Crescent Rogue

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “I can stay?”

  “Of course, you can.”

  I frowned, my full belly beginning to make me feel sleepy. The aches and pains I’d felt when I landed in the clearing were subsiding, and I wondered if Aileen was right. Maybe healing myself really was part of the magic she said I had. If that was true, then it was a welcome ability.

  “If you’re going to stay, then we have to call you something,” she mused. “Do you have any ideas?”

  I lowered my gaze, searching the kitchen for a clue. A name… She was Aileen, and I was… Staring at the newspaper on the table, I read the words printed on the front page.

  “Boone,” I said, saying one I liked aloud.

  Aileen glanced at the newspaper, then back to me. “Aye, it does suit you, and it’s normal enough. Boone you are, then.”

  “Boone,” I said again, testing the sound of my new name.

  “Now how about that shower?”

  Aileen showed me to the bathroom and let me be, giving me my first taste of being alone since waking up in the forest.

  Turning on the taps, I allowed the water to run, waiting while it heated. There’d been a waterfall near the hawthorn tree, but I hadn’t seen it. The sound filling the bathroom reminded me of it, and flashes of my wild flight filtered into my mind’s eye. The wolves and the ravens made of shadow. They were all things I remembered now. New memories.

  Who was I? I didn’t even know what I looked like. I didn’t have any idea what color my hair or eyes were or if I was ugly or handsome. It was a mystery to me if I bore some of the physical similarities of the animals I’d changed into. Perhaps I had the eyes of a gyrfalcon and the pointed ears of a fox.

  Steam filled the room, and I turned. Wiping my hand over the mirror to clear the fog, I studied my reflection with wide-eyed fascination. So that was what I looked like. It hadn’t occurred to me to wonder at my appearance before now, but now I was staring at myself, I was perplexed.

  Brown, almost black eyes peered back at me, and I had a strong brow with a sharp jaw that was coated with the shadow of thick stubble. I’d been clean-shaven once, but now the beginnings of a beard were growing. And to top it all off, a mop of disheveled black hair curled on my head, leaves and twigs sticking out of it. I was a mess, but I suppose I wasn’t ugly.

  I wiped the condensation off the mirror once more and committed my reflection to memory.

  Boone.

  Chapter 3

  When I woke, it was day.

  I’d become accustomed to the darkness, and now that light streamed in through the window, everything had changed. Again.

  Aileen’s spare bedroom was furnished with a mismatched set of colors and styles, the small space crammed full of items that didn’t seem to have a place anywhere else. The framed tapestry of a fox and hound on the wall stared down at me, a mocking reminder of what I’d been when I woke the night before.

  Easing out of bed, I sat on the edge and inspected my back, twisting my head in an attempt to see if the scratches left behind by the ravens had healed. They had, just like Aileen said they would.

  Thinking about the witch, I wondered where she was. The cottage was silent. The only sound reaching my ears was the rustling leaves outside in the garden, stirred up by the breeze. Staring down at my nakedness, I tried to think of a solution for my predicament.

  Looking around the room, I found a pile of clothes on the chair with a note on top. Come to my shop, Irish Moon, when you’re feeling up to it. - Aileen.

  Casting the paper aside, I sorted through the clothes. There were two pairs of trousers, two black T-shirts, a red tartan shirt, a thick slate gray knit sweater, a black coat, socks, underwear, and a pair of black boots that were creased around the toes and ankles. Placing the sole against my foot, they looked to be the right size. Aileen had thought of everything.

  I helped myself to another shower to wash the sleep from my body and then dressed. The trousers were a little loose, but they would do. It was better than flashing my bare ass to the entire village, and it was a sight warmer.

  Venturing into the garden, I shielded my eyes against the sun. It was overcast, the clouds breaking for a fraction of a minute and allowing warmth to seep into the earth below. My nose twitched, picking up the scent of soil, mint, and thyme from the pot beside the door, and beyond, the tang of lavender from the shrubs that bordered the path.

