Crescent Rogue

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “There’s not much to me,” I replied.

  “Tall, dark, handsome, and brooding…” She edged closer, placing her hands on my shoulders. “That’s very sexy, you know.”

  Her palms wrapped around my neck, her fingers teasing the hair at my nape. It felt good to have a woman touch me, and as her lips moved closer, I knew this wasn’t right. I couldn’t give her romance or a relationship or a family…not even a little bit of fun. I had too many secrets, and they would forever keep me apart from those things. The more kind of things.

  I wrapped my hands around her wrists and moved my head back. “Hannah…”

  “Shite,” she cursed, letting me go. “I misread everything, didn’t I?”

  “You’re pretty and all but… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Embarrassment mixed with disappointment bled from her skin, and she turned her face from mine.

  “I don’t want to lead you on, Hannah,” I went on, not wanting to upset her. “It’s not right.”

  “You’re a rare man, Boone,” she said, shaking her head. “One day, someone will catch you, and the rest of us will die of jealousy. You’ll see.”

  I hoped she was right because I wasn’t sure how long I would be satisfied with living a life among everyone but being apart at the same time. Eventually, something had to break.

  As Hannah walked back into Molly McCreedy’s, the donkey raised her head and let out an enthusiastic hee-haw.

  Chapter 10

  And so life in Derrydun went on much the same way as it always did.

  Autumn faded into winter, and snow covered the far-off mountains, and the very tip of Croagh Patrick was ice. Then the melt came, and the weather bloomed into spring. Flowers erupted, and the landscape burst with color. Lush emerald ferns coated the ground while wild fuchsia tinted it with shades of cherry and plum.

  Animals came out of hibernation, and young ones were born left, right, and center. I could feel the ebb of life in the air, my powers growing sharper than the edge of a carving knife. The farm was alive with it as the herd welcomed lamb after lamb and three calves fathered by the troublesome Bully to the fold.

  It was a peaceful time. A good time. But with all things, the lure of growth and bounty drew greedy eyes and unwanted attention.

  One morning, in early spring, I was on my rounds of the farm. The air was crisp, signaling any kind of true warmth was a long way off yet, and a fine layer of dew coated the ground. Droplets of water sparkled in the sunrise, and light forced its way through the fog, limiting my line of sight. Ahead, I could see the fine outline of a group of sheep huddled together, but further afield, the mist clung into the dips and valleys of the landscape. I would wager that not five meters above my head, the air was free and clear.

  It was a beautiful sight, but I still buried deeper into my coat to stave off the chill.

  My boots squished on the wet grass, the toes damp with dew as I crossed the top field, counting sheep and checking the drywalls. It was the time of year lambs popped out without warning, so we had to make sure the little ones that might’ve been born during the night were well, along with their mams. Predators roamed the land and the sky, waiting for unsuspecting babes to be forgotten by their mothers long enough for them to be snatched. It was my job to make sure none of that happened and if it did, deal with the horrible aftermath.

  My nose twitched as a foreign scent flitted past, and I raised my head. Raking my gaze over the field, it took a moment before I noticed the fox sitting by the gate. Hidden by the mist, its russet fur blended into the landscape, its snout twitching slightly as it scented me in return. It was so still, it was no wonder I hadn’t noticed it until the wind changed. Breathing in again, I noted it was a female.

  The fox stared directly at me, and I reached out with my power, intending to frighten her away, but there was nothing for it to grasp onto. There was no emotion or even any base instinct emitting from the animal. It was strange, and the lack of anything tangible for me to find raised a mighty large red flag. Frowning, I waited…and so did the fox.

  Leaning against the drywall, I glanced at the sheep and the lambs frolicking at their mother’s feet. If she were here to snatch a newborn, she would regret it while I was on the lookout. I considered shifting into my fox form to scare her away, but I quickly disregarded the idea. Aileen had instilled in me the virtue of patience and care, especially where using my abilities so blatantly were concerned. There were still many things out there I didn’t understand about the world of magic, so I had to be careful.

  What had Aileen told me about the fae of the forests? They were tricksters, shades, and phantoms…though not all were troublesome. The fox could be any one of those or something darker with a taste for malicious behavior. Like the craglorn, it could be an illusion designed to lure me from the protection of the hawthorns and into the clutches of whoever had stolen my memories.

  The doorway to the fae realm had been sealed long ago, but there was every likelihood that some of those spirits still roamed the forests even after all this time. Desperate for magic, the friendly fairies of the forests could’ve twisted into something evil.

  Or the fox could be another shapeshifter…just like me.

  I wasn’t sure why the thought alarmed me. Perhaps it had everything to do with the wolves and the ravens that had been attempting to chase me down the first night I began remembering. Or perhaps it was the lack of power I felt from the creature. I could sense Aileen’s magic, and the craglorn had sensed mine when I was in animal form, so wouldn’t that mean I would be able to feel out another shapeshifter when I saw one? I wasn’t entirely sure.

  Watching the fox closely, I noticed she didn’t even pay a scrap of attention to the lambs. If she wasn’t hungry, then why was she here?

