

  Chapter Eighteen - Fiona

  Chapter Nineteen - Thomas

  Chapter Twenty - Jack

  Chapter Twenty-One - Thomas

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Thomas

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Fiona

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Fiona

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Thomas

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Fiona

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Tobias

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Jack

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Tobias

  Chapter Thirty - Fiona

  Chapter Thirty-One - Thomas

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Tobias

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Fiona

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Thomas

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Fiona

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Fiona

  Chapter Thirty-Seven - Jack

  Chapter Thirty-Eight - Thomas

  Chapter Thirty-Nine - Fiona

  Chapter Forty - Thomas

  Chapter Forty-One - Thomas

  Chapter Forty-Two - Fiona

  Chapter Forty-Three - Fiona

  Chapter Forty-Four - Fiona

  Chapter Forty-Five - Tobias

  Chapter Forty-Six - Fiona

  Chapter Forty-Seven - Fiona

  Chapter Forty-Eight - Thomas

  Chapter Forty-Nine - Celia

  Chapter Fifty - Celia

  Chapter Fifty-One - Celia

  Chapter Fifty-Two - Jack

  Chapter Fifty-Three - Jack

  Chapter Fifty-Four - Fiona

  Chapter Fifty-Five - Fiona

  Chapter Fifty-Six - Tobias

  Chapter Fifty-Seven - Fiona

  Chapter Fifty-Eight - Celia

  Chapter Fifty-Nine - Tobias

  Description

  While a ghostly army terrorizes Boston, Fiona and her friends are forced to flee the city. Luckily, the esteemed Ranulf family has offered private tutoring at their old plantation in Virginia. It would be the perfect place for Fiona to practice her new witchcraft skills.

  Except for one thing: The Ranulfs come from a long line of witch-hunters. Even worse—Tobias has been acting strangely, spending time with the witch-hunters’ obnoxious daughter.

  When Fiona digs deeper, she uncovers not only the twisted history of the plantation, but also a terrible secret about Tobias.

  And as the bloodthirsty cult closes in, she is forced to confront the demons of her own past.

  * * *

  A Witch’s Feast

  Book 2 of the Memento Mori Series.

  Published by Gothic Imprints.

  Copyright © 2015 by C.N. Crawford.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Summary of The Witching Elm

  A Witch’s Feast is the sequel to The Witching Elm.

  This summary contains major spoilers from The Witching Elm.

  In the first book, Tobias Corvin was forced to flee his magical homeland after the monster, Rawhed, rampaged through his city. In his chaotic flight, Tobias became separated from his girlfriend, Eden, and her brother Oswald.

  After arriving in Boston, Tobias met his new roommate, Alan. Tobias blended in at the school by passing himself off as an exchange student from England.

  But after summoning a demon and murdering a succubus, Tobias could no longer hide his witchy side (or, as Tobias would tell you, his philosopher side). At least, he couldn’t keep it a secret from Alan and a trio of magic-obsessed girls (Celia, Fiona, and Mariana).

  Tobias and Fiona grew closer, and when she wasn’t going on dates with the beautiful and charming Jack, she was practicing magic with Tobias. Among other things, Fiona learned how to transform into a bat. The group of friends formed a coven that practiced magic in a secret tower, so when Rawhed’s ghostly army appeared in Boston one night, Tobias, Fiona and the rest jumped into action.

  They joined forces with Thomas, a British folklore student who helped them uncover the key to defeating Rawhed: they needed to bury the bones of the Wampanoag leader, King Philip, in a magical ceremony performed in Tobias’s magical homeland.

  As Rawhed’s army closed in, Tobias and his friends rushed to get to Maremount. They hit a stumbling block when confronted by Munroe, a classmate who worshipped an ancient god of blood. Munroe’s religion forbade the use of magic. But in the chaos of Rawhed’s attack—and with the school building burning around them—Tobias’s coven found a way past Munroe and her witch-hunting friends.

