Crescent Calling (The Crescent Witch Chronicles Book 1)

by Axelle Chandler

  Ahead, I spied a sign that read Derrydun (Doire Dún). I assumed the last bit was the village’s name in the Irish language. All the signs had been like it on the way here. Attempting to pronounce the words, my tongue knotted up, and I sighed.

  The road twisted and turned, but the village hadn’t come into sight yet. Was it that small I’d already driven past? I glanced at the GPS, beginning to think I’d gone too far or had missed a turnoff. Rounding a bend, a tree loomed directly in front of me, and my heart skipped several dozen beats.

  “Holy shit!”

  I swerved, and the rental car careened around the tree, across the street, and sailed into a coach bay beside a quaint little cottage with a thatched roof. I came to an abrupt halt, my whole body sliding forward and back as I planted my foot on the brake.

  My hands tightened around the steering wheel, and I took a few deep breaths while my heart returned to a healthy rhythm. A range of curse words revolved through my mind, and I reached down and flipped the key in the ignition, turning the beast off before I accidentally put my foot on the accelerator and drove into the creek in front of me.

  Getting out of the car, I slammed the door shut and breathed in the clear country air. Welcome to Derrydun, indeed. At least the sun was shining, and I wasn’t freezing in my dress.

  Glancing around the little village, the first thing I noticed was the lack of noise. There was zero traffic, zero pedestrians, and zero human noise. I wasn’t used to it.

  Really, the whole place looked like it was out of a children’s picture book. There were cottages with thatched roofs that had been turned into shops selling arts and crafts, a few whitewashed buildings bordered the road, there was a traditional looking pub covered in some sort of red leafed creeper, and overlooking the scene were ruins of some kind on the hill.

  Where there wasn’t a building, there were masses of green. Trees, flowers, babbling brooks—the works. It was so quaint I almost threw up.

  Farther up the street was a single set of traffic lights and a modern service station. I had no idea what they needed the lights for since the road was deserted. I was the only fool on it.

  When my heart had stopped trying to claw its way out of my chest, I spotted Robert across the street where he was talking to a much taller man. They’d obviously witnessed my near miss with the tree, and my cheeks flushed. What an entrance.

  Robert raised his hand in a wave and waddled over. I glanced at the man he’d been standing with, but he’d already walked off.

  “What’s that tree doing in the middle of the road?” I exclaimed with a huff. “I nearly took it out!”

  “It’s a hawthorn,” the lawyer said with a chuckle. “We build around because it’s bad luck to cut them down. They’re the trees of the fairies, you know. They’re supposedly the mystical doorways into the fae realm.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “If you say so. They should put a sign or something.” I waved my hand at it.

  “Was your trip enjoyable?” he asked.

  “Until the tree incident, it was as fun as being stuck in a tin can for twenty-six hours straight.”

  He smiled, not put off by my irritableness at all. “Welcome to Ireland. It’s good to have you home.”

  Home? I wasn’t so sure about that. This was my mother’s home, whoever she’d been, and I had no connection to this place whatsoever. I was a stranger in strange lands. Hell, I couldn’t even understand the accent half the time, and we were all speaking the same language.

  “Here are the keys,” Robert said, handing over a heavy padded envelope. “I know you’ve traveled a long way, so I’ll come by afore the funeral with the final paperwork.”

  “You’re just handing me the keys without a signature?” I asked, peering into the envelope. “Just like that?”

  “You’re Aileen’s daughter.”

  “So that’s a thing? Like a discount card?” I made a face.

  He shrugged. “You’ll find Irish Moon right there.” He pointed to a shop across the street. “And Aileen’s cottage is directly behind it. The two-story bluestone with the garden.”

  “Irish Moon?” I asked with a frown.

  “Your mother’s shop.”

  I followed his pointing finger, but instead of finding the shop, my gaze collided with the strangest scene. There was an old man shuffling down the road, leading a donkey with a scrappy little Jack Russell terrier perched on its back.

