Crescent Calling (The Crescent Witch Chronicles Book 1)

by Axelle Chandler

  “Have not!”

  “Feels like it.” She pouted and turned to unlock the door.

  Behind us, the squeal of tires drew our attention as a car screeched to a halt. We both turned to find a little red Toyota Corolla idling with Boone behind the wheel. This must be Sean McKinnon’s car.

  “You’re skippin’ out to go on a date with Boone?” Mairead exclaimed.

  “No! I’m borrowing Sean’s car, and Boone said he would bring it by so I didn’t have to walk all the way over to Roy’s.”

  “A likely story,” she said, pushing into Irish Moon, leaving me standing on the footpath.

  Rolling my eyes, I turned to the car. Her crush wasn’t working out so well, and knowing how messed up I’d been at that age, I felt a pang of sympathy. Being seventeen was a pain in the ass. It was old enough you had the urge to forge out into the world on your own but still too young to be able to do it legally and with your parents’ permission. I’d been exactly the same as her, maybe even worse.

  The car window rolled down, and Boone’s head appeared.

  “Jump in,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat.

  “You’re coming? Mairead’s already pissed off at me.”

  “Why?”

  “Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “Why do I bother?”

  Boone raised his eyebrows and flipped the lock. “Jump in before I change me mind.”

  “But what about…the thing.” I glanced around the empty street, looking extremely shifty.

  “Like I said, I have to leave the thing sooner or later. I can’t keep stickin’ me head under the sand and hopin’ whatever out there will go away. This is important. We’ll work better together.”

  I made a face and opened the car door, sliding inside. “I hope you know what you’re getting us into.”

  “So do I.” He checked the mirrors and planted his foot on the accelerator, careening around the hawthorn and tearing through the traffic lights.

  “On second thought,” I declared, holding on for dear life. “I hope I know what I’m getting myself into.”

  Nothing happened when Boone left the boundary. At least, nothing noticeable, so for now, it seemed like we’d gone undetected.

  We spent the two-hour drive talking about stupid things like had Boone seen Game of Thrones and if he was team Lannister or Stark or even if he was team Targaryen. We talked about what our favorite colors were—his was red, which explained the shirts—coffee versus tea, Guinness versus cider, was there an Ikea in Ireland so I could change the floral furniture in the cottage, and the completely outlandish topic of ‘what animal do you want to change into next.’ The answer to that one was definitely a tiger and definitely not a flamingo.

  By the time we saw Croagh Patrick, it was creeping closer to midday. The peak itself rose high into the sky, its tip green and gray, the snow having melted months ago. The fields below were a startling emerald color, trees and sheep dotted the landscape, and a town glittered in the distance. I was beginning to understand why the tourists who passed through Derrydun always had their cameras in their hands. Ireland was breathtakingly beautiful.

  Parking the car in a spot furthest away from the entrance to the Visitor’s Center, Boone killed the engine and glanced at me.

  “You drive like a crazy person,” I said, unclipping my seat belt.

  “I’m not used to it.”

  “I’ll say. Do you even have a license? How did you get one without any ID? You totally had a fake one made, didn’t you?” My mouth dropped open.

  “I don’t have a license,” he said, scratching his head.

  “No!” I gasped dramatically. “And I let you drive!”

  Getting out of the car, we stood in the sunshine, staring up at the mountain. It wasn’t a big monster of a thing, not compared to the Himalayas or the Rockies, but it was big enough. Even from this distance, we could see the shapes of people walking to the summit. My thighs were already burning just looking at it.

  “Where do we start?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the sun. “Should we ask at the Visitor’s Centre?”

  “They would know the area. This is the furthest I’ve ever been…that I can remember.”

  He was looking uncomfortable as if the world was giving him a severe case of shell shock, so I took his hand and led him toward the chaos.