  But the coven hit another obstacle when they learned of a betrayal from one of their own. The blonde and gorgeous Celia wasn’t just a witch in Tobias’s coven, but was secretly an exiled member of Maremount’s royal family. And in trying to save her cousin from Maremount’s scaffold, she got her entire coven into trouble.

  After a fight with the royal guards, Fiona and Tobias fled to the woods—where they encountered Rawhed himself. And he was not who the expected. As it turned out, Rawhed and Jack were the same person. Fiona’s boyfriend was not the beautiful teenager she’d thought, but a four-hundred-year old alchemist. Not only did Jack eat human flesh, but he had once been a judge in the Salem Witch Trials.

  Meanwhile, Jack’s forces had condemned Tobias’s girlfriend to death. When Tobias rushed to save Eden from the gallows, he was forced to chose between saving Eden and saving Fiona. He chose to save Fiona first, and he watched as Eden’s neck snapped.

  When the book ended, Tobias, Fiona, and the rest of the coven had just made it back to Boston. But the remnants of Jack’s army still terrorized the city, and both Thomas and Celia had been left behind in Maremount.

  * * *

  To James, who should really nap more.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jack

  Warm water ran down Jack’s skin, and he watched the sulfurous mud slough off his body and into the drain. Inhaling the steam, he squeezed a big dollop of lavender soap into a loofa and began to scrub at the dried mud and gore on his chest. Red and brown streaks swirled on the shower floor.

  He felt a wave of nausea when he thought of Fiona’s face after she’d seen him with the blood dripping down his chin. She’d called him a monster, as if he were Old Cratten himself. He wasn’t sure what had horrified her more: watching him eat someone’s heart, learning of his role in the Salem Witch Trials, or the fact that he’d once been an unsightly old man. He had a suspicion that she was the most repulsed by the thought of him with sagging flesh and rheumy eyes. Well, he was no longer burdened with that body. He scrubbed at the caked dirt on his arms, admiring the smooth skin on his muscles as he did so.

  When the shower floor was clear of blood, he turned off the water and stepped out. Grabbing a towel, he rubbed at his black hair and aching limbs. Being hunted out of another dimension by a spirit-assisted army wasn’t something that happened every day, not even to him.

  He massaged his shoulders and neck
with almond lotion. Fiona would come round. Of course he’d killed people over the years, but someone else had already condemned them to death. That was the point—death is inevitable. The Creator had passed her sentence.

  When he was a boy, he had tried to save one person at a time. He had protested when he saw those women whipped in the dirt streets at his father’s orders. (What would his father have done to him if he’d known he was a Philosopher and not a Puritan?)

  He sighed. It had always been someone named Ann who was tormented in those days—an Ann being hanged or beaten in the streets, an Ann starving to death in a muddy jail cell, his mother, Ann, losing her mind and thrusting a kitchen knife through the delicate bones in her hand. But what would happen if he had saved one of those Anns? They’d get a short reprieve from their corporeal punishment—no more. The Creator’s curse was universally applied.

  A knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts. Elsa, probably. His petite blonde neighbor always found a reason to stop by. She would wait.

  He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he pulled on a pair of silk underwear. That idiot, his ancestor Nathaniel Hawthorne, had called him a “black-browed Puritan.” It was true that his eyebrows were black and severe, but beautiful blue eyes twinkled beneath them. He had his diet to thank for his porcelain skin and flushed cheeks. It was only unfortunate that ingesting human flesh left him with a perpetual hunger, gnawing at him even now.

  Stretching his arms above his head, he loosened the muscles in his back and stepped into his bedroom, casting a quick glance at the dark storm raging outside. He pulled out gray wool pants, a navy blue T-shirt, and an ashy cashmere sweater from his bureau. As he dressed, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A gypsy moth fluttered near the ceiling, but no aura glowed around it. It was an ordinary moth—not a philosopher’s familiar.

