Crescent Legacy

by Nicole R. Taylor

  Did Boone want to forget?

  On the surface, he might say he wanted to remember, but deep down, was he afraid of something? Whatever it was, I didn’t want to acknowledge it, either.

  “There was…” I hesitated, and the hopeful look in his eyes broke my heart.

  “I don’t remember anythin’,” he said, saving me the pain of telling him what he already knew.

  “I can see the crack…but there’s no way in. I… I’m sorry, Boone.”

  He rose, the frustration clear on his face.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Maybe some stones are best left unturned.”

  I pushed ungracefully to my feet and grasped his arm to steady myself. There were no more words of encouragement in me. He’d heard them all before and saying them now… Well, it felt like rubbing salt into an open wound.

  “I better see you home,” he finally said.

  I wasn’t going to argue.

  The entire walk home, my head spun.

  “You don’t look so good,” Boone said, weaving his arm through mine.

  I rubbed my forehead. “I bumped my head.”

  “I’m sorry. I dragged you out here again, and it still didn’t work.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just about the only thing we can be proactive about. I had to try. Besides, it’s good practice.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “You said your headaches are getting better. That’s a good thing, I suppose.”

  Boone grunted, signaling he wasn’t keen on talking about it anymore. It must hurt. All the trying and failing.

  By the time we reached the cottage, I was feeling a lot better even though the world felt…fuzzy. I was sure something was definitely hanging around, and it wasn’t a concussion. Something felt different, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out.

  That night, my sleep was full of dreams.

  There was a swirl of images, feelings, and emotions that were so intense, I felt like I was being dragged under a raging torrent. It reminded me of the sluagh at the spring underneath Croagh Patrick, their inky fingers tearing at my clothes, pulling me into a watery grave, their hunger for my magic absolute.

  It felt like summer. My feet were bare, dirt and leaves creeping between my toes. Overhead, I felt the protective blanket of the hawthorn’s power, and I turned toward the great tree. What was I doing out here with no shoes on? My feet were totally delicate. There was a reason I wore big, kick-ass boots, and it wasn’t all about being able to kick craglorns in their delicate parts with the steel caps.

  My gaze was drawn to the tree, the soles of my feet forgotten in an instant.

  A door was set into the base of the hawthorn, but it didn’t look like anything I’d imagined. When I thought of the way to the fae realm, I had a vision of a swirling portal of magic like the wormhole on that science fiction show Stargate. A rippling puddle of energy you had to step through to make it to the other side.

  This doorway was bland and ordinary. Honestly, it looked like the round door to a hobbit hole. I shouldn’t be so surprised that I got the fantasy references Ireland was famous for. That was why they filmed all those big-budget television phenomenons here.

  I was so not falling for this. This was a test, right? Don’t open the door that all the bad things are supposed to come out of like Pandora’s box. Curiosity killed the Crescent Witch and all of that.

  Don’t open the door. Open the door, Skye.

  Reaching out, I grasped the wrought iron handle and twisted. The latch unhooked, and I pulled…

  I sat bolt upright, my chest heaving and my thoughts all fuzzy.

  “Purple alligator monkey typewriter thing-a-ma-whatsit!” I exclaimed, causing Boone to jerk awake.

  “Skye?” He pushed up and rubbed his hand over my back. “What’s wrong?”

  I rubbed my eyes, clearing the last of my dream from my mind’s eye. There was something about a… Wait. Dammit! The images were already starting to fade. I had a feeling it had been something important. Something I needed to… Needed to what? Do, say, go? Was it something I needed to stop Carman?

  “I had a dream. There was something about a purple typewriter,” I said. “And an alligator and a…monkey?”

  “Skye, you’re not makin’ any sense.” He frowned, but I wasn’t paying much attention.

  I stuck my tongue out and wiped it with my palms. “Purple monkey. Typewriter.”

  Boone grasped my face in his hands and pulled me toward him. His eyes sparkled in the murky light, his concern palpable.

