Crescent Prophecy

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “Why?”

  “Have you thought about what you want to do with Trinity?”

  Mairead made a face.

  “Maybe you were taking the wrong classes,” I suggested. “What were you studying?”

  “Psychology.”

  I remembered when I was in high school psychology seemed to be the buzzword of all the seniors. Like fleek, and YOLO, or whatever the kids nowadays were saying. Psychology had been the career choice of the moment.

  “Is that something you want to do? Or was it something you chose because you had to choose something? I know how these high school career councilors work. Not everyone has their life mapped out at seventeen.”

  “I’m eighteen.”

  “Are you?”

  “Me birthday was last month.” She pouted.

  “Did I say happy birthday?”

  “No.”

  “Not even on Facebook?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll make it up to you.” I thought for a moment. “What was I doing last month? Oh, yeah, I was battling the mind manipulation of a fae who’d stolen the identity of my ex-boyfriend.”

  Mairead screwed her nose. “Huh?”

  “It’s a long story, but we were talking about you and your gnarly dream.”

  “Do you think it’s stress?” she asked.

  “Honestly, I think it’s more about the kidnapping part.”

  “Skye, I… I’m tryin’. I want to be strong.”

  “I know. I can tell.”

  We fell silent, listening to the night outside. All was still, which meant, tomorrow, frost would be lying on the ground, coating everything in a thin sheen of white droplets.

  “I don’t want to be a psychologist,” Mairead blurted.

  I smiled. “I know.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me!”

  “It’s not about me,” I said. “Anyway, it wouldn’t have been your choice if I told you.” And just like that, all this witchy business about the journey, not the destination, smacked me directly in the face. Looked like we both had a lightbulb moment.

  Damn, I was growing up and being all responsible and stuff.

  “What do you like doing?” I went on. “You must have some idea you’ve disregarded because it’s frivolous. Don’t forget, we live in the age of the Internet. It’s a good time for small business. Just look at Irish Moon.”

  “You should open an online shop.”

  “Hey, now there’s… Mairead! Don’t change the subject.”

  She thought, her forehead screwing up.

  “It’s two a.m.,” I complained, winding her up. “Let’s go back to sleep…”

  “I like to draw, okay,” she declared.

  “You draw?” I raised my eyebrows. “Cool.”

  “Who ever made a job out of drawing?” She pouted.

  “Plenty of people. Ever hear of the comic book industry?”

  Her scowl deepened. It looked like she’d already forgotten about the lesson The Fool presented. Luckily, she had me to give her a kick up the rear end.

  “Then I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Tomorrow, start working on your drawings, and I’ll help you brainstorm.”

  “Brainstorm?”

  “Time to hustle, Mairead. We’ve both got destinies to fulfill.” I gave her a look, then reached for the lamp. “Can I go to sleep now? I get angry when I’m tired.”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  The room was plunged into darkness, and I nestled back into bed, my head finding the groove in my pillow.

  “Hey, Skye?” Mairead whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you scared?”

  I hesitated and looked inward for my truth. Lucy was right about my arrogance, but I was beginning to believe it was to do with fear more than ego, especially after Mairead’s near miss. Which meant, I still had time to learn how to be humble. With great power comes great responsibility, or so the saying from Spiderman went.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t a little afraid.”

  And so life went on much the same way for the next few weeks.

  The days shortened, the temperature dropped, rain drizzled, and the mornings were fraught with fog and vaporizing breath. I’d begun wearing a gray knit beanie—another of Cheese Wheel Aoife’s creations—with my fingerless gloves twenty-four seven. Those babies only came off my mitts when I went to take a whiz.

  Boone had warned me about snow and sub-zero temperatures, and while I was looking forward to a real wintery Christmas, I was hoping I would still have toes by then.

