Crescent Legacy

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “Schemes?” I gasped, pretending to be mortally wounded.

  “Your scheme to make fun of me.”

  “Never.”

  Smiling, I felt lighter than I had in days. This party was just what we needed to give us a break from the chaos that was being a Crescent Witch. One night without worry was heavenly. Maybe I would even get lucky downstairs by the end of it.

  Glancing around the room, I sipped at my cider as I checked out all the costumes. Everyone had gone to a great deal of effort, even with Sean McKinnon’s half-assed attempt at a scarecrow, and Boone’s complete lack of being a pretend fox.

  “Ah, there’s Mark Ashlyn,” Boone said. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Go,” I said. “I’m a big girl.”

  He made a face and melted into the crowd. Setting my cider on a table, I looked for Maggie. Spying her across the pub, I laughed as I saw her dancing with Sean McKinnon, then twirling away and into Roy’s arms. Cheeky old buggers.

  A chill traveled down my spine, and I tensed, my gaze meeting a pair of blue eyes. No, it couldn’t be. My spidey sense was tingling to the point it felt like all my extremities had pins and needles.

  Fae.

  Focusing on the man, the air shimmered around him, and I sprang into action. Moving across the room, I zeroed in on the guy—a man I’d never seen before dressed in a leprechaun costume—and backed him into a corner.

  “How dare you come here,” I said, my voice low and full to bursting with a warning. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t melt your brains out.”

  “You know why I’m here,” he said, his eyes shimmering from human to fae. One second they were ordinary blue, then his entire eyeball was like iridescent crystal. Weirdo. “While you were enjoying the snow, she returned.”

  The snowstorm? Carman must’ve used the snow as a cover for her return to Ireland. That meant the ritual worked after all, and the fae before me… Deep fried shit on a stick! He was a scout.

  My hand shot out, and I dug my fingers into his forearm. There was no way in hell I was letting him out of here alive, not when he’d been snooping and testing my defenses.

  “Do you really want to use your magic in front of all these innocent humans?” he asked, his lip curling.

  “Don’t threaten me.” I allowed a small sliver of magic to heat my hand. It got hotter and hotter until I could hear the sound of sizzling over the music.

  The fae’s expression twitched, giving away the fact he was in pain. I hoped he was stuck with my handprint seared into his flesh for eternity.

  “There’s nothing you can do, witch. All that awaits you is death.”

  “Then why don’t you do something about it, huh? You could end this all right now.”

  The fae scowled, and I knew it had no power over me. The only thing that could end right now was him. I had a hold of it, and all it would take was a single thought to end its life.

  I smirked and let it go. “You know what I can do, but that’s not the half of it. That? That was an appetizer.”

  The fae cradled his arm against his chest and bared his pointy teeth at me.

  “You’re an attractive lot,” I said, digging in the preverbal boot. “I’m guessing you’re an Unseelie, aka a dark fairy. Desperate for power, desperate for fear, desperate to get through the doorways. Just all round desperate. You won’t win. Ever. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.”

  His eyes flared, and he tore through the crowd, practically breaking down the door as he went.

  “What was that?” Boone asked, rushing to my side.

  “Fae.” I went after the pointy-toothed fairy, brushing aside a plastic skeleton and a stumbling Sean McKinnon as I went.

  Outside, the street was empty, and I cursed.

  “Why did I have to let him go?” I exclaimed as Boone prowled along the side of the road. “I had my hand on him.” I could’ve held him for questioning…or something.

  “You let him go?” Boone asked with a grimace.

  “What was I supposed to do?” I exclaimed. “Melt him into a fairy puddle in front of the entire village? I know I’m wearing an ironic costume, but exposing the fact that I’m a witch would’ve been the worst thing I could’ve done.” I let out a frustrated cry. It echoed along the empty road, the little hawthorn absorbing some of the magic I’d expelled along with it.

  “Skye,” Boone said warily. “What did he say to you?”

