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

  Witches of the Deep

  Book 3 of the Memento Mori Series

  C.N. Crawford

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also by C.N. Crawford

  Summary of a Witch’s Feast

  1. Fiona

  2. Celia

  3. Tobias

  4. Fiona

  5. Celia

  6. Fiona

  7. Fiona

  8. Tobias

  9. Fiona

  10. Jack

  11. Fiona

  12. Fiona

  13. Celia

  14. Fiona

  15. Tobias

  16. Fiona

  17. Fiona

  18. Fiona

  19. Jack

  20. Fiona

  21. Fiona

  22. Fiona

  23. Tobias

  24. Tobias

  25. Fiona

  26. Fiona

  27. Fiona

  28. Fiona

  29. Fiona

  30. Fiona

  31. Fiona

  32. Celia

  33. Fiona

  34. Fiona

  35. Jack

  36. Fiona

  37. Celia

  38. Fiona

  39. Tobias

  40. Tobias

  41. Fiona

  42. Jack

  43. Fiona

  44. Jack

  45. Fiona

  46. Fiona

  47. Jack

  48. Tobias

  49. Celia

  50. Celia

  51. Tobias

  52. Fiona

  53. Jack

  54. Tobias

  55. Celia

  56. Fiona

  Free Novella

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Witches of the Deep

  Book 3 of the The Memento Mori Trilogy.

  Copyright © 2016 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.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by C.N. Crawford

  Magic Hunter is set in the Memento Mori world. It follows the story of a Purgator who finds herself forced to live among the demons she once hunted.

  Summary of a Witch’s Feast

  Witches of the Deep is the sequel to A Witch’s Feast and The Witching Elm.

  This summary contains spoilers from A Witch’s Feast.

  In A Witch’s Feast, Fiona and Tobias fled Boston to escape Jack’s Harvester attacks—but they only made it out after Tobias carved a demonic mark in his chest. That action saved his life—and it granted him terrifying new powers.

  After fleeing Boston, the friends took refuge on Munroe’s family plantation in Virginia. Unfortunately, Munroe’s family came from a long line of witch hunters, and their attentions soon turned to Fiona and her coven.

  Meanwhile, Thomas’s fate in Maremount was just as precarious. He and Tobias’s oldest friend, Oswald, ended up imprisoned by the Throcknell king until they were able to make a harrowing escape.

  As Jack continued his search for something called “the relic,” the witch-hunters in Virginia imprisoned Mariana. Fiona’s mother raced south to save them—but she didn’t quite make it there before they had to flee

  At the end of the book, Jack lay in a burning Purgator temple, while Tobias, Fiona, Thomas and the rest headed for a legendary city called Dogtown.

  1

  Fiona

  Fiona leaned into Tobias, too tired to care about the whole “demon” thing. So he was some kind of hell creature who could light people on fire with his mind. Right now, she just needed someone to help her walk, and Tobias was willing.

  Clouds hid the moon. Only Tobias’s foxfire orbs lit their way. But even through the dim light, she could see what a sorry sight they made, stumbling through the thick undergrowth, dressed in scraps of silk and velvet.

  Fiona’s burnt-amber ball gown was torn at the bodice, the hem soaked through with mud. Alan trudged listlessly in a bramble-torn suit—another ragged refugee of the Purgators’ attempted human sacrifice.

  At least Alan was wearing clothes. Fiona exhaled slowly, trying not to stare at Tobias’s exposed skin. Munroe’s cult had left him wearing nothing but a pair of black underwear, his demon scar exposed on his bare chest.

  But what freaked her out even more was her mom’s silence. Fiona had been calling her all night, with no answer. What the hell had happened?

  She hit redial on the cell phone for what must have been the four-hundredth time.

  “You’ve reached the voicemail of Josephine Forzese. Please leave a message.”

  “Mom? It’s me again. Everything is okay. I mean, we’re all alive. Except Connor died, but... I just want to know where you are. I thought you were going to show up in Virginia. Just call me.”