  “Alligator?” I asked, my eyebrows knitting together.

  “Ack, maybe you did hit your head too hard.”

  “No, it’s the…” It was the dream. “The door…”

  Flopping back on the bed, I stared at the ceiling. I was beginning to understand how Boone felt. Whatever I’d seen in my dream was gone and had only left a pile of purple alligator typewriter monkey nonsense in its place. Anyway, what was the purple thing? The alligator or the monkey? Or were they all purple? The orientation kept changing like an annoying Rubick’s Cube. One side was all the one color, but the others…

  “I’m fine,” I muttered, turning onto my side. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Skye…” His hand slid around my waist.

  “I just need some sleep. I’m overtired. I’ll be okay in the morning. Promise.”

  He grunted and tightened his grip on me. We lay like that for ages before Boone drifted off to sleep again. His breathing evened out, and my eyes remained wide open, dwelling on the purple alligator and the monkey typewriter.

  Finally, as the night began to fade into dawn outside, I fell back asleep, unable to shake the feeling that I’d opened something that should’ve remained closed.

  Chapter 7

  Glancing around the kitchen, I studied every nook and cranny in an attempt to figure out why I felt so…out of place.

  “What are you doin’?” Boone asked, looking up from his Weetabix.

  “I’m trying to find the glitch in the Matrix,” I said, squinting at the tablecloth.

  “Huh?” He made a face.

  “We need to get Netflix,” I said, scratching at the fabric. “Your pop culture knowledge is severely lacking.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t break somethin’ last night?” he asked putting his spoon down. “You had a rough landin’.”

  “I don’t know,” I murmured, lost in my own thoughts. “I’m sure it’s just the bump on the head.”

  Boone went back to his Weetabix, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something in his mind didn’t want me in there. The more I dwelled on it, the more I knew that I hadn’t hit an invisible electric fence but something—or someone—had shoved me out. I wondered if Aileen had felt the same thing. The bump on the head hadn’t helped, either.

  Whatever it was, something dark had locked away Boone’s memories, and I couldn’t help wondering if it, and the wolves that had been chasing him the night he’d come to Derrydun, had something to do with Carman.

  I guessed time would tell…about all of it.

  Still sensing I was off-kilter, Boone wouldn’t let up get me. He fussed and clucked like a mother hen until I was forced to send him to the convenience store at the Topaz up the street to get some peace and quiet. Coffee tasted like dirty dishwater on my taste buds, and after last night’s awful sleep, I needed a carton of energy drink.

  Thankfully, Mairead was super independent and didn’t need to wait for us to pour herself a bowl of Rice Bubbles before disappearing off to wherever Goth girls went before nine a.m. around here.

  Boone wasn’t back before it was time to leave for Irish Moon. Assuming he’d been accosted by a random villager for a lengthy chat, I dragged my sorry behind into the crystal mecca without my hit of sugar-laced taurine.

  “You look like you’ve been punched in the eye,” Mairead said as I did a zombie lurch across the shop floor.

  I poked my tongue out at
her and rounded the counter. Pulling out the tarot cards, I held them in my hands and shuffled, hoping the energy of the familiar and the resonance of the crystals could soothe the uneasiness I’d felt since waking up spouting nonsense.

  It all started when the block on Boone’s mind threw me across the clearing, I thought to myself. He zapped me unknowingly, and now I’m all weird. I was really worried he’d short-circuited my magical solenoids.

  “We’ve still got a million pictures to take for the website,” Mairead complained when I sat down like a lump and didn’t move.

  “I just want to draw a card,” I said. “I’ve been neglecting them lately.”

  She leaned against the counter, watching me shuffle. “Okay, let’s see, then.”

  Selecting a card, I pulled it out of the deck. Seeing my old friend the Chariot, I curled my lip.

  “Pfft.” I flung the card down on the counter. “Upside down Chariot. Again. So not helpful.”

  “Go again?” the Goth girl offered.

  I sighed and slipped the card back into the deck. Humoring her, I shuffled and pulled another card. Flipping it over, it revealed the Chariot reversed.