  “The snowstorm the other week,” I began, my heart filling with dread right up to the flood marker. “It was cover.”

  “Cover for what?” It came out uncertain like he already knew but didn’t want to believe. Of course, he knew. Boone was clued up about these things. It couldn’t be anyone else.

  “Carman,” I said. “Carman’s in Ireland.”

  “Cac,” he cursed. “The ritual…”

  “I burned a calling card into that fairy’s arm,” I drawled, not wanting to think about the time I almost bled to death. “Did you see how he ran away from me? Let’s see how she deals with that.”

  “You what?”

  “I burned him with my magic.” I was confused. “Wasn’t I supposed to be able to do that?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied, staring down the road. “I don’t think you were supposed to touch him at all.”

  “What makes you say that? I’ve touched fae before.” Namely, the one who’d been impersonating my ex-boyfriend, Alex. “I’ve melted them into puddles of fairy juice.”

  “Because I didn’t sense him,” Boone said. “Not at all. To me, he was human. He must’ve had some kind of barrier spell…one you burned right through.”

  I held up my hand and stared at it. Did this have something to do with the purple monkey typewriter? I was doing something I hadn’t been able to do before, and the only thing that had changed was the bump on the head I’d gotten while trying to unlock Boone’s memories. What if I’d broken something? Carman was back after a thousand years of exile, and I was broken.

  Suddenly, I felt extremely foolish in my sexy witch costume.

  Happy Halloween.

  Chapter 8

  “Elephant, rose water, pineapple, toaster!”

  I sat up in bed, my chest heaving. I swiped at the sweat on my forehead and dabbed my nightie against the perspiration under my boobs.

  Outside, the night was darker than usual. There was no moonlight streaming through the windows to lighten the little bedroom, so I reached over and turned on the lamp. Warm light lit up the shadows, and I placed a hand on the empty bed beside me.

  Another dream? And here I was hoping it was just concussion talking.

  There was something… A feeling of dread? I was at the pineapple, and an elephant was inside the toaster. When I touched it, rose water came out. That was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. An elephant in a toaster!

  Scratching my head, I reached for my tarot cards. The feel of them was comforting as I shuffled, and my thoughts went to Aileen. What would she do if she were here? It was hard to know since I never really knew her. Boone was the only other person who knew her as a witch.

  A shiver went down my spine as I dwelled on what we’d found at the clearing. Nothing. Only a few months had passed since her death, but the ground where Hannah had dragged her under was unbroken.

  My mother, my father, my life back in Australia. I’d lost it all, but I’d gained so much through the Crescent Calling. Knowing Carman was back in Ireland was a weight on my shoulders I never thought I would have the moment I’d seen Boone turn into a fox for the first time.

  Drawing a card from the tarot deck, I sighed when I saw the Chariot reversed. Again.

  “I already know,” I told the card. “Stop beating it into my head.”

  Glancing over at the window, I felt a bad case of the heebie-jeebies tingling across my exposed skin, and I leaped out of bed and yanked down the blind. Some fae had wings, right? What if they flew up and perved at me while I slept? I shook out my limbs, my paranoia rising. />
  We’d known Carman might come all along, but now that she was here, I didn’t know what to do. Everything I’d learned about being a Crescent Witch had dissolved into mush.

  Curling up under the quilt, I left the lamp on and let my senses fly around the cottage. I felt Mairead asleep in the spare bedroom and a few nighttime creatures scurrying around in the forest, but nothing else stirred. There were no flying fairies or ancient witches gearing up for a grudge match.

  There was nothing at all.

  When the next morning dawned, I moved to the couch downstairs with a can of energy drink and the Crescent spell book. Another night of zero sleep, and I was a zombie.

  I heard the front door opening, and I called out, “That better be you, Boone. If not…I love a barbecue!”

  “But only if I cook it, right?” Boone leaned against the doorframe, looking handsome in his leather bomber jacket and boots.

  “Thank, God,” I declared. “I don’t like charcoal.”

