Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (7 page)

A
cloud
of fog had settled in the harbor, and the only thing Fiona could see was a faint yellow glow from the lighthouse on Ten Pound Island. The sound of the foghorn hung in the air like a dirge.

She hated the ocean, but something about the fog was alluring, like she could become enveloped in the mists and drift away from her life—escape from the hollowness inside.

Crossing a street that lined Gloucester’s shore, they approached an iron fence that overlooked the water. A hunched man stood before it, scratching a white beard. He wore a thick, woolen sweater and rain boots, like an old-fashioned fisherman. Fiona studied his face, pale and cratered like the moon’s surface.

Nod glided toward the old man. Pulling a coin from his pocket, he pressed it into the stranger’s hand.

The man’s pale eyes drifted upward. “Stahm’s comin’.” He had a thick Boston accent—not far off Fiona’s own, which she’d always tried to disguise.

Nod looked into the harbor. “Not today, Old Cratten.”

“No. But it’s comin’. Dagon’s hungry.”

“He’s always been hungry,” Nod grumbled. “Thanks for watching the boat.”

Fiona glanced down at the rocky sand below the ledge. The tide left only a few dry feet of land between a stone wall and the waves. An old wooden skiff lay on the rocks twelve feet below. Seaweed and barnacles speckled the large stones.

Lir gripped the railing and leapt over the ledge, landing gracefully on a seaweed-covered rock. Nod followed, and then Fiona took the plunge, pain shooting through her legs as she landed hard. She brushed the sand off herself.

Lir stepped over to the skiff, and he and Nod crouched down, each lifting an end of the boat. They carried it over the rocks to the water.

Carefully stepping over the slick stones, Fiona felt detached, as though watching everything through a telescope. Slowly, she picked her way over the rocks to the skiff.

A low growl turned her head, and she started at the sight of a wolf leaping over the railing. Just a foot from her, the animal’s fur retracted into her skin, and the air filled with the sound of snapping of bones and sinews. With a growl that rumbled through Fiona’s gut, the wolf’s body straightened into human form.

Estelle rolled her head around, rubbing her neck before fixing her gaze on Fiona. “If you somehow survive this, I don’t want you to return. I will keep your friends safe.” She inched closer, baring her fangs. “But you’re not welcome. I know you and your father are cut from the same cloth. Don’t let me see your face again.”

The words struck a familiar chord somewhere in Fiona’s brain, filling her chest with a sharp sense of dread.

Estelle growled again, and the sound raised the hair on the back of Fiona’s neck. The Queen lurched over, claws lengthening as she shifted into wolf form again.

With growing sickness, Fiona watched Estelle bound along the beach into the shadows.

“Are you coming?” Nod called. The moonlight shone off a strange pendant around his neck. A bone. Possibly human—like a finger bone. She shuddered.
He literally wears the bones of his enemies.
He and Lir stood knee deep in the waves, and Fiona tentatively approached them.

These two would be her new family—at least until they threw her to the sea demon. She’d been studying the two Picaroons on their march to the ship. While Nod had laugh lines around his eyes, Lir gave the impression that smiling was something that might seriously injure him. She could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders that he carried sorrow with him like an albatross around his neck.

Apart from their personality differences, their kinship was unmistakable. It was apparent in their broad builds, the fullness of their lips, the bronze skin, and the deep green of their eyes that they were brothers.

In the dark waters, the two Picaroons leapt into the skiff. At the water’s edge, Fiona paused. Sea foam rushed over her feet, freezing her toes and stinging a cut on her ankle. She shivered, almost gagging. The ocean was cold and unforgiving. The ocean was faceless men and buried secrets. She wanted to go home.

But there is no home.

“Are you coming?” Lir growled.

She stepped further into the water, gasping at the lingering winter chill.

Lir gripped two oars, glaring at her. “Sit in the bow.”

She gathered, by the tilt of his head, that the bow was the pointy part of the boat facing the ship.

Nod, oarless, sat on a bench opposite his brother.

She climbed over the edge, and the boat wobbled as she slipped past Lir. Chilled by the sea wind, she hugged herself as she crouched on a small, triangular strip of wood spanning the bow.

Lir turned, glowering at her as he pulled off his doublet. “At least you’ll be useful as a counterweight.”