  Ignoring the niggling sensation in the back of my mind that was warning me she was here for me, I pushed off the fence and walked toward the group of sheep, keeping my body between them and the fox. I approached, placing my heel down before my toe to quieten my footsteps, and counted six of Roy’s blue and three of Mark Ashlyn’s orange from over the rise. He was an English fellow, who’d moved to Ireland for love when he was a young man.

  Counting three lambs, I waited until they suckled before I gave them a dab of paint on their asses to claim ownership. One blue and two orange.

  After a while, I glanced over my shoulder to check on the fox, but she’d disappeared. Snorting, I watched the sheep graze their way across the top of the field. She must’ve given up on whatever reason she’d come here for. Whatever it was.

  For three days, the fox returned, and each time, she sat and stared, neither approaching or moving away.

  I never saw her arrive, and I never saw her leave. She never approached the herd, me, or attempted to snatch a vulnerable lamb. Her strange behavior led me to believe she was something more than a mere fox, but there was no way for me to tell without revealing myself…but one thing was crystal clear.

  She was there for me.

  We were both aware of the other, our silent exchange speaking louder than any words. She wanted me to follow, and I wasn’t willing. Then she would appear the next day, and we’d do it all over again.

  On the fourth morning, I’d had enough. She sat in her usual position, waiting, but this time, I stared into her eyes and shook my head. Wherever she wanted to lead me, I wasn’t going. I had a duty to Aileen and Derrydun. This time, unlike my insatiable curiosity when it came to the hawthorn by Sean’s house, I would think before I leapt into the unknown.

  Then, to my utter surprise, the fox rose and flipped her tail before turning and walking away. Her paws were silent on the earth, her form melting into the mists like an apparition. It was like she’d never been there at all.

  Grimacing, I returned to my duties, confident I’d made the right decision by ignoring the fox’s silent request.

  Chapter 11

  I didn’t know why I kept the encounter with the fox from Aileen, but the animal didn’t retur
n, and the early morning meetings slipped from my mind.

  Life settled once more, and I began to explore my powers, testing the limits of my imagination. So far, I’d learned I had an empathy with animals and people, the ability to sense their emotions was rather annoying at times, but it had come in handy, especially after the encounter with Bully.

  Then there was my instinctive nature when it came to sensing magic and the use of it. I could also change into multiple forms but had not yet attempted anything other than the fox and gyrfalcon I was used to. If my ability extended to other shapes, I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d yet to try, afraid I’d become stuck halfway.

  Walking the drywall by Mark Ashlyn’s place, I was greeted by the black stallion that prowled the outer edges of the neighboring property. His proud head emerged from the mist, vapor billowing from his nostrils. Beyond, I could barely make out the outline of the three mares—two chestnuts and a cream and chestnut Appaloosa—grazing along the hillside.

  “Top of the morning, Knight,” I murmured as the stallion lowered his head over the drywall. A wire fence had been erected along this stretch to keep the horses from leaping in with the sheep, but there was still enough room for him to lean over and nuzzle my hand.

  As I stroked his fur, my mind touched his, and the sensation of greeting a familiar animal warmed my insides. During the time I’d worked on Roy’s farm, I’d come to know all the animals that lived on the hillside, from the sheep, the horses, the cows, and the birds that wheeled overhead to the badgers and hares that leapt through the forest. Even the occasional group of red deer would be sighted, protected closely by a grand stag with antlers that twisted toward the sky.

  Threading my fingers through Knight’s mane, I wondered if I would be able to manage taking on his form. We were great friends these days, our morning ritual of chatting over the fence had brought us closer together, and I knew the stallion inside out.

  What would it feel like to become Knight? I imagined a stallion would be powerful, proud, and regal…but what would it feel like as a shapeshifter?

  Deciding to take the risk, I stroked Knight’s velvety nose and stepped back.

  “No time like the present,” I said to him. “You had better ready yourself, boy. This is going to be totally weird.”

  Focusing on the stallion, my flesh began to heat, and sweat beaded on my forehead as I began changing. Then my bones stretched, signaling the point of no return. Grimacing, I fell to my knees as everything snapped and twisted, morphing from a human physiology into that of the black stallion.

  Knight snorted, stamping his hoof. His eyes bulged, and he whinnied before trotting off toward the mares, leaving me to change into his likeness.

  My arms lengthened into legs, my hips twisted into a strong rump, a tail sprouted at the base of my spine, and my face elongated. Black fur grew all over my body as my clothes dropped to the ground, and before long, I stood tall and proud, the spitting image of Knight.

  Realizing I’d done what I thought was impossible, I leaped and bucked with glee, galloping across the top field like a maniac, relishing the power coiled in my body. Slowing to a trot, I shook my head, snorting. What a rush.

  Knowing I didn’t have much time before Roy expected me down at the farmhouse, I willed my body to change back. I could endure the pain that came with my transformations much better after months of practice channeling the energy back into my limbs. By the time I was a man again, I was calm and collected, no signs that the snapping of bones and the twisting of muscle and sinew had ever ravaged me at all.

  Kneeling in the grass, butt naked yet again, I smiled at Knight and his brood. The stallion lowered his head and snorted, vapor billowing from his nostrils in a silent show of approval. It seemed he liked me as a horse.

