Crescent Prophecy

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “We can try to piece together this later,” I murmured. “Right now, we need to go home and prepare.”

  “For what? We stopped the ritual… Didn’t we?”

  I frowned and lowered my head.

  “Skye?”

  Grasping Boone’s hand, I rose to my feet. I wasn’t so sure, but there was no way of knowing until it was time for the ultimate showdown. Even if we dodged a bullet this time, there would be another attempt, and another, and another until one of us got what we wanted.

  Boone was looking up at me expectantly, but we had bigger wolf-sized fish to fry right now.

  “Let’s go home,” I murmured. “Before you catch a cold.”

  Chapter 20

  I didn’t let Boone shift for our walk back to the cottage.

  Gathering what was left of his clothes, I bundled him up and made him sit outside the clearing. While he shivered in his undies, I cast one last spell.

  I wasn’t sure if I should thank Lucy for the lessons she’d taught me, but it was her guidance that saw me wipe my hand across the whole scene…and erase it. The pools of blood dissolved like a pot of boiling water that had completely evaporated, steaming and bubbling until it was no more. The torches were snuffed out and began growing leaves and branches, the earth taking them back into the soil.

  And Lucy… The ground took her, too.

  Moss, lichens, and grass sprouted over the mound, growing and spreading until the entire scene looked as if it were part of the forest once more. Only Boone and I knew that under the uneven surface lay the witch who betrayed all of us. There her cairn lay like the ancient burial mounds that were dotted all over Ireland.

  I didn’t say any words, I didn’t use any anchors, I didn’t even use any potions or elixirs. All I had at my disposal was my heart. Instinctual magic, she’d called it. The most unpredictable kind there was.

  I waved my hand, and just like that…the horror was gone.

  Mairead was waiting for us at the cottage when we returned.

  “Oh, cac,” she exclaimed when she saw Boone and me.

  We were covered in blood. Our clothes were stained with it, but by the time we’d reached the village limits, the gashes on my arms were nothing but pale pink lines.

  She began fussing as she hurried us inside, making sure the door was locked.

  “I was so worried,” she exclaimed. “When Boone rushed off like that…”

  I glanced at him.

  “When you didn’t come back, I began to worry,” he said. “Then I sensed magic in the forest.”

  “He ran right out of here like his ass was on fire,” Mairead added. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  “It’s a long story.” I sighed, not wanting to get into it right now. Turning to Boone, I added, “You better get into the shower and warm up.”

  He glanced at Mairead, then back to me. Finally, he nodded and shuffled upstairs. A moment later, the bathroom door closed, and the sound of running water rushed through the old pipes.

  “Skye… What happened?”

  I glanced at Mairead, knowing I was babying her a little. She was eighteen and a woman now, but I still saw her as the kid sister I never had. Especially now she was living under my roof and had been attacked by the same creatures who were hunting me.

  “I can handle it,” she said firmly.

  “I know, it’s just… It was a close call tonight.” I shook my head, wanting nothing more than to hash it out with Boone.

  “You’re covered in blood…”

  “I’m okay, Mairead,” I said firmly. “Boone is a little shaken up, so I want to check on him. Could you boil the kettle for us? I think I need a hot cup of tea…with some whiskey in it. At least a fifty-fifty ratio of the stuff.”

  Her bottom lip trembled, but I knew well enough that it was more to do with the scare we’d put her through than being offended at the lack of an explanation.

  I slid my arms around her neck and hugged her tightly, though it was a full thirty seconds before she embraced me back.

  “Thank you,” I whispered into her ear. “I always wanted a sister, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Me, too.”

  Letting her go, I shooed her into the kitchen. Kicking off my boots, I left them by the front door and padded upstairs to find Boone.

  Knocking softly, I opened the door and shuffled into the bathroom. He was standing in the bathtub, water from the shower head pounding on his shoulders. The curtain was askew, and a fine mist was dampening the mat on the floor. Fixing it, I clucked my tongue as my socks soaked through.