  My mouth fell open as they approached. It was a mirage. I was tired as hell from the flight and the death-defying drive over from Dublin, and now I was hallucinating.

  “All right, Fergus?” Robert asked as they passed.

  “Right,” the old man muttered.

  “That’s a thing?” I asked, watching the procession with wide eyes.

  “To be sure,” the lawyer said. “Fergus is a local institution. He sells his handwoven crosses of St. Brigid to tourists right there. Has for years. You should get him to make you one. Brigid of Kildare is one of the patron saints of Ireland. Besides, old Fergus would like you more if you did. Bein’ Aileen’s daughter isn’t a discount card.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Robert.”

  “Anytime. The funeral is tomorrow at the church. I’ll come and get you in the mornin’.”

  I nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”

  The lawyer waved and waddled down the street, his ill-fitting suit hindering more than it helped his image.

  Irish Moon sat across the street. I looked both ways before I crossed, but there hadn’t been any traffic the whole time I’d been standing there. A wrought iron fixture was screwed into the facade, and a pale purple sign hung from the black metal. The lettering was done by hand with a crescent moon painted behind.

  A girl was sitting on the footpath by the door, dressed from head to toe in black with big combat boots on her feet. Her eyes were dark with matching eyeliner, and her long, dyed black hair hung in her face. As I approached, the hiss of loud music coming from her earphones floated through the air. The whole ensemble reminded me of myself as a teenager. Rebellious to the point Dad pulled out his hair, hardcore into punk music, leather jackets, blue hair, and underage partying.

  She was fiddling with her phone, and when my shadow fell over her, she glanced up.

  “About time,” she said, pulling the earbuds out of her ears and rolling her eyes. “I’ve only been waitin’ here for an hour.”

  “Excuse me,” I said haughtily. “I didn’t realize there was a timetable.”

  The girl pushed to her feet and pointed to the sign hanging inside the door. “Openin’s at ten.”

  “I just got here!” I exclaimed throwing my hands into the air. “And how do you know I’m not a customer, huh?”

  She looked at me and shrugged. “You look just like Aileen.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m Mairead,” she declared like it was already a known fact.

  “And what’s a Mairead?”

  “Mairead’s a shop assistant,” the girl said.

  “Shoot.” I opened the envelope Robert had given me and fished around for the keys. Pulling out two sets, I offered them to her. “I had no idea my mum had a shop. Do you know which key it is?”

  Mairead plucked a set out of my hand and unlocked the door. “Are you tired?” she asked as we walked into the dark store. “People say you come from Australia?”

  “People say?” I asked, beginning to feel nervous.

  “Yeah.” She turned on the lights, illuminating the cornucopia of crystals and gems. “It’s all anyone’s talkin’ about.”

  “I don’t know if I’m worthy,” I muttered, distracted by all the shiny stones. I held the envelope against my chest and moved through the shop, studying every nook and cranny. Mum used to sell all this stuff? It was kinda…cool.

  “What are you goin’ to do with the shop?” Mairead looked at me expectantly.

  “I really don’t know. I didn’t know my mum owned a shop until this morning. I think Rob
ert mentioned it, but it was a shock, you know.”

  “Well, I can teach you how everythin’ runs,” she said. “I’ve been workin’ here after school and durin’ the holidays for three years now.”

  I glanced around at the display cases of crystals, jewelry, knickknacks, and books. The air felt strange here, like it was warm even though there was a chill to it. Running my fingertips over the slice of amethyst in front of me, I shrugged. What was the harm in it?

  “I suppose it won’t hurt to keep it running until I decide what to do.”

  Mairead grinned. It was such a shock considering her mopey Goth attitude I made a face.

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m eighteen,” she said proudly. “Well, I will be eighteen in August. I finished school last year, and I’ve deferred University for a semester. I’m startin’ at Trinity in Dublin after the summer. I was kinda countin’ on this job for some extra money… I want to get me own place.”