  Despite the cold, Irish Moon was buzzing with customers. Mairead and Lucy alternated their working schedule, fitting around each other with minimum fuss. The tourist season was beginning to wind down, and the buses were less frequent, which gave me some breathing room when it came to practicing my magic. I wasn’t at the grand-master level yet, but things were starting to make a lot more sense than when I was just stabbing in the dark.

  The clearing underneath the branches of the hawthorn tree was one of the most familiar places in the whole of Derrydun. Even more than the cottage was if you could believe it. I knew every rise and fall of the earth, every twist of the hawthorn’s roots, every snarl in her bark, every wisp of fern around the edges of the forest, and every shadow that played across the entire scene.

  I’d fought against this place for so long even after I found out I was destined to protect it. Now… Well, I don’t know when it happened, but it had become home.

  “So, tree,” I said, gazing up at the branches. “You’re the largest hawthorn there ever was and will be. You must’ve seen some screwed-up shite in your time, hey?” I made a face. “You must be laughing at my lackluster attempts at practicing magic. Ready for another round?”

  Standing before the tree, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, centering my mind and magic just like Lucy had taught me. I felt my power bubbling in my belly and focused on shaping it. Warmth spread to my chest, down through my legs, and then along my arms until I could feel the Crescent legacy in my entire body.

  Okay, hold it there, I thought, concentrating on keeping it contained.

  I held as long as I could before letting my magic go. Instead of pushing it outward, like I imagined when I was doing a spell, I let it deflate and simmer back into a dormant state. I was totally getting better at this. Control was ninety-five percent of being a witch, Lucy said.

  Reaching out, I lay my palm against the trunk of the hawthorn. Another thing Lucy had confirmed was that witches had an ability to connect with the plants and earth, which explained why I could sense the spring winding its way through the ground at Croagh Patrick. Remembering the cool sensation of something rushing past me, I shivered.

  “We really need to build you a greenhouse or something,” I said, almost expecting the tree to answer.

  Well, it had before, hadn’t it?

  “When I touched you last time, you tried to tell something, didn’t you?” I asked, then snorted as I realized I was talking to a tree. A magical tree, but still… “And that didn’t sound half dirty. Touching a tree. Pfft.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I decided there was no harm in trying. This place had been my ancestral home for over a thousand years. I had nothing to worry about even though underneath her roots, lay the hawthorn’s original purpose. Guarding a doorway to the fae realm.

  I’d never really thought about it that way, and now I was pondering the notion, a prickling sensation scratched at the back of my neck, then shivered down my spine and back up again. There was a portal to another world under the tree outside Irish Moon. Brrr!

  Shaking my head, I focused my mind and reached out toward the hawthorn. Nothing happened—at least, not straightaway.

  My skin crawled as if slimy, gooey worms were slithering up my arms and legs, and I almost pulled away. At the last second, I realized it was the tree answering my call. Her tendrils were reaching out—roots, branches, and vines—to gre
et me.

  “So you are in there,” I murmured. “What were you trying to tell me, hawthorn? I don’t know, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  I was plunged into darkness before twisting and turning. I was falling like when Alice fell down the rabbit hole. Panicking, I screamed, reaching out for something to grab hold of, but there was nothing there.

  I fell on my ass, the wind rushing out of my lungs, and I moaned. Ow, my butt cheek.

  Glancing up, I almost did a little wee when I saw a face staring down at me. Not just any face. It was a tree with leaves for hair, bark for skin, and awful glowing green eyes. Boone had told me about her, about how she’d drowned Aileen in the earth. It could only be one person.

  “Hannah?”

  She wailed, her voice peeling with a thousand threads of pain, and the ground began to rumble beneath my feet.

  “No…” I scrambled to my feet, but I was caught.

  The forest floor turned to quicksand, and I sank, my boots sticking. The pressure against my legs was unbearable, and I screamed for help, but no one came. I struggled, but the more I moved, the faster I was swallowed up.

  “I’m coming,” a voice whispered in my ear. “Wait for me.”