  “Why a wolf?” he murmured, not turning around.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, perching on the end of the bath and wetting a face washer.

  “Apart from the time I stopped the wolf from attackin’ you, I’ve never seen or touched one.”

  “They’re meant to be extinct,” I said. “Mary Donnelly told me there are no more in Ireland.”

  “Which means the wolf was a shapeshifter.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a one-eyed shapeshifter now.” A pang of nausea wobbled through my gut at the thought it had been a man stalking me that day in the forest. “Besides, he never came back.”

  “As a wolf.”

  “Not helping,” I said, giving Boone a side-eye glare.

  “The truth is… I could’ve been anythin’ before.”

  “You could’ve been a slimy toad for all we know,” I said, dabbing at the dried blood on my arms. “You said it yourself, your powers are still developing. Or at least, you’re discovering what you’re already supposed to know. Didn’t you say once that you didn’t know you could empathize with an animal’s emotions until the day you saved Roy from Bully?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts,” I scolded. “There’s no use panicking until we have to, and even then, panicking isn’t the best use of our time.”

  He turned, his eyebrow quirking.

  “I’m finding it very hard to reassure you while you’re standing there naked.”

  “I should be reassurin’ you,” he said. “You were the one who was almost sacrificed.”

  My cheeks flushed, and I looked away. The pain in my arms had been unbearable, but the gashes weren’t as deep as the hole Lucy’s betrayal had carved out of my soul. The witches were supposed to be with me, not against me.

  “Boone…” I glanced up at him. “I saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “Carman.”

  He dropped the soap, and it hit the bottom of the bath with a plop.

  “Right before you showed up, I was drawn into a vision or whatever it was. I was in a room… There were two doors, but every time I walked through them, I was back in the same place. Over and over. Then she… She spoke to me.” I grasped his hand.

  “What did she say?”

  I shivered despite the steam that had built up in the little bathroom.

  “She thought she’d won,” I murmured. “She thought…”

  “Well, she was wrong.”

  “It’s real now,” I said. “I mean, it always has been, but now Carman has a face.”

  Boone was silent, and I didn’t blame him. There was nothing he or anyone else could say to make this any better.

  “Everything is so messed up,” I said. “Even the hawthorn tried to warn me, but I was too stupid to listen until it was too late.”

  “The hawthorn?”

  “Right before Lucy… I placed my hands on the tree, and it showed me a vision.” I snorted and flung the face washer into the bath. “It wasn’t the first time.”

  “What did it show you?”

  “Lucy was a Nightshade Witch,” I said. “Her family… The people she was trying to save by taking me… They were responsible for murdering the last of the Crescent Witches. They took Aileen’s family, and that’s why she was called back to Derrydun, leaving me behind with my dad.”

  “They were your family, too, Skye,” Boon
e murmured.

  “The hawthorn was trying to tell me something,” I said.

  “It was warnin’ you about Lucy,” he said, his brow furrowing.

  “Yeah, but why did it shove me into the ground like that?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “I was Aileen. Aileen was me. In the visions. Nineteen eighties Derrydun was weird.”

  Boone tensed and turned off the shower. He still didn’t like it when I brought up how Aileen had died as he was carrying around misplaced guilt that he was to blame. She’d forgiven him in her last moments, and so had I once I’d learned the truth. We lived in troubled times.

  “You…” he began, but I threw a clean towel, and it hit him in the face, stopping him from saying any more.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I held up my arms and studied the pink lines. Whatever Boone had done, it hadn’t worked entirely. I was still stuck with a physical reminder of what had happened in that clearing.

  “I’m going to get tattooed,” I declared.

  “To cover those little things?” he asked.

  “Boone, I need to go back to the hawthorn,” I said as he wrapped himself in the towel. “I need to make sure.”