  What a rush, indeed.

  The following day, I found Aileen at Irish Moon, sitting behind the counter with her tarot cards in hand.

  It was her morning ritual, and like clockwork, she sat in that exact place and divined her daily messages. Then the buses would start coming, and there would be a constant stream of tourists going to and fro from the shops until late afternoon. She never needed my help, but I came when I had a spare moment between all of my part-time jobs.

  “I made a new shape,” I said proudly, leaning on the counter.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? Did you get tired of foxes and falcons?”

  “You always say I should learn to hone my abilities. I honed.”

  “Then what shape did you make? I can see you’re itching to tell someone about it.”

  “A horse,” I said proudly.

  Aileen smirked. “Be careful, or people will think a kelpie has come to drag them away.”

  Smiling, I shook my head. The kelpie was an ancient Irish horse that rose from the ocean and dragged unsuspecting folk into the water so it could drown them.

  “It wasn’t as difficult as I thought,” I went on. “I’ve been greeting Mark Ashlyn’s horses every time I venture toward his property. It didn’t take long to form an affinity with them.”

  “Imagine you,” Aileen said with a chuckle. “Prancing about like a pony.”

  I laughed at her jibe and said, “I’m not sure I like it, though. I never realized how fragile a horse’s legs felt.”

  “Aye, they seem to break easily, that’s for sure, but I know little about them, to be honest. Have you tried any other shapes?”

  “There’s Father O’Donegal’s tabby cat,” I said with a wink. “But I fear you would be making fun of me until the end of time.”

  She smiled weakly and returned her gaze to the cards. It was far from the reaction I was expecting to my lighthearted joke, and I began to worry.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, sitting beside her. “You don’t seem yourself this morning. Are you feeling sick?”

  Aileen waved me off. “I’m fine. The cards are giving me grief this morning, is all.”

  Glancing at the counter, I saw the card she’d been meditating on when I’d walked in. The Tower sat before her, and I frowned.

  “Something keeps warning me,” she muttered, the lightness of our conversation taking a dark turn. “It’s been this way for months. More than a year, now I think of it. How long have you been with me?”

  “A year, all told.”

  Her fingers traced over the gold outline on the card. “Then longer still…”

  “But things have been well,” I said. “Only what happened at the hawthorn.” I winced at the memory, the phantom claws of the craglorn pinching around my waist. “Nothing came…”

  “No, but other things can. Life isn’t a long line of contentment, Boone. It rises and falls like the tides in the ocean. Good comes with bad, and bad comes with good. There can’t be one without the other.”

  “You fear something is coming?”

  “I’ve seen it in the cards time and time again,” she replied. “I only worry that it’s not come.”

  “You and your precious cards,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Could it be that not everything is tied to them? The future is not set in stone, after all. You taught me that.”

  “You’re right, but there’s something different about this. The frequency can’t be explained by chance. There’s a force in play here…”

  “If there were other magic in Derrydun, you would know it,” I stated.

  “Every time I divine my daughter’s future, I draw The Tower,” she went on, ignoring me. “Without fail.”

  I didn’t understand. All this time she’d been divining Skye’s future, not her own? I’d always believed she’d been meditating on her duty to protect Derrydun from magical threats, not a woman who lived on the other side of the world. Her daughter…

  “Why do you think that is?” I asked, not pressing.

  Aileen picked up the card and studied it intently. “The Tower must fall in order to be rebuilt.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I replied. “Maybe it means she’s starting out on a new pat
h.”

  “Or picking up where someone left off…”

  “You said it yourself,” I declared, attempting to reassure her. “You haven’t seen her since she was a few years old. It could mean a thousand different things. It’s not a bad card, remember?”

  The witch was silent for a moment, her gaze angled away from mine. I imagined I could feel the delicate ebb of her magic, but it was gone before I could sense it out.

  “Enough about that,” Aileen said, returning the card to the deck and shuffling. “Let’s draw one for you.”

  “Another?”

  “Why not? Humor me.”

  Sensing her apathy, I nodded. “Go ahead.”

  She shuffled the deck vigorously, then placed it facedown on the counter. Sweeping the cards out in a long fan, she gestured for me to pick. My palm hovered over the black rectangles, and when I felt the familiar pull of energy, I selected one closer to me.

  I was never sure if it was my mind playing tricks or if there was magic in the tarot legacy calling to my own, but I always felt something when Aileen asked me to draw. Every time.

  Turning the card over, I saw it was another image from the Major Arcana. The twenty-two cards—twenty-three counting The Fool—that represented the major archetypes of the human consciousness. By now, I knew a lesson was coming, and it would either annoy or help me.

  “The Magician,” Aileen declared.

  “Sounds fancy.”

  “Be careful, Boone,” she said mysteriously. “The Magician is all about illusion, after all. He may be a beneficent guide, but he doesn’t always have our best interests at heart.”

  “Why are these cards always full of ominous warnings?” I grumbled.

  “Life is a gamble,” the witch said with a shrug. “There’s always room for a little warning, especially for us.”

  “If you say so. What warning should I heed this time?”