  Movement caught my attention outside, and I peered through the shop window. I watched as a tall man began clipping the hedge bordering the car park opposite to where my rental sat. An old lady with silver hair done up in a wild-looking bun was leaning on a broomstick watching him work.

  The man looked young, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He was a messy kind of handsome with his curly hair that had been cut short on the back and sides but left long on the top, so it fell into his eyes. His jaw was dark with stubble, and when he reached higher, his red flannel shirt rode up revealing a mighty fine rear end. Damn.

  “That’s Boone,” Mairead said standing next to me. She seemed to have gotten over her excitement about the shop and was now intent on relaying the village gossip. “He used to stay with Aileen.”

  “He used to stay with my mum?” I raised my eyebrows and glanced at the man again. “Who is he?”

  She shrugged. “He just turned up one day. Aileen said he was the son of some old friend. Now he lives about a mile down the main road.”

  “What does he do exactly?” I watched as the old lady spied some kids picking some flowers poking through the hedge, lifted her broom, and started chasing them down the street. Boone dropped his clippers and began running after her, waving his hands frantically. If I weren’t so irritated and jet lagged, I might’ve laughed.

  “A lot of things,” Mairead said, snickering at the scene outside. “He helps Mrs. Boyle—that’s the lady with the broom—with her garden, he works in the kitchen at Molly McCreedy’s, he does deliveries for Mary’s Teahouse, and he works on Roy’s farm.”

  I snorted, wondering how he found enough hours in the day to do all of those jobs. Down the street, he’d caught the lady known as Mrs. Boyle and was coaxing her back toward her house. His arm was over her shoulders, and he was talking earnestly in her ear. Finally, he pried the broom out of her gnarled grasp and held it out of reach. Mairead didn’t seem concerned with the scene, so I assumed it was a regular occurrence.

  “He’s really nice,” she added. “He’s the only one who can get Mrs. Boyle to calm down.”

  “Does she do that a lot? Chase kids like that?”

  She laughed and nodded. “Beware of her broom. One day, it’ll be an urban legend.”

  Turning my attention back to Boone, I studied his shock of curly brown-black hair, his stubbled jaw, and his broad shoulders and decided he was handsome. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine what was underneath those trousers with the way they clung to his ass and all. I tilted my head to the side and made an appreciative face. Nice.

  As if he’d read my mind, he glanced up, his gaze zeroing in on the shop window where Mairead and I were blatantly staring at him. The girl raised her hand and waved, but my cheeks flared red, and I turned away.

  “So how does this place work?” I asked, smoothing down my dress awkwardly.

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “I’m trying to stay awake until it’s normal bedtime.” I shrugged.

  “Well, the whole village is shuttin’ down tomorrow for Aileen’s funeral,” she said. “But I can help as much as you want today.”

  “Is there much business?” I asked, wondering if everything closing was the Irish version of a state funeral. “It seems really quiet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Mairead said excitedly. “Tons of tourist buses stop all the time. Mostly from now until October, but there’s always someone comin’. It’s quiet now, but just wait.”

  Looking out the window where Boone was still cutting Mrs. Boyle’s hedge, I grimaced. It was quiet now…but the whole village would be on top of me tomorrow with their questions and stories. What was I supposed to say to them?

  “Well, we’d better get started with my training,” I said to Mairead. “Today, you’re the boss.”

  The cottage behind Irish Moon was a two-story bluestone building that looked just like the rest of the village. The garden was in full bloom with purples, yellows, oranges, and reds all over the place. A vegetable patch was at the side where another door was set into the wall, and in front of me was the main entrance.

  I was afraid to go in, so I stood there, the keys heavy in my hand, my suitcase at my feet. I’d moved the silver rental car into the space behind the house once the tourist coaches started arriving, and just like Mairead had said, business was booming.

  Derrydun had already surprised me in more ways than one.