  “I better light the fire for you, then. I don’t what you burnin’ down the cottage.”

  “Thanks.”

  He crossed the room and began fussing over the fire, laying out logs and kindling in an elaborate teepee design that had me wondering if he was an arsonist in his secret forgotten life. He had a certain je ne sais quoi with hot things.

  “Where’s Mairead?” he asked, lighting a match.

  “She went Christmas shopping in Sligo,” I replied. “Took the bus an hour ago.”

  “You’re not openin’ Irish Moon today?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “We needed a break.”

  “Everythin’ okay?” He nodded toward the six-pack of energy drinks on the coffee table.

  It was no use brushing it off, so I told him. “I had another dream last night.”

  Boone raised his head from the fireplace, and his brow creased.

  I shrugged. “I know it was important, but whenever I think about it, all I get is nonsense.”

  “So it wasn’t the knock on the head?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so.” I stroked the page of the spell book idly, my brain fogging up as I tried to recall what was just out of my grasp. “I can’t help thinking it’s another witchy omen.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like something is warning me about Carman and her plans. Like when the hawthorn warned me about Lucy.”

  “Skye, the hawthorn put you in a vision of your family bein’ burned alive. You were tied to a stake.”

  “So?” It was my turn to frown.

  “It’s not a nice way of warnin’ you, is all.”

  “Well, it’s either that or I’m broken. Broken would be bad.”

  “You’re not broken.” Boone rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. “Your magic is still growin’. You said it yourself. Maybe it’s a reaction to Carman returnin’.”

  “Like I’ve been given growth hormones?” I raised my eyebrows and clutched the spell book against my chest. “Okay…”

  “All we can do is wait and watch,” he said. “Enjoy Christmas, Skye. You need moments like these.”

  “To make the impending doom less doomy?” I rolled my eyes.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about all the witches out there who might be falling victim to Carman’s insatiable thirst for power. She might be hoovering up a poor witch’s magic as we spoke about hiding out in Derrydun and waiting for her to come to us…at her full strength.

  “We can’t leave the hawthorn unguarded,” Boone said, reading my expression.

  “Are you sure you’re not a telepath?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Sure felt like he was.

  “If there were more Crescents, then maybe we could’ve planned to go after her,” Boone went on. “But you’re all there is.”

  Thinking about the Nightshade Witches, I knew finding allies would be impossible. To the other witches, I was the problem, and knowing Carman was back would only make things worse. Add a dash of taking away a whole coven’s Legacy forever—I understood why Legacy was capitalized now—and you had the perfect recipe for hatred. Long story short, I was screwed.

  “They know we’re here…” I murmured.

  Boone frowned.

  “I can use my magic more openly,” I said. “I can cast barriers and wards or something around the village and the hawthorn. I can do something.”

  “You’ll attract wanderin’ craglorn,” Boone pointed out. “They’ll sense your magic and—”

  “Go poof!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together.

  “I don’t think a barrier is like an electric fence, Skye.”

  “Don’t dash my hopes for a Christmas miracle,” I said with a pout.

  “Talkin’ about Christmas miracles. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  My ears pricked up at the word surprise. Thankful for the distraction, I shot to my feet and dropped the spell book on the couch.

  “Oh! Oh! What is it? A pony?”

  Boone’s eyebrows quirked. “Uh, no?”

  My shoulders sank, and I screwed up my nose.

  “Just…” He sighed and gestured for me to stay put. “Wait here.”

  “One Christmas miracle, two Christmas miracle…”

  There was rustling and thumping at the front door, then the tip of a pine tree was poking into the lounge room. I could’ve made a dirty joke, but I held my tongue when I saw how excited Boone was.

  “A Christmas tree?” I asked.

  I’d never had a tree after I’d moved out of home. It always seemed like too much work with all the putting up and taking down and the tangled tinsel. Not to mention there was always one light that didn’t work, and when one bulb blew, the whole strand was useless. Who kept the spares, anyway? You put them in a place so safe you forgot where a year later when it was time to get them out again.