  Glancing at the sky, I searched fruitlessly for the ravens. There were no shadows here, and the longer I listened, the more I realized there was nothing malicious lingering among the rose bushes other than the thorns coating their stems. Derrydun seemed to be in its own little pocket of safety, blissfully unaware of the things that chased clueless foxes and flew after lone gyrfalcons.

  Counting a hundred paces from the cottage to the street, I lingered at the corner, watching in fascination as a shiny red vehicle flashed by on the narrow stretch of road. A car driven by someone who barely got their license by the looks of it. It disappeared around the bend, and the village returned to its sleepy disposition once more.

  Looking for Aileen’s shop, I turned and found I was standing right next to it. A wrought iron fixture was screwed into the limestone, and a pale purple sign hung from the black metal that read Irish Moon. There was a crescent moon painted behind the lettering, and I remembered Aileen had said her coven was called the Crescent Witches. Maybe it was a nod to them or a calling card to others like her.

  Opening the door, I stepped inside, a bell ringing above my head. The shop was small, but it was crammed full of books, trinkets, jewelry, and crystals. Lots of them. Geodes, slices, points, wands, caves, and stones covered every available surface and glittered in every color of the rainbow.

  A calm and happy sensation washed over me, and I felt my shoulders lighten. Glancing at Aileen, who was sitting behind the counter, I tilted my head to the side, asking a silent question.

  The witch nodded. “Aye, that’s the crystals you’re feeling. Nice, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  “And how are your aches and pains? Better, I presume?”

  I nodded. “Thank you for the clothes.”

  “You’re welcome. I got them from the lads down on the farm. Roy and Sean. I had to guess your size.” She raised her eyebrow when I didn’t reply. “Now if anyone asks, you’re the son of a dear friend of mine, and you’re staying with me. What we are is a secret, you see, and it must remain so. The human world mustn’t know about our abilities. It’s not that I like keeping the truth from them, but it’s a perilous world we live in. To think a crazy woman with a shop full of crystals could cause mass hysteria is bonkers, but light a candle with your mind in front of the wrong person, and the world could implode. Next thing you know, they’ll have me on an operating table trying to figure out what makes me tick. And you…” She shook her head and snorted.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” She looked at me sternly, and my hackles rose.

  “Perfectly.” The last thing I wanted was to be chopped up and studied, not after my entrance into the world.

  I glanced at the deck of oversized cards in Aileen’s hands as she began shuffling them. They were all black with golden drawings, the metallic sheen flashing as they moved back and forth.

  “Nice, aren’t they?” she said, holding up the deck. “Tarot cards, they are. I got this set on Etsy.”

  I had no idea what an Etsy was, so I shrugged, my attention turning to the tubs of polished crystals on the shelf below the counter. Each had a label printed with the type of stone and what elements its power reigned over. Things like creativity, strength, and protection. I could feel the aura of the minerals through the entire shop, but I wasn’t sure they worked that way.

  “Come and sit,” Aileen said, patting the empty chair beside her. “Would you like to draw a card?”

  “What are they for?”

  “Lots of things,” she replied with a smile, shuffling the cards again. “Divination, advice, guidance. Som
etimes, we’re on a set path into our future and need a little reassurance…or a warning.”

  “You can see the future?” I asked, watching the cards.

  “No one can see the future, at least, not any that’s set in stone.” Setting the cards on the countertop, she placed her palm on the top and swept it to the side, the cards fanning out in a long line. “Pick one.”

  I glanced at the cards, then at her.

  “They aren’t going to bite, you know,” the witch said with a huff. “Pick one, and we’ll see what it says. Perhaps it may give us a clue.”

  Standing opposite her with the counter between us, I reached out and allowed my fingers to brush over the cards. I assumed I could pick any I liked, and it wouldn’t matter which if what she said was true. The card would pick me in the end and deliver a lesson I needed.