  She hung up, cramming the phone into her bodice and looking around at her companions. Tobias’s friend Oswald walked at the front of the group in silence. His imprisonment in Maremount had rendered him naked apart from a bloodstained bathrobe, which hung open to the waist. It exposed the words his torturer had burned into his chest:

  RAGMAN.

  Of all of them, he looked the most terrifying, and his cold, gray gaze didn’t help matters.

  Thomas didn’t look much better. His dirt-encrusted pearls and tattered tunic made him look like a lunatic court jester. In his arms, Mariana lay barely conscious in a filthy T-shirt. It must’ve been weeks since either of them had had a change of clothes. Even if they found Dogtown, there was no way the residents would want to let them in.

  In her simple gown, Celia was the only one who didn’t look like something dredged from a nightmare.

  If Fiona had seen this group trudging through the forest, she’d have run far, far away. “Shouldn’t we have stopped to buy new clothes and some sandwiches?” she asked. “I mean, I’m glad we bought that dude’s phone, but some shoes would’ve been nice. We have five pounds of gold, for crying out loud.”

  Thomas halted his march. “So as the Purgators were plastering your faces all over the media, hoping they might get to burn you at the stake, you wanted us to discreetly pop by a shopping center, dressed like madmen, and offer to exchange gold nuggets for new jeans?”

  Fiona scowled, deciding against a response. As always, the scholar had a point.

  Thomas pressed on. “I’m sure they’ll take the gold in Dogtown in return for some new clothes. They’ve been isolated since the 17th century, just like in Maremount. I doubt they have credit cards. But don’t mention the philosopher’s stone to anyone. People will kill for that sort of thing.”

  “Don’t mention the teleportation spell, either,” said Tobias. Both spells lay tucked in a backpack slung over his shoulder. “We might need that again, and I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

  “I’ll need it, for one,” said Oswald. “Erelong, I plan to rebound home.”

  Fiona blinked. Was it her imagination, or was the sky brightening in the east? They must have walked all night. The woods here couldn’t be more than six square miles. But of course, they had no idea how to find a hidden wolf town. They were basically just wandering aimlessly through the forest. “What else do you know about this place, Thomas? Besides the fact that it’s inhabited by wolf people?”

  Thomas rubbed his stubble. More of a beard now, really. “They were left out of the creation
of Maremount. They were too odd, perhaps slightly criminal. The Dogtowners made their own safe haven to escape the Salem witch craze, and sometimes they give philosophers sanctuary—as long as they’re willing to pay.”

  “Odd and slightly criminal,” repeated Alan. “Sounds promising.”

  Celia frowned. “Are you even sure this place is real? I think I’m about to die from exhaustion.”

  “If that’ll stop you from clavering on, I won’t complain,” said Oswald.

  Fiona looked up through the gnarled tree branches. The sky was lightening. Pale periwinkle shone through the maples.

  A heavy fog rolled in between the trunks. Thick and briny, the mist must have drifted inland from the nearby Atlantic. Ahead, Oswald disappeared into the fog.

  She tightened her grip on Tobias’s arm, glancing around, but it was impossible to see. Where had everyone gone?

  “Stop walking,” whispered Tobias.

  Along with his voice came a flurry of whispers. Fiona caught only fragments: “…philosophers... escaped the Purgators... that one in... beautiful... shouldn’t fly... Borgerith of the Rocks…”

  She inched closer to Tobias just as the fog began to thin a little, and the woods around them grew sparse.

  They stood on a rocky hill, in some sort of town common. Surrounded by onlookers in the mist.

  The werewolves.

  She blinked, suddenly unsure if the scene before her was real, or if she was losing her mind from lack of sleep.