  The room filled with the scent of pine as Boone set up the tree in the corner, needles falling everywhere as he steadied the base.

  “What are we decorating it with?” I asked, watching him. “Miniature athames, wands, and pentagrams?”

  “Very funny,” he said, going outside and bringing back a box. “I got all kinds of stuff.” He pulled packets of ornaments and wads of tinsel out and strew them all over the floor. “Baubles, tinsel, lights…”

  “I see there’s a color scheme,” I declared, holding up a box of black, silver, and gold Christmas balls. I snickered as a dirty thought lit up my brain. Balls.

  “It’s a Crescent tree.”

  I raised my eyebrows. A Crescent tree, huh? Diving back into the box, I found a packet of crescent moon ornaments and snorted. Merry Crescent-mas.

  Opening the plastic package, I held up one of the little moons and hooked it onto the tree. Boone smiled up at me, knowing how better I felt even before I did.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re right as usual.”

  His smile turned into a grin. “You’re welcome.”

  Christmas morning was a whirlwind of activity at the cottage.

  We all sat underneath the horror that was the Christmas tree I’d decorated and unwrapped our meager presents. With everything that had happened since Halloween, I hadn’t thought about let alone had time to go get any presents, so I did last-minute shopping online with express delivery.

  Boone was still stuck in Derrydun, unwilling to go past the limits of the hawthorns out of habit, so he shopped locally like the good guy he was. He’d given me a new pair of fingerless gloves and a sloppy beanie he’d asked Cheese Wheel Aoife from the handicrafts store to knit. Black with metallic gold thread weaved through. Very Crescent of him.

  I’d been a total smartass and given him a new black and red checkered shirt and a black T-shirt with a fox design on the front. For Mairead, I gave her a new pair of Doc Martins, and Boone got her a fancy box to put all her paints in.

  But Mairead blew us all out of the water.

  Hanging in the hallway was the painting of Derrydun she’d been working on for the
last two months. All that building up of color and dabbing blots of paint all over the canvas had really paid off. The finished product was stunning with all its intricate details. The tower house stood proudly on the hill, each block of stone detailed with the very tip of her paintbrush. The sky was streaked with swirling clouds, the forest below was awash with every shade of green imaginable, and the main street of the village was vibrant and alive. The hot pink of Mary’s Teahouse stood out like a sore thumb among it all, but that was exactly how it was like in real life. Garish. She’d even managed to get the ancient hawthorn in the picture. Its canopy rose over the rest of the trees in the forest, tall and proud. The kid had mad skills.

  Once the presents were open, Boone and I showered and dressed before making our way over to Molly McCreedy’s. Apparently, Christmas lunch at the pub was a huge tradition in Derrydun. Everyone came, bringing food, drink, and presents, and partied until they were drunk as skunks. It was the local Irish way, Boone said. The village was so tight-knit that everyone was everyone’s family, and no one was turned away.

  I didn’t have any presents, so I brought along all kinds of crystals and tumbled stones, handing them out to those whose energy matched. Amethyst for Mrs. Boyle. Citrine for Mary Donnelly. Rose quartz for Roy, and even though it was pink, it was good for his nature-loving soul. Even Sean McKinnon got a piece of tiger’s eye. He grumbled about getting a rock but put it into his pocket, anyway.

  “Skye! Skye!”

  I turned at the sound of Mairead’s excited voice and stumbled as she almost crashed into me. She was wearing her usual drab garb, but she’d donned a black Santa hat with white furry trim. I’d known her long enough to not be surprised by the irony.

  “Where’s the fire?” I asked, holding her back.

  “You’ll never guess what happened!”

  “Mairead… You’re…” I made a face. “Happy.”

  “So?”

  “Aren’t Goths meant to be mopey?”

  “Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s a stereotype.”

  “Are you sure? Because when you wear black lipstick and smile—”