  The Visitor’s Centre was teeming with tourists, who were arranging a variety of activities. Horse riding down on the beach, leisurely hikes, bike riding, and pilgrimages to the summit where a chapel dedicated to St. Patrick stood. The smell of freshly roasted coffee wafted from the cafe, and the air was filled with the murmuring of people shopping for souvenirs at the gift shop.

  A lady behind the information desk armed us with a map detailing the various walking trails, pointing out locations of ponds and lakes, not knowing if there were any underground springs in the area. She explained that all the water in the catchments came from the melt.

  Outside, we studied the map, comparing it to the satellite image on my phone.

  “There’s gotta be some kind of underground water source,” I said, feeling lost. “The book said the athame must be charged with the lifeblood of Ireland. The water from the spring is the only way.”

  “It may have been hidden with magic,” Boone offered. “Maybe that’s why no one knows.”

  “Great,” I declared, glancing up at the sky. “Thanks, Universe. Thanks, a lot.”

  We set out, climbing the track toward the summit. When we reached the first marker, I stopped and glanced back down into the valley. It was a beautiful view of the rolling hills, the farmland, and we could even see the ocean and the beaches that wrapped around the coastline.

  “Look at this,” Boone said, waving me over. He was standing by a slab of rock that was pockmarked with different sized holes and a few spiral designs.

  “The map says it’s called the Boheh Stone or St. Patrick’s chair,” I said. “It’s Neolithic rock art. The dots are meant to represent the stars of the Milky Way.”

  Boone peered at it, looking unimpressed. “If you say so.”

  Ignoring him, I knelt down by the slab and pressed my palms against it. The dark surface was spotted with gray and yellow lichen, much like everything else around us. The swirls and holes people had carved thousands of years ago were still prominent, though I could see time and weather had worn out the edges. To think I was touching the same rock as ancient people had. Mind. Blown.

  Someone cared enough about this place that they wanted to carve a specific design into the rock here. I wondered what it was for.

  “I can feel something,” I said. “Though I’m not sure if it’s a magic thing or just my bowel movements.”

  “There’s a bush over there.”

  “Real funny.” I rolled my eyes. “But I think we’re close. Something feels… It feels like it’s rushing past me.”

  “Let’s have a look around. It’s likely off the path someplace. The rock is a good sign.”

  “Do witches have a link to the earth?” I asked as we ventured off the track and made our way down the slope.

  “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

  “When I focus, I can kinda feel things. Like back there at the rock.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” he replied as we searched. “The Crescents are linked to the hawthorns.”

  Liking the idea I could talk to nature, we fanned out in our hunt for the spring. There were a lot of outcroppings of rock, lonely windswept trees, and grassy knolls but no sign of water. The day was dragging on, and we still hadn’t found a single thing. Maybe after all this time, all the water had dried up.

  “Here!” Boone cried, appearing from behind a rock.

  Scrambling down the incline, I rounded the boulder and saw nothing but a wall of gray limestone splattered with yellow lichens.

  “It’s a rock,” I drawled.

  “It’s a pretend rock.” He waved his hand through the stone, and my eyes widened.

  “Cool…
Let’s go inside.” I stepped forward, but Boone held me back.

  “I’ll go first. We don’t know what’s in there.”

  “Stop trying to freak me out. Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean—”

  “Don’t complain, Skye. ’Tis nothin’ to do with bein’ a woman.” He took a deep breath and stepped through the rock, disappearing from view.

  My skin tingled, and I glanced over my shoulder, but we were still alone on the side of the mountain. Below, the world was spread out, looking more like a painting than actual reality.

  “I can hear water,” Boone called out, his voice echoing out of the rock. “There’s a cave back here.”

  “Can I come inside?”

  “Aye. Come in.”

  I stared at the rock with an uncertain feeling in my gut. I knew it wasn’t real, but it looked like it. I just had to step through and… Lifting my hand, I poked the rock, and the tip of my finger disappeared through the surface. I was touching air, but my mind was freaking out, not able to join the two realities together.

  “Close your eyes and walk through,” Boone said. “I’ll catch you.”

