Shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, my mouth dropped open as I saw Sean McKinnon sitting on the thatched roof, holding a little wireless speaker high in the air, swaying side to side to the music, and singing at the top of his lungs. Needless to say, he wasn’t any good.
Standing beside Maggie, who was watching on with her arms crossed over her chest, I realized he was drunk. He’d have to be to sit up there and play a Celine Dion song at that volume.
“It’s not even lunchtime, and he’s drunk as a skunk,” I said. “What’s gotten into him?”
“It’s the anniversary of his wife’s death,” Maggie replied. “It’s been four years, but every day is the same for him. She’s not here, and he barely hangs on.”
Thinking back to last night, it all made sense. He’d been sitting in the gutter, muttering a woman’s name. Juliette. I thought he’d been dumped, but she’d died. It was so much worse.
I frowned, my shoulders sinking. “The poor guy. Is anyone going to get him down?”
“Ah, here comes Boone with the ladder now.”
Turning, I saw Boone’s curly hair come into view. He appeared from behind Mary’s Teahouse carrying a long ladder, which he leaned against the side of the pub. Ignoring the gaggle of onlookers, he climbed up onto the roof and edged over to Sean.
“Boone!” Sean exclaimed at the top of his lungs. “You’re Boone!”
“That’s right,” he replied, reaching for the speaker. “What are you doin’ up here?”
“My heart will go on,” he said, attempting to snatch the speaker out of Boone’s hands. “I’ve got to let her know. It’s our tradition, you know.”
“I know, but she’s gone, Sean. Juliette’s gone.”
Glancing nervously at Maggie, I was feeling rather foolish standing out here watching a full-grown man fall apart. Thinking about the Nine of Swords, I was beginning to understand its message hadn’t been for me. It was for Sean McKinnon.
“No!” Sean roared, hurling the speaker off the roof. It hit the road and smashed into a million pieces, and the song cut off.
“C’mon,” Boone said, clapping his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let’s get down, and we can talk about it.”
“No, no, no, no…” Sean cried before bursting out into full-blown sobs.
Boone slapped his free hand on Sean’s other shoulder. The movement set the farmer off, and he dragged the younger man into a full-on ugly cry hug.
Boone’s gaze met mine, and I frowned. I’d overreacted this morning when he’d come in. I had no idea what he’d wanted to say—maybe he’d been trying to tell me he got Sean home safely—but I wasn’t sure it mattered. Not after the way I’d dismissed him. Seeing him up on that roof… Boone was good people.
“Mairead, let’s go back inside,” I said, tugging on the girl’s sleeve.
“But—”
“No buts,” I scolded her. “This isn’t a sideshow. Leave the poor guy in peace.”
“You sound more and more like Aileen the longer you stay here,” she grumbled, stomping into the shop.
“I’m choosing to ignore that,” I declared, following her inside.
Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I saw Boone helping Sean down the ladder. Yeah, he was good people.
Chapter 9
Sean McKinnon was the talk of Derrydun for days after the incident on the roof of Molly McCreedy’s. I didn’t want to be relieved they were no longer talking about me and the real estate agent crashing his car into the creek, not considering what it took to have it knocked from the top spot, but I was. Just a little.
Maggie convinced me not to worry about the guy, so I didn’t. Sean had become the town drunk in the wake of his wife’s death, and it seemed like that was the way it was. I didn’t agree with it at all. Something was going to happen, and my gut told me it wouldn’t be anything nice. Not unless he stopped drinking himself into an early grave.
The next morning, I drew the Tower again from Aileen’s deck of golden tarot cards. Relieved it wasn’t the Nine of Swords, I took it as a sign things were going back to normal. I’d deviated from the track for a few days, and now I was back on the path to rebuilding. To my surprise, I was actually getting into the whole tarot thing, so much so that I’d put money into the till for the book I’d borrowed and started scribbling notes in the margins. Maybe, just maybe, this was what would connect me with my absentee dead mother. The mother who was still a mystery with her crystal shop and weird spell book under the floorboards.