  Drawing a single card, I turned it over and placed it face up on the counter.

  There was a picture of a man lying facedown with swords stabbed into his back, and at the top was the Roman numeral for ten. All I could see was pain and loss, the thought of so many wounds on the man’s back bringing to mind the torn flesh that had been on mine only the night before.

  “Ten of Swords,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Every new beginning must come from an end, and with each defeat, a new future is born.” She shook her head and peered at the card. “Curious.”

  I resisted the urge to scowl. Obviously, her assessment could be applied to a shapeshifter with a memory spanning less than twelve hours.

  She ignored me and continued, “The Ten of Swords usually means a sudden and unexpected failure, and is usually wielded by a power beyond your control. A power that has no mercy or feeling. In effect, something that completely blindsides you.”

  I grunted. It didn’t mean much without knowing where I’d come from or who was hunting me.

  “It can also indicate that you’ve been betrayed by someone you thought you could trust,” Aileen went on, explaining the various interpretations. “But it’s not a negative card, you know. There’s hope after this challenge, and the sun will rise again. It’s the darkest before the dawn and all that. The Ten of Swords is about letting go, accepting your current circumstances, and learning from defeat.”

  “How can I learn from something I don’t remember?” I asked sullenly.

  Before Aileen could reply, the shop door burst open, and a girl strode in. Earphones were stuck in her ears, the cord trailing down her chest and disappearing into her coat pocket. Her face was hidden behind a long stream of blue-black hair, and the big black boots on her feet thudded across the hardwood floors. The little bell above the door rang furiously in her wake, and she didn’t once look up.

  “Mairead, this is Boone.”

  The moment the girl’s gaze met mine, her pale cheeks flushed red. She couldn’t be a day over seventeen under all the makeup on her face. Her eyes were heavy with black coloring, and her lips matched.

  “Mairead’s a gothic,” Aileen explained.

  The girl rolled her eyes and pulled out her earphones. “Goth, Aileen,” she declared in a heavy Irish accent. “Goth.”

  Aileen smiled, and ignoring the correction from Mairead, she turned to me. “Boone is staying with me for a little while. His mother is a dear old friend of mine. Isn’t that right?”

  “Sure,” I said hesitantly.

  “I’m going to take him out into the village for lunch. You’ll be fine here on your own, Mairead?”

  Glancing at the girl, I blinked as her cheeks flushed deeper, and she turned away to avoid my gaze.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I’ll be fine.”

  The witch scooped up her tarot cards and placed them under the counter. Then she ushered me toward the door. “I shan’t be long. Don’t forget to dust!” she called over her shoulder.

  Outside, Aileen started to laugh. “It’s not fair of me to find it so amusing, but that girl pretends she hates everything, and one look at you and she’s in love.”

  “I must be twice her age,” I complained, looking up and down the street. A car whooshed by, fluttering her hair, and she smiled.

  “I wonder how old you are,” she mused. “I would say about twenty-five to thirty, but it’s just a guess.”

  “Can you use magic to find out?”

  “No, it doesn’t work like that, and I shall not be using any of that nonsense away from the hawthorn in the forest.”

  “How does it work?”

  “You and your questions,” she said with a huff. “I can’t tell you out here. You aren’t the only creature that’s hunted in these parts.”

  Frowning, I turned and looked at the village, thoroughly frustrated with the lack of answers the day had so far produced. There wasn’t much to see, but Aileen proceeded to tell me all about it nonetheless.

  “Welcome to Derrydun,” she proclaimed. “Or Doire Dún in Irish. We have an assortment of curious folk here as well as their misshapen little establishments. Over there, we have Molly McCreedy’s, the local pub.”

  I followed her pointing finger and studied the little limestone building with a thatched roof just like Aileen’s cottage. It was almost overtaken by more of the Virginia creeper that seemed to be a fixture as much as the townsfolk were.