  On a rocky throne, not ten feet from them, sat a beautiful young woman, a few years older than Fiona. Her long, brown hair tumbled over a fur-lined cape, and she wore a stag’s head with gilded antlers as a crown. She clutched a scepter, topped by a carved wolf’s head. Chunky necklaces, made from animals’ teeth and seashells, draped over a colorful dress: amber, pumpkin and cerulean shades that dazzled Fiona’s tired eyes.

  The last of the fog wound through dirt roads, between ramshackle houses, and down a bouldered hill, and when it had fully cleared, Fiona had a better view of the people who surrounded them—a few hundred humans, and nearly as many wolves and dogs.

  The woman—their queen—was stunning, but eerily still. When she narrowed her dark eyes at them, goose bumps rose on Fiona’s arms.

  “My name is Estelle Younger, Queen of Dogtown as sanctioned by Borgerith, our goddess of stone.” The wind played with her hair, but the rest of her was still as her stone throne. “You philosophers seek sanctuary with us?”

  Thomas tried to smooth out his ragged ensemble. “We do. And we can pay you. A pound of gold.”

  The woman’s eyes darted to Fiona, flashing from brown to gray. “You bring a bloodsucker with you.”

  Fiona stiffened. “What—you don’t like bats?” Rein it in, Fiona. You need this chick to like you.

  The young Queen rested her elbows on her knees, her gaze unwavering. “Did you know that at the time our town was founded, ‘bat’ was a common term for a streetwalker? All that flying about at night.” Her lips curled into a smirk.

  “That’s a fun fact.” Fiona already wanted to smack those antlers off that pretty head.

  “Borgerith tells us that fur isn’t meant to fly,” Estelle continued. “Mammals are meant for the earth. Nyxobas, a shadow god, created vermin like you to serve him. But we don’t worship Nyxobas here.”

  After two sleepless nights, Fiona was running fresh out of patience. Blood rose in her cheeks. “Yeah, that sounds like a great theory and all, but in the rest of America, we learn about something called evolution. Everyone who’s not an idiot knows that bats share a common ancestor with other—”

  Tobias touched her arm. “We’ll control the bat. We would be most grateful for sanctuary, and we’ll give you two pounds of gold.”

  The Queen nodded slowly, her eyes roving over Tobias’s bare chest. “Three pounds, fire demon. You may stay, but if I find out the bat is spying for Nyxobas, I’ll rip her wings off myself. Her familiar is not permitted here. Ever. And she must stay outside our homes at night. She’s nocturnal anyway, so it shouldn’t be a burden. She can make herself useful by helping with night patrols if she wishes to prove her worth.”

  Tobias frowned. “Night patrols?”

  “We need people to watch for the Picaroons,” said Estelle. “This isn’t Maremount. There’s no fortress here.”

  Fiona shivered, the cool morning air chilling her bare shoulders. “What on earth are the Picaroons?”

  Estelle cocked her head, unblinking. “They’re pirates, of course. They worship Dagon, the monstrous sea god. And the Picaroons are just as monstrous as he is. If they catch you, you’ll find yourself churning in a shadow god’s belly.”

  Fiona hugged herself. Perfect. She’d be wandering the woods at night, looking out for monsters. So much for a safe haven.

  2

  Celia

  Estelle seemed so relaxed in her rocky throne, her gold nails curling over its leafy armrests. Emerging from steely clouds, the rising sun stained her antlers a lurid tangerine color. Behind her, an old, wooden belfry stood weathered by the ocean winds—so crooked it looked like it might topple over onto the rocky hill.

  “Let me think a moment about where I should put you all,” said the Queen.

  Fiona’s gritted teeth suggested she was struggling to control her temper. She couldn’t have been happy about the night patrols. Celia remembered little about Dagon, except that he was hideous and lived in the muck at the bottom of the sea, and she’d heard parents tell their children terrifying stories of the Picaroons to keep them tucked in bed at night.