Still upset with how Boone had spoken to me, I spent my day off from Irish Moon as far away from Derrydun as my legs would take me. Without a car—I’d returned the rental weeks ago—I was limited to my own two feet to get me around.
I went to see the tower house first.
Sean McKinnon had said Aileen was related to the woman who lived here, Mary Byrne, who was burned at the stake for allegedly being a witch. I didn’t know about that, but it was still an absurd notion. When the ruins didn’t reveal any more secrets than it had the first day I’d explored, I set off on the path that led toward the forest on the other side of the hill.
I’d never been this far from Derrydun before. The further my feet took me, the more I felt like there were a thousand and one pairs of eyes just outside my field of vision. They were all watching me, the strange Australian girl who still felt like an interloper, tread through the woods.
Brilliant green ferns blanketed the ground between moss-encrusted trees, and the pink and red of wild fuchsia broke up the earthy tones. It was beautiful out here, but I felt exposed. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself and glanced back and forth nervously.
It wasn’t long before a clearing opened up in front of me, and my mouth opened in awe as I saw a giant gnarled tree towering over the forest. Approaching, I studied the leaves and branches trying to figure out what kind it was. It reminded me of the hawthorn in the village, and I decided it was another. A really old one by the looks of it.
It was massive. It would take at least two or three of me to encircle the trunk with open arms, though now I was up close, it wasn’t that much taller than the woods around it. Short and squat for its trunk size was an apt description.
A low growl hummed behind me in the stillness, and I spun around, my heart twisting with fright. A gray and white wolf stood in the center of the clearing, its fangs bared in a menacing snarl. Its golden gaze was locked directly on me, and it looked hungry. The saliva dripping from razor sharp fangs kind of hungry.
Stumbling, my back hit the trunk of the hawthorn. Where had the beast come from? No one had warned me about wolves… Boone hadn’t… There was no time to debate why.
Watching the wolf, I knew if I fled, it would give chase, and there was no way I would be able to outrun it. It was twice the size of a German Shepard, and its teeth were longer and sharper than I’d ever seen. I was so screwed.
My palms grasped the gnarled trunk of the hawthorn as I stared it down. I was going to be eaten on my day off. Just my luck.
“What are you waiting for?” I whispered. “You know I can’t run.”
Its haunches tensed as it readied itself to leap, and I flung my arms up in front of my face to protect myself. Then the beast launched itself forward, and I screamed.
In the moment right before death, wasn’t your life supposed to flash before your eyes? That was what everyone said, but I didn’t see anything. Just the glowing eyes of the wolf as it came right for me, its sharp teeth dripping with saliva. Boy, he was sure hungry today.
Just as I was certain I was going to become the main course—scared Australian girl du jour—a flash of red streaked through the clearing and slammed into the side of the wolf. The beast let out a surprised yelp and tumbled to the side.
Scrambling backward, I gasped as I saw a russet-colored fox sinking its teeth into the wolf’s neck. What the hell was going on here?
The fox clamped down its jaws and shook, but the wolf was stronger. It rolled and flung the little
creature across the clearing before leaping toward it. Its teeth chomped down on the little guy’s back leg, causing him to yelp in pain.
A pang of despair tore through my heart at the sight of my rescuer—no matter how odd a rescuer it was—and I hesitated. I knew I should run while the going was good, but I couldn’t leave the fox behind. Damn, my bleeding heart.
Looking frantically around the clearing, I spied a fallen branch. Like a strange power had overcome me, I pushed off the hawthorn, leaped forward, grasped the end of the thick stick, and held it high.
“Hey!” I shouted at the wolf. “Let him go!”
It raised its head, its jaws letting go of the fox. Its eyes were rabid, its teeth were red with blood, and it began to growl menacingly as its attention fixed back onto its original target. Me.