  I snorted and shook my head. Ignoring him, I waved my hand through the rock, and feeling bolder, I stepped through into the mouth of a cave. The air was cool, the earthy scent reminding me of the druid’s cave back in Derrydun, and in the distance, I could hear the trickling of water.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I scowled. The illusion was one sided, so in here, I could see right out, and my cheeks flushed. Boone must have had a good laugh at my fumbling.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s find the spring, and see if this works.”

  Delving into the darkness, I held up my phone, using the torch app to light our way. Shadows lengthened as we stepped carefully, descending into the earth. The further we went, the colder it became, but finally, the passage expanded until we stood in a little cavern. One end was made up of fallen boulders, and through the cracks, we could see the sky peeking through, but the ancient cave-in wasn’t what panicked me the most. It was the mass of shadows that wriggled around a large pool of water.

  That was definitely the spring, but I had no idea what those things were. They looked like inky black worms in the midst of a feeding frenzy.

  “Ugh,” I declared. “What are they?”

  “Slaugh,” Boone said.

  “Slaugh? It sounds like you’re hocking a loogie.”

  He glanced around the rock, looking for something while keeping well away from the edge of the little pool.

  “Boone, what are they exactly?”

  “They’re shadow fae,” he explained. “They’re known for snatchin’ souls.”

  “That’s not ominous at all.” I scowled at the shadows, who seemed more interested in hanging around the spring than they were in us. “We’ve got to get them out of the way.”

  “Any ideas?” Boone was as mystified as I was.

  “Poke them with a stick.”

  “I’m not pokin’ them with a stick,” he grumbled.

  “We need to distract them so I can get in there. What do they like to eat other than souls?” I asked.

  “I don’t know everythin’, you know.”

  “Can you change into something, and lure them away? Just for a moment?”

  “No, they’ll swarm me.” He glanced at me and then looked around the cave. “I’ve got an idea. They want magic, so we need to give them some.”

  “You want me to cast a spell?” I wasn’t sure how I was meant to do that when I didn’t know any spells and had been told to not be so frivolous away from the hawthorns.

  “Aye. Unless you have another idea.”

  Glancing at the slaugh, I narrowed my eyes. They were a disgusting sight with their wobbly human forms, neither solid nor transparent. If that were a thing. They were all face first in the spring, their legs flailing in the air, and if things weren’t so dire—and they didn’t eat souls—I would’ve made a dirty joke.

  “Okay…” I murmured, racking my brain. “What do shadowy inky fairies like more than fresh spring water?” Picking up a palm-sized pebble, I held it up toward the light. “How about a game of fetch?”

  Boone tilted his head to the side, clearly confused. Focusing on my magic, which was still an unknown—I wasn’t sure what I was reaching for, or what it felt like—I closed my fist around the rock and willed it to do what I wanted it to do.

  “Hey, you!” I cried, my voice echoing around the cave. “Slaugh off!”

  I pulled my arm back and propelled the rock forward, throwing it toward the opposite end of the cavern. The pebble bounced against the rock fall, clattering and making an awful racket. The slaugh stopped their wriggling at the spring, and in a whoosh of air, the shadows flew across the cave, chasing my magical tennis ball like a pack of chocolate Labradors.

  “Holy guacamole!” I declared.

  “Quick, the athame.”

  I slipped the strap over my head and set my bag on the rock. Taking out the checkered tea towel I’d put the athame in that morning, I unwrapped it. Holding the dagger by the hilt, I plunged the entire thing into the water and hoped for the best.

  At first, nothing happened other than my hand almost dropping off the water was so cold, but then a dull glow started to permeate the spring.

  “Something’s happening,” I said excitedly. “You see that?”

  “Aye,” Boone replied, one eye still on the slaugh. “It’s workin’.”

  I sighed in relief as the light began to grow, revealing strange markings on the dagger. From hilt to tip, it writhed with a growing power. Deep down, I knew this was what we needed to defeat the craglorn. It had to be.