  The caller knocked again, louder this time.

  “Samael’s skin,” he grumbled as he walked to the entrance. He forced himself to smile as he opened the door.

  “Hi, Jack!” Elsa beamed at him and twirled a long strand of blond hair around her finger. “I got a piece of your mail again.”

  He smiled, tilting his head. “It’s almost as if you were taking it out of my mailbox.”

  Her smile disappeared, and he inhaled the metallic smell of cortisol. Her fear was scrumptious.

  He leaned against the doorframe, taking the letter from her hand. “I was only joking.” He lowered his chin and looked up at her from beneath his long lashes.

  She smiled again, exhaling. “Oh.”

  He moved toward her. “What is that scent you’re wearing? It’s lovely.” Lifting her wrist to his nose, he inhaled and closed his eyes. Could he really be this hungry again?

  She blushed, looking away. “Oh, I’m not—it’s not anything. Just me, I guess.”

  Her thin wrist lay in his hand as he looked into her eyes, pulling her in slightly closer. He wanted to start with her belly. When the little ribs cracked and the blood flowed hot into his hands… but he mustn’t think about it like that. It was vile, and it wasn’t time to eat yet. “Do you want to come over tomorrow evening for some tea?”

  “I’d love that.” She pulled her wrist away. “I could come by at seven.”

  “I look forward to it.” He rubbed his thumb over her wrist before releasing it.

  After casting one last glance at him with a flicker of a smile, she strutted down the hall, tugging at the edge of her white T-shirt.

  After closing the door, he took a seat on the chaise lounge. He picked up a warm cup of over-brewed tea and plucked out the tea bag. Just a few moments of pure relaxation was all he needed, safe inside his apartment as the storm god raged outside.

  A sizzling noise disrupted the quiet of the room, followed by a burning smell.

  “Samael’s skin!” He jumped up and peered into the lampshade’s opening.

  The moth’s blackened body twitched against the lightbulb, and a thin tendril of smoke curled up into the air.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tobias

  His jaw set tight, Tobias skulked along Walnut Street’s brick sidewalk. In the roiling skies above, the storm god raged, spearing the charcoal morning sky with light and lashing Beacon Hill’s narrow streets with rain.

  Tobias’s dark hair lay plastered to his head. Under his sodden blue T-shirt, rage knotted his chest.

  It had been nearly a week since he’d helped defeat the Harvesters in the Battle of Maremount, but a magical aura still charged the atmosphere. The air felt electrified even here in Boston, though philosophers had severed this city from Maremount long ago. In the chaotic aftermath of the battle, it had taken Tobias and Fiona a full day to find the rest of their coven. Tobias had been relieved to find them safe in a sports stadium converted into a temporary shelter. And now, his friends prepared to flee the chaos.

  But Tobias had more immediate plans. He knew Jack’s address. He’d spent the past few days hunting a Harvester through the winding streets of the North End. He’d pulled the man into an alley, smashing his head against a cement wall until he’d given up his master’s secrets.

  Tobias hugged himself in the frigid rain. The image kept replaying in his mind—the moment when Eden’s neck had snapped, and the world had stopped.

  How stupid had he been when he’d first arrived in Boston? If he’d been more focused, maybe Jack wouldn’t have slipped through his fingers. He’d trained with the Ragmen in Maremount, but had failed to hold a single weapon since arriving. Until now.

  Turning the corner of a street lined with redbrick townhouses, he clutched an eight-inch chef’s knife in his right hand. It wasn’t as good as a pike, but he would need any advantage he could get against Jack. The last time they’d met in the Tuckomock Forest, a simple flick of Jack’s wrist had sent Tobias soaring to the treetops. He was the most powerful philosopher Tobias had ever encountered.

  Still, Tobias had the element of surprise on his side. Once inside the building, he could turn invisible and take as long as he needed to sneak into Jack’s apartment undetected. He had no qualms about killing Jack in his sleep.