She rubbed her arms, watching as Lir, his white shirt hanging loose around his neck, leaned forward and plunged the oars into the water. The boat glided away from the shore, cresting a wave. They passed a cluster of old wooden posts that jutted from the water like fingers clawing from a grave. Salty spray soaked her dress when the boat plunged downward.

Gripping her wooden seat, her knuckles whitened. At least she’d spared Thomas.

At the other end, Nod reclined against the boat’s edge. He peered around his brother, smiling faintly. “Don’t have your sea legs yet, eh?”

“Never got them, sir.” She had no idea how to address him.

The lines around his eyes crinkled. “You can call me
Captain
. Captain Nodon. And this sweet young man here will be your first mate.”

Did he expect her to join his crew? Maybe Cadonia’s rumor was true, about the Picaroons looking to fill their ranks.

Fiona straightened, trying to ignore the nausea welling in her stomach. If she joined the Picaroons, that meant she could gain their god’s power. And
that
meant she could kill the Purgators before they got to her. Though unless Lir improved his attitude, maybe he’d be the first to go.

“People say you sacrifice your tributes to Dagon,” she said, her voice wavering.

Nod stared at her, pulling a pipe out of his jacket.

It was Lir who spoke up, shouting over his shoulder. “It’s partly true.”

Her stomach turned flips in the bobbing rowboat, and she suppressed the urge to vomit. When you were seasick, you were supposed to stare at one spot, and Lir’s back was right in front of her. She fixed her eyes on the shifting muscles in his neck as he plunged the oars again into the sea. A curling tattoo snaked up the top of his back. The man was at least twice her size, and each stroke of the oar sent them hurtling closer to the ship at an incredible speed. Were the Picaroons all like this? No wonder Lir thought she was useless.

Nod whispered to his pipe in Angelic until smoke rose from the bowl. “You don’t seem like the other recruits. I hope you have something other than dresses in that bag of yours.”

She squinted into the ocean spray. “I don’t, really.” Her teeth began to chatter. “What do you mean, the other recruits? I don’t understand—am I joining your crew?”

Nod puffed his pipe. “First you must undergo the trials. There are six candidates, though you’re the only one who seemed willing to come. The rest were kicked out of their lands, probably for raping or murdering.”

Fantastic.
It wasn’t a certain death, but the company she’d be keeping made it sound like a floating prison. Had Nod and Lir come from some kind of prison?

Sea water ran down her cheek, dripping into her mouth. “Did you both come as Picaroon tribute?”

Lir leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “First of all, we don’t call ourselves Picaroons. We call ourselves the Guardians. And no, we weren’t tribute. Most of the lowlifes we recruit don’t make it past Dagon.”

Nod blew a puff of smoke into the air. “Don’t scare the girl. I have faith in this one.” He jabbed his pipe at her. “She’s different. Anyway, we’ll find out during the trials what everyone’s made of.”

Monster’s blood. She was made from monster’s blood.

P
icking
up a cup made of copper and part of some animal’s skull, Tobias poured himself a measure of rum. He closed his eyes and took a long slug.

What would life have been like in Maremount if Rawhed had never come? He’d still be in the tall grasses by Athanor Pond, sipping sweet wine with Eden. He’d be learning spells with his old coven in the Cwag, or playing music in one of the Tatter taverns. Life hadn’t been perfect, but it was better than this hell.

He’s risked everything for Fiona. He’d given up his old life. He’d given up Eden for a suicidal lunatic. Fiona must have thought she was being noble saving Thomas, but they could have found another way out. There were only four Picaroons; a few sea demons against a fire demon, plus a whole pack of werewolves. Their odds would have been good if they’d worked together. Now that they’d taken her back to their ship, the odds were diminishing fast.

What in the blazes was she thinking? He might as well have left her to hang on the Tricephelus. She didn’t need Jack to turn her into a corpse, because she’d done it herself.

Tobias pulled the curtain aside, and stared out of Estelle’s mansion. Maybe the werewolf queen was right about Fiona’s dark side. Maybe Tobias didn’t know anything about her. Tonight she’d chosen death, which meant Eden’s death had been for nothing.

He took a long sip of rum, staring at the thick mists rolling over the darkened common. Her mom’s murder must have snapped her mind. But Tobias had lost his mother. He’d seen her lifeless body, and he was still here, fighting. He wasn’t about to throw himself at Emerazel’s mercy just yet.

