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

hadn’t been his first.
    What had so drawn him to her? There was something so tempting about forbidden things. When he was a child, he’d rifled through his father’s desk, salivating over the things he’d confiscated from convicted witches. The books with their strange drawings. The dried bull’s heart with the nail through it. And the knife—that elegant athame.
    He’d known those things were evil, and that he shouldn’t go anywhere near them. And yet when his father hadn’t been looking, he’d pored through one book after another, translating the Latin and memorizing the illicit spells. A thrill had rippled through him whenever he’d turned a page. He’d even learned that a witch could gain terrible powers through that strange knife. Of course, he’d never imagined himself doing it. Not until he’d seen what his father had done to Elizabeth.
    A rattling sound yanked him from his memories. A doorknob turned, and footsteps clapped over the floor.
    He held his breath. Fiona?
    “Jack!” The Earl’s pale face appeared above him, and Jack’s heart sank.
    Not Fiona. She hated him, of course. Only a lunatic wouldn’t. “George Percy. You saved me,” he whispered.
    The ancient alchemist was insane, but at least he was loyal. And he was one of the best philosophers who’d ever lived. “I killed that Fury who was feasting on your guts. Vile business. Depraved. I’d been watching things unfold in my scrying mirror. Not much else for me to do but watch other people.” He grinned.
    “Thank you. I owe you. Again.”
    “You’re my only friend.” George’s eyes beamed. “I’m so pleased to see that you’re awake. It will make the healing easier. I’ve brought you a dire drink, the finest from those wretches in Dogtown.” He lifted a steaming ceramic mug.
    “I can’t move.”
    “You don’t want to know what you look like. Wouldn’t be charming the ladies right now, I can tell you that. But we’ll fix you up.” George slipped a hand under Jack’s neck, lifting his head and bringing the mug to his lips. Pain splintered Jack’s spine, but he took a sip of the bitter drink. He’d have given anything for a prettier nurse, but at least he was alive.
    Still, what was the point? The succubus had ruined him. She’d stolen his only way out of hell.
    George gently lowered Jack’s head to the pillow, stepping away. “I have some wonderful news.”
    “Is that so,” he croaked.
    “I’ve found myself a wife.”
    How in the seven hells did George persuade someone to marry him? The man’s a demented corpse. Jack closed his eyes. “That’s wonderful.” He’d dreaded isolation, and yet this company might prove worse.
    “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s touch. You wouldn’t believe how lovely she is.”
    Please kill me. “I feel weak. I must rest.”
    “My bride has soft skin and eyes like twinkling stars.”
    Jack shuddered. Druloch… I’m ready for my eternal torment.
    “It’s a bit awkward. She’s a follower of the Night God, and of course you and I are committed to Druloch. Fortunate at least that the two gods are allied.”
    “Mmmm. Two of the shadow gods.”
    George sighed. “I put her in iron chains, treated with a potion to weaken her powers.”
    Surely no one was terrible enough to deserve the Earl’s undying devotion. “Is she a mortal demon? Has she carved the symbol of Nyxobas?”
    “Immortal, actually.”
    “What is she?” asked Jack, suddenly interested.
    George folded his long fingers. “You talk in your sleep, you know. You spoke of a succubus who stole something from you.”
    Jack’s eyes snapped open. George couldn’t mean… “She stole everything. She stole my one way out of hell. I was close to finding the relic. I was going to rewrite the world’s rules, but she condemned us all.”
    “Yes. She’s feisty. But she is beautiful.”
    Gods’ blood. “Is she your new wife? The succubus?”
    “Rest now. You need your strength.” The Earl