  “See? It’s no use,” I said, putting the card back into the deck for the second time. “This has happened before. No matter how many times I shuffle, split the deck, fling them all up into the air…” I sighed dramatically and spread the cards across the counter in a long fanned out line. “Watch this.”

  I tapped a card and flicked it out of the lineup. Turning it over, the familiar golden lines of the Chariot showed her face.

  “Chariot, Chariot, Chariot!” I exclaimed. “All upside down. All the time.”

  “Why?” Mairead asked, looking mystified. “It’s a little creepy, but there’s gotta be a reason, right?”

  “Yeah, whatever this card heralds, there’s no escaping it.” I made a face and tidied up the tarot cards, then dropped them back into their box. “Totally comforting when I feel like I’ve got the hangover to end all hangovers.”

  “You’re hung over?” It was Mairead’s turn to pull an unattractive expression.

  “Don’t do that,” I said, getting out the little digital camera from under the counter. “You look like a slapped ass.”

  “You’re so mean. Gimme that.”

  She grabbed the camera, and the moment our fingers touched, a bolt of static electricity crackled.

  “Ow!” Mairead exclaimed, almost dropping the camera.

  “Purple typewriter monkey!” I exclaimed.

  “Purple what?” Her look went from shocked to time to call the asylum and have Skye locked up in two seconds flat.

  Testing a theory, I reached out and poked the back of her hand. Another zap crackled, and she leaped away from me.

  “Ow! What are you doin’?”

  “I feel weird,” I replied, shaking my tingling hand. I was supercharged or something…

  “You feel weird? You better not be doin’ that on purpose.”

  “The last time I was this full of static was when…” I trailed off. The last time I was zapping everything was after Aileen had died, and the Crescent Calling was trying to drag me to Derrydun.

  Something magical was going on here. I wanted to say duh, like how couldn’t I realize it, but something was in my head, screwing with my thought patterns. Was it the same thing or something different? Who the hell knew.

  The door opened, and the bell jingled merrily.

  “I’ve got a delivery for Skye Williams?”

  “Oh! Oh! That’s me!” I jumped up at the sight of the mailman and made grabby hand gestures for the parcel in his hands.

  Our hands brushed, and immediately, the air zinged with static as the mother of all shocks went up his arm.

  “Hell!” he cursed, shaking his hand.

  Mairead’s mouth dropped open, and I felt my cheeks heat.

  “How weird,” I said, scratching my head.

  “Yeah…” The mailman grimaced and backed away toward the door.

  Frowning, I turned away, slightly embarrassed I’d zapped a complete stranger. Hugging the parcel to my chest, I sighed. How inconvenient.

  “Are you sure you’re not doing that on purpose?” Mairead asked when he’d left.

  “Of course, I’m sure!” I exclaimed. “I don’t get my jollies going around shocking random strangers.”

  “You’re gettin’ weirder by the day.” She nodded at the parcel. “What’s that, then?”

  “It’s my Halloween costume!” I declared, tearing open the plastic with a flourish.

  Holding up the packet, I grinned.

  “A sexy witch?” Mairead raised her eyebrows. “Case in point.”

  “I told you I wasn’t messing around.” I grinned, my static charge forgotten for the time being. “Best costume ever.”

  “I thought costumes were compulsory!”

  Boone stood on the front step, wearing his usual getup of jeans, boots, black and red checkered shirt, tight black T-shirt, and his ratty leather bomber jacket. While I appreciated his penchant for tight underthings, I was so not unimpressed.

  To think I’d gone to all the trouble of ordering a costume online when I loathed dressing up. The fishnet stockings I’d loaned off Mairead began to itch my crotch area, and I wondered how anyone wore these things. Picking an itchy front wedgie was so not sexy. Even more so when your costume was a sexy witch…not itch.

  He shrugged and buried his hands deeper into his pockets.

  “Typical.” I pouted.

  “Are you goin’ to show me what’s under that coat?”