The front door opened, and Estelle strode in, wearing a bronze gown and a smile. “Well. I guess I don’t have to worry about Nyxobas’s messenger anymore.”

Tobias had hardly eaten, and the rum had gone to his head. “For reasons that elude me, she decided to sacrifice herself.”

“She’s drawn to death. It’s in her nature. But even if you know I’m right, you’ll still end up flying over her ship to watch over her. That’s in your nature. Just don’t try to fight the sea demons. A ship of Picaroons against one fire demon isn’t a fair fight.”

Fiona was strong, and if anyone could make it through alive, it was her. He should have a little more faith in her. Maybe she wasn’t choosing death after all. “Is it true that some recruits live?”

“Fiona won’t be one of them.”

His shoulders tensed. “You don’t know her. She saved my life more than once.”

“I’m sick of talking about her.” Estelle crossed the living-room floor to him, her dark eyes locked on his. “Still curious about your fate, fire demon?”

“Oswald told me about the eternal hellfire.”

“Ah, there goes one of my bargaining chips.” Her lip twitched. “But I can tell you more. I can tell you how long you’ve got until they come for you.”

The hair rose on the back of his neck. “What do you mean? Who’s they?”

She sat down in one of her armchairs, her back slightly arched. “What will you do for me in return?”

“I’ll help you get into Maremount. We’ll help you find a new home for your pack.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He sat against the windowsill. “I know you can’t stay here. Your people are in danger, too. The Picaroons will keep taking more of you. But what if we join forces? You said the Throcknell army is coming for us. If we defeat them here, there will be no one left to keep us out of the city. We know how to get into Maremount instantly. You know how to create a veil that will keep out the Throcknell army. We lock them out, and Maremount is ours.”

She took a deep breath. “Now that is a bold proposition. How big is the army?”

“They were about two and a half thousand, but Rawhed cut them down. Maybe a thousand left. Oswald will know more.”

“There are eight hundred twenty-seven of us, plus a fire demon.” She licked her lips. “Fine. Maybe I’ll help you.”

“Who’s coming for me?”

“A hellhound. A demon who collects souls. All of the gods have them. Borgerith has Redcaps, Mishett-Ash has Valkyries, Nyxobas has Dark Lords. You get the idea. When someone is either foolish or desperate enough to carve themselves, one of these soul collectors comes for you. They force you to sign a contract, and the deal is sealed.”

He swallowed. “When will this happen?”

“When you turn eighteen. How long do you have?”

His chest tightened, and he drained the last of the rum. “Not long. Can the hellhounds get through the veil, just like the Picaroons?”

“They’re agents of the goddess. They can go where they want. And I’m afraid there’s more bad news. Your fire power won’t work against the hellhound, and he won’t relent until you sign.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then he kills you, and you go straight to the inferno.”

“Only if the hellhound is stronger than I am.”

She flashed a quick smile. “He will be.”

S
he gazed
at the
Proserpine
as they drew nearer. The closer they got, the more the fog lifted, and the world around them grew crisper.

The ship loomed over them, only twenty feet away now. It was oddly beautiful, a remnant from another age. Warm, inviting light glowed through an arched window in the hull.

Two enormous masts towered over the deck—maybe a hundred feet in the air. A third, smaller mast stood closer to the stern. The sails were the color of bone, and between them, a network of ropes crisscrossed the air like a spider’s web.

The boat pulled up alongside the galley, and Nod tapped out his pipe into the sea. A rope ladder climbed up the hull, and Nod was up it within moments, propelled by his serious arm muscles.

Lir fastened the rowboat to the side of the ship with a rope, shooting her a stern look. “Go on up.”

She gripped the rough rope, shivering in the chill breeze as she climbed. It wasn’t as easy as Nod had made it look.

Hoisting herself to the deck at last, she found it quiet—nearly empty in the moonlight, apart from Nod and another Picaroon. The man’s dark dreadlocks hung down his back, sun-bleached at the ends.

“Fiona.” Captain Nod beckoned her over, a drink already sloshing in his hand. “This is Jacques. Our only crew member from Dogtown.”

Fiona crossed the deck, hugging herself for warmth.

Jacques smiled at her. His skin was a deep brown, and something about his dimpled cheeks told her he was popular with the ladies. “I didn’t think we’d be getting a girl. Not that I object.”

She was too tired for anything other than a grunt.