  Celia squinted in the rising sunlight. Estelle was taking her time, making them all wait. She enjoyed the control. Jealousy wound through Celia. Granted, Estelle’s domain was a rocky wasteland populated by feral wolf people, but it was her wasteland.

  Celia seethed. I should be Queen in my own land. Instead, here she was, waiting on this wolf girl until she deigned to speak again.

  She rubbed her hands over her chilled arms, looking around her. Even if Dogtown had nothing on the majesty of Maremount, it was compelling in its own way. The common’s grass was lush and full, and a salty breeze rushed through dirt alleys and past ancient, gnarled-wood houses. A stone temple towered over the southern edge of the green. Something about Dogtown’s jagged imperfection was almost... beautiful.

  Estelle pulled a pipe out from the folds of her dress, lighting it with a plastic orange lighter.

  Celia frowned. Clearly, Dogtown isn’t as isolated from the modern world as Maremount.

  Smoke curled from Estelle’s pipe, and her dark gaze fell on her guests again. “The sick girl will stay at Foxglove Manor, where she will receive the healing she needs.”

  A middle-aged woman stepped forward, her dark hair teased into a towering beehive. A cigarette dangled from her mouth, and she waved a hand. “Hiya. I’m the healer.”

  Estelle pointed at Thomas. “And you who carry her—” Another puff on the pipe. “—you will help look after her in the same house.” She sniffed the air, and her gaze turned to Alan. “A wolverine. You shall stay in Briar House.”

  A willowy girl stepped forward, her brown hair cascading nearly to her waist.

  Estelle extended a graceful finger toward Tobias. “The fire demon stays with me in Oread Mansion. I could use his strength, should our seafaring visitors become unruly.”

  She puffed and blew another circle of smoke into the air, now staring at Celia. She had one of those long, steady gazes that made Celia want to confess every bad thing she’d ever done before Estelle read it in her soul.

  “We’re running out of beds.” A note of irritation tinged the Queen’s voice, and she waved a hand toward Oswald. “The two blond-haired ones may stay in Hemlock House, and the bloodsucker will stay in the dog kennel. Borgerith has told to me she belongs with the animals.”

  Well, that was rude.

  “The dog kennel?” Fiona snapped.

  For the first time, Estelle rose from her throne, and
the low growl in her voice silenced them all. “If you don’t like what I’ve chosen for you, you’re free to leave. You will not question me.”

  Looking on as Fiona struggled for mastery of her emotions, Celia choked down her own impulse to argue. They had nowhere else to go. They were being hunted by deadly forces—the Purgators, and probably her father’s army from Maremount.

  And as much as Celia hated to admit it, she had to admire Estelle’s decisiveness. The moment she allowed anyone to question her, it would open the door to her own downfall.

  Celia tried to catch Fiona’s eye, but her friend was staring down Estelle. Gods, she hoped Fiona would be rational right now. A kennel was better than death. Even sharing a house with Oswald was better than death.

  Fiona forced a smile onto her face. “It’s fine. I’d take a Dogtown kennel over a Purgator mansion any day.”

  Estelle smiled. “It’s settled, then. You may stay for the summer. Your sanctuary will include food. And if you can pay for it, someone will sell you new clothes. You’re all tired and should rest for the day. We will meet again for dinner.”

  She dismissed them with a flick of her hand.

  Oswald turned to Celia, glacial gray eyes boring into her. With his blond curls and pretty features, he should’ve looked like an angel. But the blood, scars, and mangled collarbone kind of ruined the image. And then there was his deeply unsettling silence. He’d hardly said a word—not since he’d learned that Tobias was demon marked. It clearly pissed him off, though he hadn’t got around to explaining why. And Tobias didn’t seem eager to talk about it.

  But mostly, Oswald hated having to spend time with Celia. That much was pretty clear. He blamed her for being a Throcknell—the architects of his misery. He hated her for his torture, his sister’s death, all the inequality in the world.

  In fact, all were things she really had no control over. She crossed her arms, glaring back at him.