“Just try it,” I said, snarling. “You had better run before I whack you back into last century, you bastard. Don’t think I won’t, or you’ll get a nasty surprise.”
Two things happened at that moment. The first was that the wolf leaped at me. The second was me swinging the stick with all the strength I could muster. It sounded like a fruitless endeavor, smacking a giant wolf around the head with a pointy little stick, but it was my only choice.
My dad always used to tell me off for swinging sticks around, saying it was all fun and games until someone lost an eye. Needless to say, no one had ever lost one…until today.
The stick collided with the wolf’s head, and it yelped in surprise as a point speared right into its left eyeball. I felt a sickening pop ricochet up the branch and through my arm, and I almost hurled on the spot.
The wolf whined as it scurried backward, and the stick pulled out of its eye, leaving a gush of blood in its wake. Howling, the beast shook its head and took off, leaping through the trees and running for its life.
“Holy shit,” I exclaimed, still holding onto the stick. “I took out its eye. I’m going to puke.”
A shuffling sound drew my attention back to the clearing. Glancing at the fox, I wasn’t sure what to do. It was lying where the wolf had left it, blood matting its hind leg. Should I help it?
Frowning, I knew it was a wild animal and probably wouldn’t let me near at all. It stared at me for a long time and then rose to its feet. It yipped once as though it was beckoning me to leave and slunk away, melting into the surrounding forest.
After a moment, everything seemed to come back to life. Birds began chirping, insects buzzed, and the foreboding I’d sensed right before the wolf appeared lifted. Still, I didn’t stick around to revel in my victory, which had been dumb luck and nothing else.
Dropping the bloodied stick, I turned and sprinted back the way I’d come and didn’t stop until I’d locked myself in the cottage.
That night, I didn’t sleep at all. Buddy didn’t show up, so I was alone with my fear. Every sound was a wolf coming to eat me, and every shadow held a pair of glowing golden eyes, which was absurd since I poked one of them out. Like full on popped it like a grape.
Squirming, I buried underneath the quilt and waited for the sunrise.
* * *
Mary’s Teahouse wasn’t my first choice for breakfast the next morning, but I didn’t have an alternative. It was the only establishment in a ten-mile radius that served hot food—that didn’t need to be microwaved—before nine a.m.
Opening the door, I shuffled inside, the frilly pink decor assaulting my eyes. The little cafe was empty, and when I appeared, Mary Donnelly herself emerged looking a sight more cheery than I felt after my sleepless night. I was sure I looked like I had two black eyes, no matter how much concealer I’d piled on before leaving the cottage.
Mary was a sweet, little, old lady in her seventies, who’d run the teahouse for over fifty years. According to Maggie, Mary had never married, nor had any children. Instead, she took on the village as her surrogate family. She was well worn into Derrydun like she was part of the furniture, or so the saying went. She was also Irish through and through.
“Good mornin’, Skye,” she said cheerfully, smoothing down her pink and white frilly apron.
“Hi, Mary,” I replied, flopping down at a table in the center of the room.
“Are you all right?” the old woman asked, instantly picking up on my mood. “Would you like to talk about it?”
I froze. For the first time, I could understand her accent. The handful of times I’d greeted her out in the street, she’d spoken with such a thick Irish brogue, I couldn’t make out a single word. Usually, I just smiled and nodded, but today, she was clear as a bell. It was like someone had come along and flipped the switch in my brain labeled ‘Irish assimilation.’
“Are there wolves in Ireland?” I asked.
“Wolves? No, not anymore,” Mary replied, raising her eyebrows. “They were all hunted and killed a hundred years ago.”
“Oh…” Then what did I see yesterday? A hallucination?
“How are things goin’ with Irish Moon?”
“Okay. Well, great actually. I finally understand how everything works. The books, the tax thing, the ordering. Mairead knows that place inside out. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.”
“She’s a strange one that Mairead,” Mary said, clucking her tongue. “What with her black clothes and her sickly skin. That girl needs a good feed.”
