By C.N. Crawford
"There are new principles governing the country--namely, no magic. yet Fiona Forzese hasn't ever been strong with rules."
As Fiona attempts to select up the items of her shattered lifestyles, she and Tobias take preserve in a classmate’s Southern mansion. The plan can be simple—finish out junior 12 months within the security of an previous Virginia plantation.
But Fiona can’t enable issues lie. She’s confident the plantation belongs to a sinister witch-hunting cult. Worse, Tobias is obviously hiding a depressing mystery of his personal. And if he weren’t taking a look so annoyingly beautiful, perhaps Fiona may possibly specialize in her investigations lengthy adequate to determine every little thing out.
As Fiona digs deeper into the Ranulf's earlier, she learns a gloomy fact that shocks her to her center. however it isn't really in simple terms the Ranulfs who've whatever to conceal. because the witch-hunting cult closes in, Fiona is compelled to settle on who she rather trusts prior to she loses every person she cares approximately.
The keepsake Mori Witch Series
Book 1: THE WITCHING ELM
Book 2: A WITCH'S banquet
Quick preview of A Witch's Feast (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 2) PDF
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Additional resources for A Witch's Feast (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 2)
And within the Bowyer Tower, Richard III’s brother used to be drowned in a vat of Malmsey wine for his treasonous acts. Thomas stared on the empty moat under, not able to rid his brain of similar to his personal physique in a rickety wood boat, floating in the course of the Traitor’s Gate. Why am I brooding about that? anything black swooped at him, and the sound of thrashing wings crammed his ears. one of many tower’s ravens should have gotten free, and it turned around his head, pecking at his hair and brow. He swatted on the fowl, his fingers flying as much as shield himself. It soared away. but if he seemed again on the moat, he observed a deep crimson liquid pouring from the Traitor’s Gate, like Malmsey wine filling the empty moat—or like blood. was once this one other hallucination? His middle skipped a beat, and he glanced round. The crowds have been long gone now, and the sky had darkened to an iron grey. chilly, dank air crammed his lungs. He gasped, establishing his eyes. He lay at the stone ground of a depressing telephone, and whatever sharp poked via his blouse. A thick, scratchy bedding of dried rushes and rags coated virtually the total criminal ground, and the room reeked of each type of physically fluid. It used to be a wide room, approximately empty except the messy flooring. An iron-bound wood door blocked the go out. Am I within the Tower? He rubbed his eyes, sitting up immediately opposed to a humid wall. With a sinking feeling, he made out Oswald’s shape within the darkness. Maremount is not any phantasm. It’s as genuine because the damp stone at the back of my again. His head nonetheless ached from the place he’d been hit, and his throat was once tough with thirst. He wasn’t yes how lengthy he’d been imprisoned, yet his rumbling abdominal enable him be aware of he was once late for a meal or . He rose to see out the window, and his legs approximately gave out as he took in his altitude. He and Oswald have been in a single of the valuable citadel towers that looked as if it would pierce the clouds. This has to be the Iron Tower. within the darkness, he couldn’t see the floor less than, only a ring of white stone towers in the course of the fog. As he stared, the sky started to lighten to a dusty red. He grew to become, slumping opposed to the wall back. From a window, morning gentle seeped into the mobile, illuminating carvings that scarred the graceful stone. They have been as a rule names of prisoners who’d been locked the following sooner than: RAVELLIOR, MALCHIUS, URSULA. One identify stood out—MORELLA. It was once carved above an empty hearth in a wide, ornate script with a usher in above it—a sparrow surrounded via vines. light, bluish mild bathed the room, and Oswald shifted within the rushes. The boy had a directly nostril, and a dimple in his chin. Thomas may well think how lovely his sister Eden should have been ahead of she’d been imprisoned. Oswald slung an arm over his eyes to safeguard them prior to forcing himself up, blinking. He scowled. “They stuck us. ” “I spotted. ” He scrubbed at his face. “Is there water? ” “Nope. ” His dream of a moat filling with blood appeared much less surreal than this. “I don’t comprehend if i would like to invite what's going to ensue subsequent. ” Oswald rose to stare out the window. “With good fortune, we’ll get a short loss of life. ” Thomas’s breath stuck in his lungs.