Crescent Legacy

by Nicole R. Taylor

I squealed as snow found its way down my top, and I managed to find my feet again. Boone sprang up beside me like a professional, and I pouted. Shaking myself off, little clumps of ice flew everywhere.

  “You’re both on the hit list,” I declared. “I’ve got wet knickers.”

  “Eww,” Mairead shouted. “That’s me cue to leave.” She feigned throwing up and darted across the lawn, skidded across the path, smacked into the side of the shop, then disappeared around the corner.

  “She’s too easy,” I said with a laugh.

  “You’re as bad as each other,” Boone said, swatting at his jumper and knocking off clumps of snow. He had on a thick, grayish woolly sweater with an elaborate, and slightly dorky, cable-knit pattern. He looked different without his trademark red and black checkered shirt.

  “Well, that was a way to wake up.” I pressed the backs of my gloves against my flushed cheeks. “I’ve cracked a sweat.”

  “Are you sure it’s sweat?”

  “Stop it.” I swatted at his arm.

  “Ack,” he grumbled. “I thought you’d be stayin’ in today.”

  “We’re starting stocktake today,” I replied, helping him brush himself off. “What kind of jumper is this anyway? Cable knit? Wasn’t that big in the eighties?”

  “’Tis Aran wool,” he stated, puffing out his chest. “And it’s a sweater.”

  “Is that meant to be special?”

  “To be sure. It’s wool from the Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. ’Tis famous.”

  “If you say so. You look like a fisherman.”

  “They’re known as Fisherman Sweaters, too.”

  “You’re not selling me on it.”

  “So, I just came to see how you like the snow,” he declared, changing the subject.

  “Nice save.”

  He grinned and pulled down my beanie.

  “Hey!” I yanked it off and smacked him in the chest with it. “I’m dealing with the snow just fine. For all of the five minutes I’ve been outside in it.”

  “Aye, we got quite a bit of it.”

  I frowned, glancing over the yard. “More than usual?”

  “We get maybe two or three falls each winter,” he explained. “This is more than I’ve ever seen, and earlier, but I have limited memories to pull from.” He knew so much about everything that it was easy to forget his collective life memories were barely four years old. “I suppose it could happen naturally.”

  I didn’t want to say what was on my mind, but I didn’t have to. Boone looked troubled, too. He had that forehead crease thing going on.

  “The weather is weird all over,” he went on. “It doesn’t mean anythin’. El Niño?”

  “La Niña,” I replied, hoping it was some freakish weather thing and not a smoke screen for Carman’s advancement toward the ancient hawthorn.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “El Niño is dry. La Niña is wet.”

  Boone smirked.

  “Don’t be dirty.” Suddenly, my mood had dampened along with my knickers.

  “I’m goin’ to help out Roy today,” he went on. “It’s too slippery on the roads to be drivin’ for Mary.”

  “Give me a kiss before you go, then.”

  He slid his hands around my waist, pulled me close, and planted one right on my lips. As an added bonus, he tilted his head to the side and gave me a little tongue to go with it.

  “What a treat,” I murmured. “Now my undies are sopping.”

  “Don’t yell at Mairead too much today.”

  “So not the time to talk about Mairead.” I rolled my eyes and rested my forehead against his.

  “I’ll cook you dinner tonight.”

  “You say all the right things.”

  He grinned and let me go. Walking across the lawn, his boots squeaked on the snow.

  Glancing up at the sky, I didn’t like the color. It was gray and heavy, and nothing broke it up. Not even swirls or loose puffs of cotton wool. It was like one giant cloud was sitting over the entire country like a creepy blanket come to suffocate us all.

  “Boone?” I called out, a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

  He turned, and I decided his fancy Aran sweater wasn’t so dorky after all. As if he could read the uneasiness in my mind, he smiled.

  “We’re too few to be proactive,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by all the ice. “We’re doin’ all we can.”

  I nodded. No matter how many times he kept telling me, there was a part of me that still needed to hear it. I watched him move off through the winter wonderland, his breath puffing up in plumes as he went. Once he was gone, I began to feel rather alone.