  “Sure of what?” He stepped out of the bath and gestured for me to undress so I could wash off the night’s escapades.

  “The ancient hawthorn in the forest holds the memories of the Crescent Witches,” I said. “Or at least, I think it does. They’re trying to tell me something. Something important. I think it could help with what’s coming.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m afraid we didn’t stop the ritual in time,” I went on, my words beginning to run into each other. “If that’s true…”

  “Shh,” Boone murmured, grasping my shoulders. “We’ll go back, but not tonight. Tonight we rest, okay?”

  I nodded, knowing I was on the verge of hysterics. I’d kept it together so well… Boone was a wolf, I was the key to breaking an ancient curse, my family had been burned alive, I’d had a taste of Aileen’s demise, Lucy had betrayed us all, I’d almost died, and I’d come face-to-face with Carman herself.

  Talk about an eventful evening.

  “Mairead’s downstairs making tea,” I said. “There’s whiskey.”

  Boone smiled, but he couldn’t hide the worry in his black eyes. He’d discovered more than he wanted to about himself tonight…and what he was capable of. It wasn’t just about me. Not anymore.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he whispered. “Always.”

  Chapter 21

  A Little More…

  The next morning, we woke to a thick fog that had lain over Derrydun during the night.

  Boone said it was just the time of year, and it wasn’t an omen, but I’d been rattled to my core. Every shadow had a pair of eyes, every black cat was bad luck—not that I’d seen any cats other than Father O’Donegal’s tabby—and every natural wonder of the land was a precursor of doom.

  I wrapped myself in my coat, donned my beanie and scarf, and dragged Boone to the hawthorn. Mairead stayed behind at the cottage, promising to open the shop at ten.

  After last night, we were all on a knife’s edge.

  Trees loomed out of the mist, the damp air making everything feel closer than it ought to. My toes were numb despite the extra pair of socks I’d put on, and my gaze darted to-and-fro.

  Boone wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me close. His touch was comforting, as I was sure mine was for him. We both had demons to face and questions that had been answered with more questions. Hopefully, the hawthorn would be able to shed some light on the situation.

  The clearing was free of the thick tendrils of fog when we arrived. Much like the tower house on the hill, this place had a bubble of protection around it that seemed to muffle all sound and give me a false sense of safety. It hadn’t protected me from Lucy, after all. Maybe the bubble was to do with what had happened here.

  Mary Byrne had been burned at the stake at the tower house, and now I knew three Crescents had been burned here as well. Both places had been marked by tragedy, so maybe that was what the bubble was for.

  “Are you sure you want to do this today?” Boone asked, his voice sounding loud in the eerie silence.

  “I have to,” I replied, kissing him on the lips. “There is no perfect time to commune with a tree. Not when Ireland might be open for the taking.”

  He nodded and glanced up at the hawthorn.

  “We have to know,” I murmured, more to reassure myself than him.

  “I’m here,” he said. “I’ll watch over you until you come back.”

  I nodded and turned back to the tree as Boone stepped back, giving me a little room to breathe. Placing my hands on the trunk, I closed my eyes and focused.

  The last two times—and the only two times—I’d done this, the hawthorn had forced its way into my mind. This time, it was a little harder. It was silent for a long time as if it had used all its power to try to contact me in the first place. Magic took a toll, after all. Seemed logical.

  Gently prodding it with my own magic, I called out. To who, I wasn’t quite sure.

  Light burst in my mind’s eye, and I gasped. Wrenching my hands away from the hawthorn, I turned and shielded my eyes from the sun.

  My toes curled, digging into the warm sand, and I breathed deeply. The salty smell of the ocean washed over me, and the soothing hiss and crash of the waves hitting the shore lulled the transition into the vision.

  Now…where had they taken me this time?

  “Look!”

  I glanced down to find a little girl digging in the sand with a bright yellow shovel. A red bucket had been dumped nearby, and a towel with a neon watermelon design had been half buried by her enthusiastic shoveling.