  A heavy pressure was squashing my chest, causing my limbs to slow. Dirt filled my mouth, choking and stealing my breath. Struggling for air, I clawed at the earth, trying desperately to fight my way out of the darkness. Reaching toward the surface, I pushed and kicked, climbing higher and higher.

  “Skye!”

  Light burst in my eyes, and I coughed violently, spitting dirt onto the ground before me. What a rush!

  Turning, I wiped the tears from my eyes and shook out the earth still clinging to my clothes. I stilled when I realized I was standing in the center of Derrydun. How did I get here?

  Overhead, the sun was shining, and I felt sweat prickling across my forehead. It was the middle of summer, which was completely confusing. A moment ago, I’d been in the midst of the deep and dark Irish autumn.

  Glancing up at the sky, I frowned at the yellowish hue that was laid over the blue. It was like I was looking through a filter labeled sepia. Turning around, I scratched my head when I saw how different the village looked.

  Mary’s Teahouse was still neon pink, but the Virginia creeper that grew all over Molly McCreedy’s wasn’t as wild. The handicrafts store had been replaced with a shop called Lush Lavender - Irish Arts & Crafts, the hawthorn tree in the middle of the road was two-thirds of the size, and Irish Moon wasn’t there at all.

  Crossing the street, I cupped my hands against the window and peered inside at the empty building. Without all the crystals and shop fittings, it looked so big. And empty. Did I say that already?

  Where the fudge was I? Had the hawthorn transported me into another vision, or had I taken a ride in a DeLorean at eighty-eight miles per hour?

  “You must be Aileen.”

  Turning, I gasped as I came face-to-face with Mary Donnelly. A really young looking Mary Donnelly. I mean, she was still older, but not as…ah, forget it.

  “I’m sorry to startle you, dear,” she said. “I saw you standin’ there, and I wanted to offer my condolences. It’s a terrible shock. Just terrible.”

  “That’s…okay?” I replied, giving her the once-over. Eyeing her shoulder pads and sequin embellished T-shirt, I held onto my brewing giggle. And she gave Mairead grief over her fashion choices? Hello, nineteen eighty-nine.

  “Are you interested?” Mary went on, nodding toward the shop. “It’s been empty for so long. Robert thinks the tourist industry is about to boom. It could be a good investment for the right sort of person.”

  “Robert?” I tilted my head to the side.

  “O’Keeffe,” she replied. “He was at the funeral. Did you meet him?”

  “The funeral?”

  Mary placed her hand on my shoulder and gave me a concerned look. “Oh, dear, you’ve really been through the wars. It must be just awful comin’ home after so long to all of this.”

  I was beginning to feel rather sick the longer she spoke to me. It was eerily similar to my calling. Aileen had left Dad and me when I was two. I knew the Crescent legacy was to blame, and something terrible had happened, but no one had ever spoken about it. It was almost thirty years ago.

  It seemed Aileen and I were more similar than I’d ever known.

  “What happened to them?” I asked.

  She gave me a curious look. I was supposed to know, being in my mother’s body and all, so to her, I was acting out of character even for someone overcome with grief.

  “Why, they were found in the woods,” she said. “Aileen, darlin’. Are you feelin’ okay? Would you like to come to the teahouse for a cup of tea and a scone? My treat.”

  “Mary, what happened to them? Who were they?”

  Her frown deepened, but she began to speak, her words gentle and considered.

  “Your grandmother, mother, and aunt were found in the woods behind the village. They’d been bound…” She coughed, looking uncomfortable as the bile began rising in the back of my throat. “They were burned.”

  Skye.

  A cold blast of air blew on the back of my neck, and I turned, my body plunging deep into the darkness of the forest.

  Something rough was digging into my wrists, and I couldn’t move. Struggling, I turned my head, my gaze locking with a woman my age. Black hair, green eyes, pale skin.

  Movement drew my attention forward, and I swallowed a scream as I saw nothing but wild, curly hair and anger. Anger and…flame.