I snorted, trying to hold in my laughter. “She’s a Goth, Mary.”
“A what?” The old woman made a face. “I can’t keep up with the kids nowadays. A Goth, you say? I thought they were barbarians from Germany.”
I covered my mouth with my hand and picked up a menu with the other.
“And how are you after your mother’s passin’?” Mary added, once her confusion over Mairead’s fashion choices had subsided.
I made a face, and Mary grasped my hand. Her skin was cool and soft, and the moment she touched me, I felt a zap.
“You don’t have to step into your mother’s shoes, Skye,” she said kindly as if she’d read my thoughts. “No one expects you to.”
“It feels like it. I’m living in her house. I’m running her shop…”
“They’re yours now.” She smiled sweetly. “Run the shop how you see fit. Decorate the cottage to your likin’.”
I stared at her in shock. But those were Aileen’s things. That she left to me. Mary was right.
“Don’t worry about the wildlife,” she added for good measure. “The worst around here is the odd deer or fox, and they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“I’m going to trust you,” I said. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“You cheeky thing!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Let me fix you something for breakfast. Let me see. Tea, toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Oh, and tomato and a sausage. A big fat one. That’ll fill you right up. Nothin’ better than a little comfort food when you’re feeling down.”
“And fill out my hips and ass,” I retorted.
“Nonsense. You’re flat as a tack.” She waved her hand at me and shuffled toward the kitchen, leaving me to my own devices.
Glancing down at my boobs, which weren’t that flat, I thought about what she’d said about the local wildlife. No wolves in Ireland? It sure looked like one to me even though I’d never seen one in the flesh before. They didn’t roam Australia, either. The worst we had to worry about back home were the little critters—snakes and spiders—who knew how to hide and slither into tight spaces.
The chair across from mine scraped back, and I glanced up from my boob assessment as Boone sat down. I frowned and didn’t say a word. Truthfully, after yesterday’s excitement, I’d forgotten why I was mad at him in the first place. He’d been snippy, but it seemed trivial after almost being eaten alive by a creature that was supposed to be extinct on the shores of Ireland.
“Skye, I, uh…” He rubbed his hand along his jaw, scratching his stubbly chin. “I’m sorry, for the way I spoke to you the other night.”
I shrugged. �
��It seems like such a small thing now.”
“Are you okay?” His brow furrowed, and he looked me over like he was seeing me for the first time. Flat boobs and all.
“I, um…” I glanced out the window, my gaze latching onto the green treetops. How was I supposed to explain a fox—which was a quarter of the size of the wolf—attacking a predator who was about to eat me? This place was trying its darnedest to send me to the loony bin.
“Skye…” He hesitated, then pursed his lips together.
“What?” I asked, straightening up. He wanted to tell me something but thought better of it. It was written all over his face, and now I knew I really wanted to know.
“Nothing, I…” He met my gaze and smiled. “Do you accept my apology? Put me out of me misery.”
“I forgive you,” I said without hesitation. With big, sad, puppy-dog eyes like his, how could I not?
“Good. I’m glad.” He scraped his chair back and stood. “I’ll be seein’ you.”
I nodded, and he walked across the teahouse, limping slightly. He was favoring his left leg, his gait significantly off. Well, not a great deal, but enough that I noticed it.
“Boone?” I called out after him. “Are you all right? You’re limping.”
He stopped and threw me a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m all right. I banged me knee, is all.”
He didn’t look it, but I wasn’t in the mood to press. Mr. Mysterious could have this one.
“Oh, and be careful if you go walkin’ in the woods,” he added. “Roy found some tracks around the field this mornin’.”
“Tracks?” I asked, shivering. It was much too late to heed his warning, but I didn’t let on.
“Aye, big ones.”
“What is it?”
“A wild dog maybe. Or a fox. I don’t know. I’ll be out in the fields until we can trap it, or until we’re sure it’s gone.”
Crescent Calling: The Crescent Witch Chronicles - Book One Page 8