Free Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) by C.N. Crawford Page A

back into the house.
    Celia stared at Oswald. “How did you know what to say to her?”
    He looked away. “She was lost. It helps to know where your feet are and that you’re in control of something.”
    “Is that how you feel—sometimes—after the Iron Tower?”
    His face hardened. “You needn’t fret over that. Why don’t you worry about how you’re going to protect yourself.” The coldness had returned to his voice, and he stalked off into the shadows.

14

Fiona
    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