  “There’s a Centra supermarket and service station up yonder, just past the single set of traffic lights that no one ever pays attention to. See the building there with the lavender outside? That’s Mary’s Teahouse. She’s a sweet little lady, who no one can ever understand—she speaks in Irish mostly and has a very thick accent—but she serves the best scones with clotted cream you’ll ever have in your life. Derrydun is a popular stop on the tourist trail, so that’s why you see all these gift stores.”

  “Tourist trail?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “We get busloads of tourists—travelers—who stop almost every day from March to October every year. It’s how little places like this survive in the modern world. We sell our local legends, flavor, crafts, and produce to people from faraway places who’ve come to see Ireland.”

  We walked down the street side by side while I studied everything we passed. With every step, a growing need to solve the mystery of my past began to rise, like I knew it would. Shouldn’t I know my identity? If I didn’t know who I was, then how could I read the message from the tarot card? If this was a new beginning, then why did I have to lose my memory to get it?

  There was something strange about Derrydun. The more I saw, the more I understood this was where I’d been running. I stared into the windows of shops, inhaled the scent of barley and hops from Molly McCreedy’s, and when I saw the hawthorn in the middle of the road, I paused.

  “Is that supposed to be there?” I asked, pointing to the tree imprisoned by a sea of asphalt.

  “A hawthorn is always precisely where it’s supposed to be,” Aileen declared. “They’re sacred in Ireland. Nobody will harm them, so as you can see, they built the road around it.”

  “This is the hawthorn that protects Derrydun?”

  “The one and the same.”

  “Are we safe here?” I glanced at her nervously. “You say you’re hunted, and you’ve been terribly kind…”

  “I would not have invited you into my home if I thought you were a threat, Boone,” she replied, weaving her arm through mine. “If something wants you, it’s not a stretch to think it’s the same something that wants to suck up all my magic.”

  “What—”

  “I think that’s enough of that,” she interrupted. “We’ll talk more at the cottage once the sun has set. For now, I think you should sample some of Mary Donnelley’s scones and sandwiches.”

  I didn’t have a choice in the matter as she hauled me across the street and into the teahouse. Of all the places I could’ve landed, it seemed Derrydun and its ancient hawthorn may have been my intended target after all. There was a witch who knew what I was and how my abilitie
s worked and a deep magic that appeared to protect the whole area.

  If there was any chance of recovering my memories and learning why I’d been pursued, then Aileen and this place may be the only lead I had. Maybe staying here would be a good idea.

  Like I had a choice.

  Chapter 4

  The entire population of Derrydun seemed to be enthralled by my arrival. Lunch at the Teahouse was a spectacle with face after face looking in to see who the ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ stranger was.

  Thrust into yet another unknown world, I retreated to Aileen’s cottage and lingered in the garden, listening to the sounds of the village and the forest beyond. Staring up at the ruined tower house, I committed the rise and fall of the ruin to memory. I had no others to think on, so making new ones seem like a good idea. There was no use dwelling on a past that may as well have never been.

  Nature seemed familiar and comforting as if my affinity with the animals I’d changed into had brought me closer to it. It was nice to feel a sense of belonging, so I sat in the garden, just…existing.

  Aileen returned from her shop after the sun had dipped low in the sky, the first hints of twilight twinkling above.

  “I promised you answers,” she said, crooking her finger at me. “But I’m not sitting in the dirt. No way.”

  Standing, I brushed off my trousers and followed her inside. At first, she busied herself in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and filling a pot with water in which she placed meat and the squares of carrots, leeks, and potatoes she’d carved. Then the tangy scent of herbs filled the little room as she twisted various stalks and leaves in her hands before adding them to the pot as well.

  I watched from my place on one of the kitchen chairs, itching to ask her a million and one questions.

  “As you can see, stew is my specialty,” she declared. “The secret is in the herbs. The fresher, the better. Can’t get more Irish than that!”