  Brushing off my jeans, I slipped and slid around to Irish Moon, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. Not from the cold but my brewing paranoia. Opening the door, I stepped into the blissful warmth of the shop. Mairead was behind the counter, scrolling on her mobile phone.

  “While you were playing tonsil hockey, Maggie dropped this off.” She waved a bit of paper in the air, not even glancing up from Snapchat or Candy Crush Saga or whatever app was the rage with the kids these days.

  “What’s this for?” Reaching over the counter, I snatched it out of her hand and read the front. It was a party invitation.

  “Samhain,” she replied. “Molly McCreedy’s.”

  “Sowin?” I made a face.

  “S-A-M-H-A-I-N,” she spelled out. “Halloween.” She punctuated the end of the sentence with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

  “Oh, Sam-hain.”

  Mairead snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t make fun of my innocent lack of Wiccan holiday knowledge. I don’t think I’ve ever said that word out loud before let alone heard someone say it. I didn’t exactly know any other witches before I was so unceremoniously tricked into moving to Ireland.”

  “Is that what you call it? I thought you were just complainin’.”

  I shot Mairead a bitchy look and read over the invite again. Costumes mandatory. Ugh. I always hated dressing up. I was the kind of person who would turn up in her usual clothes, and when people asked who I was, I would make a smartass comment that I’d come ‘as myself.’

  Though this year was a different story. I was an actual witch with actual magical powers and a shapeshifter boyfriend. I wouldn’t be surprised if ghosts and that headless horseman fellow were a thing.

  I slumped my shoulders and sighed. “I wonder if there’s anything to it.”

  “To what?”

  “The ghosts and shit.”

  “Ghosts and shit?” Her cheeks paled, which was a feat considering her skin tone was translucent at best.

  “Costumes are mandatory?” I shook the bit of paper, completely outraged. “Who makes costumes mandatory?”

  “Maggie,” Mairead stated.

  “What am I supposed to go as?”

  “I always go as myself,” the Goth girl said. “Every day is Halloween to me.”

  I almost choked on my own spit and fell to the floor.

  “I should go as a sexy witch, then,” I retorted. “And Boone can get a fox costume, and we’d all be ironic a-holes.”

  “If we’re all going as ourselves, then you need to take out the sexy part.”

  “Mairead!” I pouted and put my hands on my hips.

  A party, huh? Maybe it was just the thing we needed to lift our spirits. I smirked, thinking about getting that sexy witch costume. Mostly to annoy Mairead, but Boone would be really into it…in a wet knicker kind of way.

  “Give me the computer! Stat!” I declared. “I’ve got some online shopping to do!”

  Chapter 6

  I hated the nights Boone worked at Molly McCreedy’s.

  Looking at my empty microwave meal tray, I sighed. I’d gotten used to his home cooking, and nuked chicken wasn’t the same. Mairead was smart. She’d shaken her head at the prospect of rubberized beef and disappeared into the laundry with her painting.

  Glancing at the overflowi
ng bin, I angled my head to the side. If I anchored the corner of the container on that wad of aluminum foil and propped the other end against that empty popcorn bag, then I wouldn’t have to go outside in the dark, and trash mountain would still be standing tall.

  Holding my breath, I gingerly put the container into place…and the whole thing crashed to the floor, making a huge mess. Grumbling, I cleaned up and tied a knot in the top of the bag. Seriously, what was the point of being a witch if I couldn’t do cool things like make a mop wipe the floor on its own or make the trash take itself out? I laughed to myself at the thought. Now, there was an idea. I could spell Carman to take herself out. That would solve all our problems.

  If only it were that easy.

  Lifting up the trash, I opened the back door and gasped, dropping the garbage bag onto the floor.

  A silver wolf emerged from the darkness, all big and wild, and all I could see were teeth. It lopped up the garden path, its big paws thumping on the ground like an elephant was galloping toward the cottage. Calling on my magic, I stretched out my hands.