  He pushed his drenched hair out of his eyes and examined the gold numbering on the side of a brick building to his right. Number 27. He climbed stone steps to a red painted door, scanning the list of names next to buzzers. Apartment number three, Jack’s, was unlabeled. But Tobias pushed a button near the top instead: Mitchell.

  A female voice crackled through the intercom. “Hello?”

  “Delivery for apartment three. I need you to buzz me in.” Does that sound right? Delivery?

  “Oh. Um… okay.”

  The buzzer sounded, and he clicked open the door into a white-walled hall. A stairway led upward, but Jack’s apartment would be on the ground floor.

  Wooden boards creaked under Tobias’s feet as he stalked up the hallway. As he approached apartment three, he saw that the door was cracked open. He hadn’t expected that.

  He gripped the knife tighter, pushing open Jack’s door. He stepped into a large central room, empty of furniture. To the right, a bare kitchen adjoined the room.

  His heart hammered against his ribs. No sign of Jack. A blessing in some ways, since he’d forgotten to use the cloaking spell before he barged in. He clenched his jaw, stepping in further to survey the high-ceilinged room. At the other end of the living room was a white door, probably leading to the bedroom.

  Perhaps there would be some clue as to Jack’s location, but it wasn’t immediately apparent. Three domed alcoves set into the wall lay empty, and nothing hung on the dusty green walls. The only sign of Jack was the deep maroon droplets of dried blood marring the wooden floor—no doubt the remnants of one of his meals.

  Tobias tiptoed to the bedroom door, shooting a quick look behind him before turning the brass doorknob. It creaked as it opened into a smaller room painted a deep red. Apart from an oak wardrobe, this room was also empty. A window overlooked the sidewalk, guarded by iron bars to protect
the glass.

  Another door to the right led to a white-tiled bathroom. After sliding open the glass shower door, he crouched, inspecting the floor. A swirl of earth remained near the drain, and a single black hair. Jack. Tobias plucked it from the drain and rose to grab a tissue from the counter. He carefully folded the hair into the tissue and tucked it into his pocket.

  He rubbed his eyes, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His straight hair had grown unkempt in the past couple of months, and though he’d built up his physique in Boston, the past few days had taken a toll. He hadn’t remembered to eat, and his high cheekbones stood out sharply. Shadows underlined his dark, almond-shaped eyes. His skin, normally a deep bronze, had taken on a pallid hue. I need to remember to keep my strength up if I’m going to defeat the beast.

  He swallowed hard. Jack must have stood in this very spot not long ago, gazing at his own pretty face while drooling over Fiona and fresh human hearts.

  Focus, Tobias. He shook his head, returning to the empty bedroom and crossing to the wardrobe. Pulling open one of the heavy doors, he scanned its contents. Empty hangers jangled from a bar along the top and a few rumpled T-shirts lay below. On a shelf near the bottom sat a scrying stone. Tobias picked it up. It was as opaque as a crone’s eye. A crack ran through its center. Useless. No wonder he’d left it behind.

  He crouched down, rolling open a drawer only to find it empty. But the second drawer was not. Behind three rows of neatly folded black and gray socks was a long, black leather satchel. A smile curled his lips as he pulled it out and carefully reached inside, his hand gripping a smooth hilt. Unsheathing the knife revealed a sharp steel blade with a smooth obsidian handle. An athame. It was nearly a foot long. He inhaled deeply. If he’d had this in the past few weeks, his encounters with the Harvesters would have been much more successful.

  A white design marked the hilt: two concentric circles, the inner of which contained a triangle. It was the symbol of Emerazel, the fire goddess. A shiver slithered up his spine. This was a dangerous sort of magic.

  As he ran his fingers over the inscribed seal, footfalls approached through the living room. Tobias’s stomach lurched, and he shoved the knife into his pocket, muttering the cloaking spell. Within his clothes, the athame was invisible.