  Kneeling before the sandcastle the girl had begged me to evaluate, I made a face. It wasn’t very good.

  “Look!” she said again.

  She must’ve been about two or three, her cheeks were chubby, and her hand-eye coordination wasn’t the best. Neither was her sentence structure.

  “I am looking,” I said, making a point of staring at the ramshackle sandcastle. Where were her parents?

  The little girl’s hair was dark as night, and her eyes were as green as the forests of Ireland. I smiled as she patted her little hands on the sandcastle. She was a total cutie in her pink bathers and blue denim hat. Neon orange zinc was wiped across both cheeks, as was the fashion. Man, the stuff stank, but she loved it when I drew little hearts and stars on her cheeks.

  That was weird. How did I know that?

  The little girl smiled and whacked the sandcastle with the plastic shovel. Sand sprayed everywhere, including down my cleavage, and she clapped, pleased with her handiwork.

  “You little terror,” I declared. “You’re as bad as me when I was your age.”

  I stilled, my voice sounding strange. I had an accent. An Irish accent. Holding up my hands, I cursed. I had a wedding and engagement ring sitting pretty on my finger. Man, what a big rock!

  “Swear!” the little girl declared.

  “Shh!” I said. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  The girl made a face and resumed her destruction, stamping on the castle and flapping her arms.

  “So, who am I meant to be?” I mused. “And who are you, huh?”

  “Skye!” The girl chortled. “Mum. Skye.” She jabbed her finger toward the ocean. “Daddy!”

  Following her finger, I saw a tall man in a wetsuit running toward us from the water’s edge. He had a surfboard under one arm, a strap connecting it to his ankle. I recognized him instantly.

  “Dad?” My mouth fell open. It had been years since he’d died. Years, but there he was.

  Oh, God, that was my father. He was…young. Glancing at the little girl, I knew it was me. Man, I’d been a smart mouthed little snot.

  “How are my two favorite girls doing?” he asked, his Australian accent hitting me like a to
n of bricks. He set down his surfboard and knelt beside me—I mean, the little version of me—the sand sticking to his wetsuit.

  “Daddy, look!” Skye pointed to the mangled sandcastle proudly.

  “Did you do that?” he asked. “You little Godzilla!”

  She squealed as he caught the little girl in his arms and began tickling. I watched the exchange open-mouthed and on the verge of tears. This was our life before the Nightshade Witches took my mother from us. We were happy…

  “Are you okay, Aileen?” Dad asked with a frown.

  A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck, and I shivered.

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say.

  “I think you’ve had a bit too much sun,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”

  Why was the hawthorn showing me this memory? It must be important. Otherwise…

  The breeze began to whip into a full-blown gale, and I scrambled to my feet, searching for my daughter—for me. Sand was flung into the air and into my mouth and eyes. The grit stuck to my teeth, and I spat.

  “Skye!”

  The wind eased, and they were gone. The beach was empty, and the sky was full of storm clouds. Big, blue-black giants packed full of thunder and lightning. What a metaphor.

  “I’m coming,” a voice whispered.

  Spinning around, I couldn’t see anyone.

  “I’m coming…”

  “Who are you!” I screamed, the wind tearing the words from my mouth. “What do you want?”

  “Hold on…”

  I was severed from the vision so abruptly it took my breath away. Stumbling back from the hawthorn, I gasped, my heart racing.

  “Skye?” Boone held onto me, his familiar scent comforting. “Skye, are you all right?”

  I blinked, the residual effects of the vision sending my heart into overdrive.

  It couldn’t be. I’d felt the earth choking me as I tried to claw my way out of the ground. The darkness was dragging me down… There was no way anyone could get out of that. Was there?

  I couldn’t deny it. It had been her voice, telling me to hold on. She was coming…

  It didn’t make sense, me being here if she wasn’t gone. It didn’t work that way!