  Sighing, I grasped the handle of my suitcase and rolled it up the path. The only thing I knew about my mother was she’d left us—a man who loved her and a helpless toddler. She’d left us all alone. I was the spitting image of her, which mustn’t have been easy for Dad, and now here I was about to step into her home. Twenty-five years of my mother sat behind that door. What if she turned out to be a real bitch? Or worse, what if she was nice?

  Unlocking the door, I opened it and was immediately hit with the scent of home. Somehow, it was familiar, and as I stepped over the threshold, everything tingled with static like it had the other day at the beach house. Shivering, I closed the door and found the light switch in the hall, then flipped it on.

  To my right was a sitting room filled with furniture with unfashionable floral coverings, an open fireplace, and a television in the corner. A bookshelf sat against one wall, overflowing with all kinds of tomes. Straight ahead was a staircase, and to my left was the kitchen. Naturally, I went for the food first.

  Leaving my suitcase in the hall, I stood by the table. Everything here smelled earthy. Wet and woody with a hint of rosemary and mint from the herbs by the back door.

  There was a note on the table from Robert detailing how the heating worked and that I would find some welcoming gifts in the fridge. The lawyer had thought of everything, and I was grateful. Now that I was here in my mother’s home, it really hit me. I would never get a chance to know her. Not really. She was gone, and I hated that it had taken her death to finally bring me here. Needless to say, I wasn’t going upstairs. Not tonight.

  Opening the fridge, I found a bunch of casseroles inside with notes taped to them. Flipping over the first one, it was from some people named Fiona and Mark Ashlyn. Friends of Mum, I suppose. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about finding something to eat for a while.

  Taking out the top container, I set it on the bench while I opened and closed all the cupboards and drawers looking for a plate and some cutlery. Dishing out a healthy portion of some lamb concoction, I watched it rotate in the microwave. Aileen cooked her meals here. The evidence she was a virtuoso in the kitchen was all around. Battered pots and pans hung from the wall, herbs were drying in bunches in the window, and tired-looking recipe books were propped up on the counter.

  The microwave beeped, and I pulled out the steaming dish. Sitting at the table, I stared into space, wondering how in the hell I’d gotten from there to here.

  She was all around me but still so far away.

  CHAPTER 3

  I stared at the gravestone in front of me and sighed. The Celtic cross reached up into the blu
e sky, the stone worn from enduring hundreds of years out in the harsh Irish elements.

  Here lyeth the body of Mary Byrne, who departed this life on the… The rest was unreadable.

  “Ah, you found your ancestor,” Robert said, appearing beside me.

  He’d turned up at the cottage that morning as promised, I’d signed the last of the paperwork with his posh gold pen, and it was done. Everything my mother had owned now belonged to me. I was expecting some kind of closure, like a book snapping shut, the moment I signed the last bit of paper, but nothing happened. Nothing at all. It was such an anti-climax.

  “She was related to me?” I glanced at the lawyer and back to the headstone again. We had different family names.

  “Aye. This one’s an old one. Died seventeen somethin’.” He rubbed his hands together and bounced from foot to foot. “It’s chilly out here. Do you want to go inside?”

  “I thought it was almost summer?”

  “Summer? What’s summer?” He laughed and offered me his arm.

  Watching the stream of people walking into the church, I made a face. Mairead was right. Everyone had turned up for the funeral and had dressed in their finest black outfits to boot. There were no corners for me to hide in once I walked through those doors. All eyes would be on me, the mysterious daughter of their beloved Aileen.

  “Do I have to go in there?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what’s worse. Goin’ to a funeral or being stared at by the entire village. But strength in numbers, or so they say.” He wiggled his arm like a chicken flapping its wings.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Danny DeVito?”

  “You’re a master, Skye, but I’m not fallin’ for it. Let’s go.”

  “But surely someone’s told you,” I said, taking his arm.

  “Aye. I auditioned as his stunt double for that Batman film.”

  “Really?” The lawyer was earning some serious cool points.

  “No,” he said, bellowing with laughter.

  “That’s mean!”

  “Now here’s the church, so it’s time to be serious,” he said.