  “Crescent bitch.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” the woman beside me said. “She’ll come. She’ll come, and you’ll be sorry.”

  Fear, fear, fear… Then a wrenching, burning, searing agony and…nothing. Darkness.

  I wasn’t sure how long I floated. There was no direction where I was. No up, down, or side to side.

  It started as a simple dot in the black. A pinprick of color began to grow, larger and larger until I realized I was looking at a flower.

  It was a simple thing—a purple star with a yellow center—but I knew it was deadly when put into the right potion. Lucy had taught me about it, and I’d seen it in the pages of my spell book. Nightshade.

  The image was pounded into my brain like I was being hit over and over with a sledgehammer. Nightshade, nightshade, nightshade.

  It was a warning, but what for? Was I being poisoned? Did the flower represent something or someone?

  Pain erupted in my head, and I was wrenched away from the image, light and color bursting all around me. I fell to my knees, my fingers curling in the leaf litter at the base of the hawthorn. Gasping for breath, I fought for clarity as I was struck again.

  My shoulder slammed into the ground, and I fell onto my back, crying out in pain.

  Someone was standing over me, holding a large branch. My vision wavered, and I tried to push myself up, but my head was spinning.

  Curly wild hair… No!

  Lucy.

  “I’m sorry, Skye,” she said, raising the branch again.

  The Three of Swords was finally playing out to its full extent. I’d forgotten all about the warning, not to mention I’d disregarded listening to the hawthorn until it was too late. I was so stupid!

  Lucy was the third sword.

  Chapter 18

  Coming to was the strangest sensation.

  It wasn’t like waking up in the morning. It was like trying to swim through a darkness that had no shape or form. Almost as if my mind was trying to wade through quicksand.

  My head throbbed, and I was having a hard time concentrating. This wasn’t natural. Not one bit.

  Moving my arms, I was met with resistance, and it took me a full minute to realize I’d been tied to something. I was lying down, but where was I?

  Turning my head, I grimaced when I saw Lucy kneeling at the side of what looked like a clearing. There were trees and warm, orange lights. Torches?

  Immediately
, the prophecy came to mind, and I began to panic. Lucy was performing the ritual to break the curse. The curse that kept Carman from returning to Ireland.

  I pulled at the restraints, but I was stuck fast. I was tied down with magic to a stone slab deep in the forest. Had to be.

  “Strugglin’ will do you no good,” Lucy said without turning around.

  “How could you?” I demanded.

  “How could I?” She turned around and snarled. “I had no choice. Unlike you.”

  “Nightshade,” I said with a moan, my head practically splitting in two. She must’ve hit me with a real wallop. “Your coven is the Nightshade Witches…”

  She narrowed her eyes, her lip curling. Every scrap of friendliness she’d ever shown me was gone. Her mask had dissolved, letting out the angry and bitter witch underneath.

  “Took you long enough.”

  “I probably never would’ve found out!” I exclaimed. “I’m alone, or have you forgotten? You were supposed to help me…”

  “I was never supposed to do anythin’. Welcome to the real world, Skye, where everyone has their own agenda. It isn’t black and white.”

  “Why did you teach me how to use my magic?” I demanded. “Why?”

  “Trust,” she replied, her features twisting. “I’m sorry, Skye, I had to get you to let down your guard. I had to.”

  “You had plenty of opportunities,” I said, trying to buy time or find a hole in her plan I could exploit. If I didn’t get out of this before she broke the curse, we were all up shit creek. “Why didn’t you take me the day you found me asleep by the hawthorn?”

  Lucy didn’t reply, she just narrowed her eyes and began readying herself for the ritual.

  No witch in their right mind would team up with Carman unless there was some kind of reward or leverage involved. C’mon, Skye, think!

  Nightshade Witches had a grudge against the Crescents. Was it just because they wanted to rid the world of the one thing that was keeping Carman from returning and unleashing Armageddon? Or was it something more?

  “She took something from you, didn’t she?”

  Lucy stiffened.