  “Nope.” I smiled sweetly, tightened the trench coat I’d found in Aileen’s closet, and shook my head. “Not until we get to Molly McCreedy’s.”

  “It better be appropriate for all ages.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing the fishnet stockings were only appropriate on two occasions. When you were a Goth and on Halloween. Luckily for me, it was the latter. I could never pull off fishnets.

  “I still haven’t forgiven you for forgetting to bring me my energy drink the other day,” I drawled, not impressed by his teasing.

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You better.”

  Boone grinned and leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips.

  “That’s a good start,” I murmured.

  I locked the door to the cottage behind me, and we made the three-minute walk over to Molly McCreedy’s in silence. Mostly, I was annoyed Boone had gotten out of dressing up. I’d been conspiring for him to dress up as a fox ever since Mairead gave me the invitation, but he wouldn’t have a bar of it. Sometimes, that man was too serious for his own good.

  The party was in full swing as we approached the pub. Outside, Fergus’s donkey was tied to her usual post with a blue tutu around her middle and a matching bow in her mane. Even she’d gotten the memo!

  Carved pumpkins and hay bales were arranged outside, fake spider webs and skeletons were weaved around the exterior, and when we went inside, we were greeted by little old Mary Donnelly dressed as a pink fairy.

  “Oh, Skye,” she said when she saw my trench coat. “You’re not dressed as a flasher, are you? There better be somethin’ underneath there. No one wants to buy when you’re giving away for free. I’ve still penciled you in for a spring reception at the teahouse. There’s no way I’m writin’ your bookin’ in pen if you forgot to wear your underthings!”

  My mouth fell open, and Boone began to laugh, his hands clutching his sides.

  “And, Boone,” she went on. “Where’s your costume?” She clipped him around the ear, which silenced his amusement.

  Shucking off my coat, I produced my shimmering green witches hat and shoved it onto my head.

  “I’m not sure about that, but it’s a sight better than what I was expectin’,” Mary declared, before shooing us into the pub. “Have fun, dears.”

  “A witch?” Boone asked, cocking his head to the side. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” I replied
, dodging a skeleton hanging from the ceiling.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Yes,” I declared, swatting away a spider web. “A big one with one of those little umbrellas!”

  As he disappeared toward the bar, I spotted Mairead twirling around on the dance floor by the fireplace. She was flirting with a boy I’d seen Mrs. Boyle chase with her broom on many occasions. I would go as far to say he was the old woman’s number one nemesis before he’d disappeared off to college.

  Wait… Mairead was flirting?

  “Hey, Skye!”

  Turning, I smiled as Maggie appeared. Her costume was a Bavarian Beer Maid. It seemed her irony meter was as high as mine.

  “What are you wearin’?” she asked, tugging me on the arm.

  “A brilliant costume,” I declared.

  “A sexy witch,” she said with a laugh. “That’s original.”

  “Hey, I’m Australian. We don’t celebrate Halloween. Not really. I’m a newbie, thank you very much. I went for a costume classic.” I put my hands on my hips and pouted seductively at her. “And I don’t look half bad.”

  “Your skirt is so short I can almost see your knickers! I bet Boone likes it.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

  “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” I winked suggestively.

  “Lucky bitch,” she said with a laugh as Sean McKinnon—who was dressed as a scarecrow with hay shoved underneath his rumpled clothes—wrapped his arm around her waist and twirled her away. “Sean!” she screeched. “What did I tell you about sexual harassment in the workplace!”

  Boone appeared and handed me a drink with a smile, his free hand sliding around my waist.

  “Maggie is right,” he murmured into my ear. “I can almost see your knickers.”

  “I really think you should’ve come as a fox,” I said. “Like a sports team mascot with an oversized fluffy head.”

  He screwed up his nose and sipped at his pint of beer. “That would’ve been ridiculous.”

  “More than a witch going to a costume party dressed as a witch?

  “You have a point, but I’m not fallin’ for one of your schemes.”