  “Stay back!” I cried. “Or I’ll… I’ll…” I didn’t know what I was going to do but blasting its ass across the garden sounded like a fantastic idea. I’d poked out a shapeshifter wolf’s eye once before, and if he’d come back for seconds, I would make the other one pop.

  The wolf skidded to a halt, like it had the ultimate clumsy gene, and sat on its haunches. It tilted its head to the side and watched me with interest. Finally, it let out a whimper and licked its lips. Two big eyes stared at me, and I curled my outstretched fingers into a fist, dampening my magic.

  “Boone?”

  The wolf’s tail thumped on the stoop.

  “You’re kidding me!” I threw my hands up into the air, letting the last of my magic dissipate. “I was going to make your head explode!”

  Wolf-Boone weaved past me into the kitchen, practically trampling me he was so big. I closed the door as he began to change into his human form, the sound of snapping and popping bones making me wince. It sounded worse than usual and was no easier to hear.

  Turning on my heel, I glared at his hot, Irish, naked body. How could I be mad at him when he looked like a Calvin Klein model… Wait. I was so not going to be swayed by a six-pack and a tight ass. I was so mad at him for scaring me half to death!

  “I think you could do it now,” he said.

  “Do what?” I exclaimed. “Use my magical palms as a defibrillator on my own chest?”

  “Unlock me memories.”

  “Pfft.” I crossed my arms and deepened my glare. If I stared hard enough, I might be able to shoot magical lasers out of my eyes. Now, that would be something. “You’re lucky Mairead has noise-canceling headphones. She’s listening to Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, or whatever the Goth kids like these days out in the laundry. Imagine what she would’ve done in her pants if she’d come out here and found a giant wolf sitting on the back step.” Snatching up a tea towel, I thrust it at him. “And cover your dingleberries.”

  “Will you help?” he asked, covering up his junk with the floral-printed tea towel.

  “I thought you were that other wolf,” I said with a pout. “The one-eyed thing. The creepy dude you said was another shapeshifter.”

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

  “You went out and changed into a bloody wolf without me,” I exclaimed, slapping him on the arm. My palm cracked against his skin, and he yelped. “You could’ve got stuck!”

  “It was an accident,” he complained, rubbing his bicep.

  “You have to deliberately will yourself to change, so I don’t see how that could happen.”

  “I was changin’ into me fox form,” he explained. “I guess it’s been on me mind a lot, the whole wolf thing, and it just… It overtook me. Before I knew what was happenin’…”

  I eyed him warily. “You had control over it this time.”

  Boone nodded. “I wasn’t lost in the animal like I was then. It felt like…” He drew in a deep breath. “It felt like me other shapes. Familiar.”

  I worried my bottom lip, the garbage bag forgotten beside the door. Maybe the wolf form was his original familiar, unlike the fox shape he took after he’d lost his memory. He’d said it was the first form he remembered taking, so it stood to reason it would be his first go to.

  “I think who I was is starting to leech into who I am now,” he said. “Whatever happened the night I first changed, it must’ve triggered somethin’. A leak or a crack… Somethin’s different, Skye. I think you could get through.”

  The silver… I sighed, knowing he could be right. Something was leeching into his shapeshifter forms, changing them to the point his coat had changed colors. The russet fox was silver, and his gyrfalcon was pure white with a silver belly. I was entirely sure his black stallion would be silver, too, though he never used that shape.

  “Have you been getting headaches?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “They’re not as bad.”

  Was the spell eroding? Something strange was going on, and we couldn’t explain it. His memories might be forcing their way out, but there was only one way to—

  A blood-curdling scream tore through the kitchen, and I turned to find Mairead standing in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the tea towel over Boone’s junk.

  “We’re going out,” I said, standing in front of the naked Irishman. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Why is he naked? What’s going on?”

  “There are several words for this,” I said to Boone, “and they all result in being arrested.”

  “Or having me ass whipped with a lamp cord,” he said wryly.

  “Kinky,” I murmured.