Nod lifted a finger. “Now, Jacques. You know the rules.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan on breaking any.”

Captain Nod lifted his cup, staring at the cloudless night sky. Milky moonlight streamed over his skin, giving him a silvery glow. “It’s not all misery and rules here. Our familiarity with death teaches us how to really live. Look above you, Fiona.”

When she tilted back her head, she saw that the stars shone bright against a midnight backdrop.

Nod’s voice was low and reverent. “While the rest of the world spins by, we live under the immutable light of the North Star, in unchanging perfection. Dagon grants us life.”

He lifted his cup to the stars, and Jacques followed suit. “Dagon grants us life.”

Fiona’s teeth chattered, and Nod glanced at her, breaking out of his trance. “Lir. Show the girl to her quarters. And get her some clothes she can sail in.”

Lir paused in his march across the deck, shooting his brother an irritated glare. “Fine,” he said without looking at Fiona. “Follow me to the forecastle, milady.”

Despite the cold, she was almost reluctant to leave his side and their view of the stars. Without speaking, she followed Lir past the tall masts and toward a raised deck in the stern. Apparently, this was the forecastle.

Lir yanked open a door, and she followed him into a dark and narrow stairwell. She ran her fingers along the wooden walls to steady herself on the uneven stairs.

When Lir muttered to himself, she recognized the spell for light, and a foxfire orb flickered before him, lighting their way through a narrow hall.

Lir pushed open a door to a small cabin. A narrow bed lay jammed against the left wall, and a wooden table stood beside it. Apart from a lantern on the table, the rest of the room was bare. “This is the last room left.” He held open the door, gesturing for her to enter. “I hope you didn’t expect anything luxurious.”

“I’ve been sleeping in a kennel.” And before that, she’d been chained to a wall awaiting her own execution. “I think I’ll be fine.”

Lir stared at her for a few moments too long, as though trying to read her. With his shirt hanging open at the neck, she could see the tattoos on the top of his chest—curling points like the ends of tentacles. “I’ll get you some clothes from my room.” His eyes ran over her body. “I don’t think you’ll fit my trousers.”

She dropped onto the bed, rubbing her arms. “I have leggings. I only need a shirt.”

“Leggings?” He drew out the word, as though it were in a foreign language, before turning and leaving her in the dark.

Chanting Queen Boudicca’s Inferno sparked flame in the lantern, and the warm light danced over her tiny room. It smelled of damp wood and rosemary—oddly comforting.

Her spine stiffened at the sounds of Lir rummaging around in the next room over.
Great.
Her room was right next to his, separated only by a thin wooden wall. She’d be just a few feet away from the tentacle guy every night.

He pushed the door open again, nodding at the lantern. “I see you’ve learned some Angelic, then.” He tossed a white shirt at her—many sizes too large.

Without thinking, she held it to her nose. It smelled of rosemary.

“It’s clean.” He scratched his cheek. Even his knuckles were tattooed, the word
HOLD
on one hand and
FAST
on the other. “What exactly are you doing here?” he asked in a low and contemptuous voice.

I’m here to spare Thomas. I’m here because I have no home. I’m here because I’m not fit to be around normal people.
“I told you. I want to become a Guardian.”

He took another step into her room, and her stomach tightened. He obviously hated her, and could kill her within moments. “You don’t know anything about us.” Candlelight glinted in his sea-green eyes. “I don’t know if you broke up with your boyfriend or got mad at your parents because they wouldn’t buy you—”

She jumped to her feet, her hands suddenly trembling. “Actually, you don’t know anything about me.” She had to restrain herself from shoving Lir against the wall—he’d be too strong for her. And in any case, if she attacked the first mate, she might be thrown off the ship or keelhauled or something.

He crossed his arms, staring her down. “When it all becomes too hard for you—and it will—don’t come crying to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When he stepped out of the room, she pressed the door closed, her hands still shaking.

Steadying her breath, she pulled off her sodden dress and hung it from a nail in the wall to dry. She slipped into a fresh dress from her bag. After blowing out the candle, she climbed into bed, pulling the crisp sheets up to her neck. The scent of rosemary drifted through the room.

The gentle rocking of the ship lulled her, and her heartbeat slowed. For the first time since she’d learned of her mom’s death, she was untroubled by images of her hand plunging a knife into Mrs. Ranulf’s face.