A Witch's Feast (The Memento Mori Series #2)

Mariana looked away in a panic. Damn. Her eye makeup and skull jewelry had attracted the wrong sort of attention.

Mrs. Ranulf plastered a smile onto her face. “We are here to protect you, but we can only help you if you’re honest with us.”

Dr. Mellior tossed his cloth napkin into his bowl. “She speaks the truth. Now, I believe Mrs. Ranulf has some more cheerful news.”

The woman’s strawberry blond ringlets stood out against her emerald green dress. “A party. In a couple of weeks. It will be a fundraiser for the Sanguine Brotherhood. Mr. Ranulf will be returning from the capital, and we will be hosting some very important guests here. It’s a celebration of my husband’s success in fighting the witchcraft threat.”

Munroe beamed. She’d obviously been waiting for this announcement. “It’s going to be a masquerade ball! We’re all going to work on our masks after classes.”

Mrs. Ranulf eyed Fiona’s faded hospital T-shirt. “Of course if you don’t have the right formal attire, you may look through the old clothing trunks in the basement.” She flicked a hand. “You’re all dismissed.”

Fiona rose and pushed in her chair, before following Tobias through the arched doorways and into the drawing room. He stopped on the far side of the room, idly staring at dusty tomes on a bookshelf. A faint light glowed from bulbs in the chandeliers above, casting muddy shadows over the mahogany chairs and Victorian figurines on the mantel.

She approached him, resting a hand on a bookshelf, and he turned to look at her.

“We haven’t really talked since we got back from Maremount,” she began. “How are you doing?”

His dark gaze was steady. “Well, I’m alive.”

“I’m sorry about Eden. I mean, I’m sorry you had to, you know…” Save me instead of her. The words rang in her mind, but she stopped herself.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He lowered his head. “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?”

“My familiar showed up last night,” she whispered, leaning closer. “I transformed and followed him outside.”

“Sounds like a nice evening.”

“I guess, except transforming is so painful. I feel like it’s going to snap my bones.”

“It won’t snap your bones.” He put his finger over his lips, looking at the chandeliers. “Unless you’ve got a fracture of some kind. That’s why it was so important that we saw the healer in Maremount—to make sure nothing was broken.” He gazed into her eyes again. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

“No. I saw Munroe’s mom go into the cemetery on her own. She went into a crypt, and she didn’t come out again.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, waiting for her to say more.

“And then I saw you come back. What were you doing?”

“I was out for a walk.”

You’re lying. She gritted her teeth. Since when did he lie to her? “I saw the bonfire. And it looked like there were two people out there.”

He shrugged. “Bats can’t see very well.”

She pointed at his face, her cheeks flushing. “That is a myth. Ask Mariana. Plus I have echolocation.”

“Why do you have to get involved in everything?”

Her heart raced. What else isn’t he telling me? “Did you have something to do with whatever was going on in the crypt?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

You think you can trust someone, and then the next thing you know, you’re standing on their scaffold. “Oh, you’re telling me you didn’t hear the screaming?” Her blood pounded in her ears. Is no one from Maremount trustworthy? “Are you joining Munroe’s cult? You seemed quite friendly on the bus.”

His voice was cold. “Fiona. I think you’re getting a little paranoid. You need to leave this alone. Stop flinging yourself in harm’s way.”

“Fine,” she shot back. “But I’ve had enough of people lying to me. And I’m going to find out what you’re up to.”

Before he could respond, she heard the sound of footfalls behind her. It was Munroe, grinning as she stepped along the path. “Can I join your little study group?”

Fiona felt a knot of frustration in her chest. “Yeah, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” she muttered before stalking off.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Thomas





“There must be a way out!” Thomas’s hoarse voice echoed off the damp stones. He leaned against the wall, sinking to the floor. It must be near morning, the sky brightening to a pale blue.

The guards hadn’t returned with Oswald. Every few hours, an iron hatch slid open and a guard shoved a small pewter cup of water through.