  Boone began backing away slowly, waving at Mairead with his free hand. “See you later.”

  “You better wash that tea towel before you bring it back!” the Goth girl shouted after us.

  Closing the door behind us, I smirked at Boone. “Don’t forget the fabric softener. My dishes prefer to be caressed with soft, sweet-smelling material.”

  After a quick stop off to collect Boone’s clothes from the bush he’d hidden them under, we made our way down the path toward the ancient hawthorn. By the time we reached the clearing, I’d managed to calm down. Boone had terrible timing, but I doubted he’d tried to scare me. Who knew I would shake off the laziness and actually take out the rubbish? No one could predict miracles.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, the familiar closeness of the tree surrounding me like a fluffy blanket. Too bad it wasn’t a warm blanket. I was freezing my you-know-whats off.

  “There’s never goin’ to be a good time,” Boone replied.

  “Right.” I cracked my knuckles and shook out my arms. “Let’s split this thing wide open.”

  “Be careful,” Boone said, his brow creasing. “Last time didn’t end very well.”

  “I’ll try not to blow myself across the clearing. Don’t worry.”

  “Skye, do you know what you’re doin’?”

  “Not really,” I replied, unfazed. “My magic is instinctual, which means I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Which really means you’re stabbin’ in the dark.”

  “Am not!” I hesitated, then sighed, my shoulders sagging. “Okay. I am, but curing amnesia wasn’t in the handbook. Give me a break.”

  Ignoring Boone’s concerned look, I took a deep breath. How was I supposed to do this? Reaching out, I put both my hands on his head.

  “Is this part of it?” he asked.

  “Shh!”

  I rolled my shoulders back a few times and entered my mind. Imagining my fingers digging into Boone’s brain, I felt my magic work its way from my body into his. At first, it felt strange, like a million pins and needles in my fingertips, but then I could feel him. It was a strange almost out-of-body sensation. I moved from myself into him. Not in the psychical sense. It was a spiritual thing.

  Sensing a hard shell over parts of his being—the bits
and pieces someone desperately wanted him to forget—I assumed this was what Aileen had seen when she’d tried to break the amnesia spell. At least, a version of it.

  A metallic silver glow was pulsating from the middle of the shell, the glow reaching an intensity it was almost too hard to look at. This must be the fissure Boone had sensed, and the one that had allowed him to shift into the wolf in the first place. There was a very silver theme going on, but it was a glaring indicator that this was the place to break into. Go for the weak spot, and the entire spell would crumble. At least, that was how the theory went.

  Focusing, I nudged a thread of golden light into the silver, coaxing it to work its way through the shell. If this was Boone’s essence, then it was trying to break free, right? Why else would there be a crack in the spell? No one could contain someone’s true nature for long, especially if it were as wild as Boone’s nature.

  C’mon, I thought. Come out, and show me who you are. Remember what they took from you. You want to come out, don’t you?

  The silver light flared, and before I could do anything about it, my connection with Boone was severed, and I was flying backward through the air like a human cannonball.

  My head cracked against a fallen tree, and all the air left my lungs. I wheezed, trying to catch my breath. Rolling onto my side, I felt like throwing up as blood whooshed in my ears.

  “Skye!” Boone was beside me in a flash, his hands helping me into an upright position.

  “Wow,” I rasped, then erupted in a fit of coughing.

  He rubbed my back and started picking dried leaves out of my hair. “Are you all right?”

  Glancing across the clearing, I snorted. “I must’ve flown at least fifteen meters.” Wincing, I rubbed the back of my head. When I pulled my hand away, I expected to find blood smeared across it, but thankfully, there was nothing there.

  “You hit your head pretty hard,” Boone said. He placed his hand on my face and tilted me toward him. Checking my eyes, he frowned.

  “Am I in trouble, doc?” I asked with a dose of sarcasm.

  “Skye.”

  I knew he was dying to ask me what I’d seen, but I couldn’t tell him anything. Just the light and the explosion, like whoever or whatever was lurking behind there wanted to push me away.