  “There,” I said, pulling the athame out of the water. “Glowy symbols on a magical dagger. That’s a good sign.” I set it back onto the tea towel and wrapped it up, shoving it safely back into my bag. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The second the words left my mouth, the slaugh rushed toward the spring, tearing past me in a torrent I couldn’t fight. My feet slipped on the rock, and I fell. I cried out, reaching for Boone’s hand, but I was swept under the water.

  I lost all control, my bones chilling as I was completely submerged in the spring. Holding my breath, I fought against the shadows, alarmed at the depths I was being dragged to. From above, it was just a tiny pool, but it descended deep through the mountain. It had to, right? It was the lifeblood of Ireland, after all.

  Kicking against the hands of the slaugh, I tried desperately to break free. My lungs were burning for air, and my strength was waning. I was going to be drowned by a bunch of shadows that wanted to eat my soul. Put that on a tombstone.

  I only had seconds left before my body would take over and suck in lungsful of water, so I suppose this was one of those times where I was meant to use my magic despite the risk. Life and death, and all of that.

  Pulling against the shadowy hands, I curled into a ball and imagined myself full of golden light. The image grew and intensified, and the slaugh began to frenzy, their tendrils dragging painfully against my skin. Throwing my arms wide, the water exploded in a billion tiny bubbles, forcing the slaugh to recoil away from the blinding light. Finally free, I stretched upward, reaching toward the surface and kicking with everything I had left.

  Just as the last of my energy burned out, a hand appeared through the murkiness and grasped hold of my forearm. My lungs burned as Boone’s face came into view, his hair distorted by the water, his eyes glowing green. Was he… Did he have gills? He never told me he’d made an affinity with a fish. I was so going to tease him about it until he was begging for mercy.

  He pulled me toward the surface, his strength overshadowing my own, and when we broke the surface, we fell onto the rocks—me, gasping for air, and him, gasping for water.

  “Cac,” I said, using the Irish word for shit. It seemed appropriate.

  “Are you all right?” Boone asked, his gills disappearing and his lungs filling with air.

  �
�You were a fish,” I muttered between gasps.

  “Aye. I wasn’t sure if I could do it, but…” He rose to his feet, dripping everywhere, and helped me stand.

  Behind us, the slaugh had resumed their flurried frenzy at the mouth of the spring, completely ignoring us now I was free.

  I was soaked through. My shirt clung to my skin, my jeans were clogged, and my hair was stuck to my face. There was nothing left to the imagination, and Boone was in much the same state.

  I breathed deeply, staring into his dark eyes, warm with the afterglow of magic and high from the rush of escaping certain death.

  “I have no idea what I did,” I murmured. “I was so scared… Boone, I…”

  “I was afraid I’d lost you,” he whispered.

  “I’m here… I’m…”

  Before I had the chance to finish my thought, he grasped my face in his hands and caught me in a kiss, his lips moving against mine. I clung to him, my fingers tightening in his damp T-shirt, and my heart soared. At that moment, I was glad to be alive. Alive and kissing Boone. Finally.

  Our bodies pressed together, his muscled chest and my slight form, and I gave myself to him as he’d given himself to me the day I’d found out the truth of Aileen’s death. I wasn’t sure how much of myself was free to give, but what I had and what I understood was his.

  “Skye…” My name was a sigh on his lips, and I trembled in his grasp.

  “Boone, I…”

  He smoothed my wet hair away from my face. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”

  “Boone…” I wasn’t sure what to say, but he seemed to get I was on the same wavelength.

  He glanced at the slaugh and then took my hand.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Sean was furious at the state of his car when we got back to Derrydun.

  The upholstery was damp, and we’d tracked mud on the floors. Boone offered to clean it out, but nothing seemed to placate the man. If only he knew.

  We’d pretty much dried out by then, and it was only a quarter-mile back to Derrydun, so we walked together, thinking over the events at Croagh Patrick.