Crescent Calling

by Nicole R. Taylor

  Scrambling off the bed, I knelt on the edge of the rug and scooped up the tattered books. Flipping them over in my hands, I snorted at the titles. Romancing the Sheik. Desiring the Doctor. Too Hot to Handle.

  “That’s a trip,” I said to no one in particular. “Aileen was into Mills & Boon.”

  Pushing to my feet, I stumbled, the floorboard underneath the rug wobbling as I moved my weight. What the—

  Casting the books aside, I rolled up the corner of the rug to reveal the floor underneath. Pressing my palm against each board, they were firm until I leaned heavily on the last. It shot up into the air, almost smacking me in the face. Dodging at the last moment, I grasped the plank of wood and set it aside.

  Peering into the gap in the floor, I was surprised to find a book wedged in the opening. Lifting it out, I ran my fingers over the chocolate-colored cover. It was bound in leather and had been handled to the point it had softened like butter. Stroking the spine, it was silky to the touch, and it had a handmade look to it.

  Curious, I opened it and began leafing through the pages. There were hand-drawn pictures, pressed flowers, scrawled handwriting, and symbols that were vaguely familiar. That one there was a pagan symbol for earth.

  “Mushrooms? Wormwood, ragwort, the root of a…?” I glanced at Buddy, who was watching me from his perch on the bed. “This is weird.” Turning my attention back to the book, I read incantations for protection, celebrating the waxing and waning of the moon, spells for calming and taming the weather. Even recipes for natural poultices for healing open wounds.

  It was totally a spell book. The whole thing was old, crinkly, and written by hand. This wasn’t any reproduction or scrapbook Aileen kept in her spare time.

  As I flipped through the pages, it was becoming clearer and clearer that it had been compiled by many hands over many years. The language was strange but grew clearer the further I went until the very last pages where I was certain the handwriting belonged to Aileen. Then right at the end were dozens of blank pages.

  “Who were these people?” I murmured, thinking about the woman, Mary whatshername, who lived in the ruined tower house. The White Tower. Did she have something to do with Aileen? Mary Byrne. That was it! Mary Byrne.

  Sliding back into bed, I set the spell book on my knee and scooped the tarot cards into a neat pile. It sounded absurd, but had Aileen been a witch? Not with magical powers or anything, but…what did they call it? Wiccan?

  “Buddy, I’m so confused,” I said, burying my fingers into his fur. He began kneading the quilt with his claws and purring at a million miles an hour. “Not that I care one way or the other what religion Aileen followed, but…” I sighed. “No matter what I do, she’s still a world away from me. Who was she? Do you know?” Buddy just blinked at me, his purring ramping up to eleven. “Even if you did know, you couldn’t tell me. You’re a cat.” I rolled my eyes.

  Flopping back onto the bed, my head hit the pillows, and I let out a frustrated cry. The puzzle only deepened the longer I was in Derrydun. If I knew who she was, then maybe I would have a chance at knowing who I was supposed to be in the wake of her death.

  Something was going on here. Something just out of my reach. There was a time where coincidence became more—a tipping point—and I couldn’t help feeling it was coming up fast. I would tip, but which side of the fence would I land on?

  Would Derrydun claim me as its own, or would it spit me out?

  Chapter 8

  The following night, I went to Molly McCreedy’s for dinner.

  “Skye!” Maggie exclaimed as I walked into the homely pub. “What brings you to our fine establishment?”

  She was wiping down a table just inside the door, her russet-colored curls done up into a bouncy ponytail.

  “Hey. I’m after something for dinner,” I replied. “I’m sick of microwave meals.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. What would you like? We’ve got traditional lamb stew, cod and chips, steak… Anything you would like.”

  “Stew is fine.”

  Maggie nodded across the pub. “Have a seat at the bar, and I’ll get the boys to fix you up.”

  Glancing across the room, I was surprised to find it empty other than Sean McKinnon, who was nursing a pint of beer at the bar. It was a little late, after all. Crossing the pub, I chose the stool two down from the farmer.

  “You’re a witch,” Sean stated as I sat. “It’s a fact.”

  My mouth fell open at the warm greeting, and I felt like clipping him around the ear. He also smelled like a brewery, so I just flipped my hair over my shoulder and turned away.

  “Aileen was related to Mary Byrne, the white witch from the tower house,” he said, slurring his words. “That means she was a witch, so you’re one, too.”

  “I really don’t know if I should be offended by your stupid mouth or not,” I declared. “There’s no such thing as witches.”

  “What’s so offensive about it?” His hand curled around his pint glass, and he downed a mouthful of beer. “You’re a witch.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are so!”

  “Sean McKinnon!” Maggie screeched as she pushed out of the kitchen. “That’s not how you talk to a lady!”

  The door swung back, and I spotted Boone wiping down a bench while the cook started on my order. He glanced up just as it swung closed, and our gazes met. In that moment, electricity pinged between us, and I blinked, shaking my head.

  “Gimme a beer, will you?” Sean slurred, ignoring Maggie’s chastising.

  “No. I’m cuttin’ you off.”

  “Just one more, Maggie. Be a good girl.”

  “No. You’re sloshed, Sean. No more. Get home with you before I hose you out the door.” She waved furiously at him.

  “Skye.” He made puppy-dog eyes at me. “Would you buy me a drink? I’ll pay you back.”

  “No way,” I retorted. “I’m not enabling you, Sean McKinnon. Not after you called me a witch.”

  “The women in this village are nothin’ but—”

  “Uh!” Maggie exclaimed, interrupting him. “You be careful with that mouth of yours before I cut you off for good. Now get yourself home before my boot hits your asshole.”

  Sean grumbled and slipped off the barstool. Shuffling across the pub on unsteady feet, he pushed out of the door and disappeared into the night, muttering something about ungrateful women.

  “Sorry about that,” Maggie said to me. “He can get a little grumpy when he’s had one too many.”

  I glanced after him and frowned. There were all kinds of drunks out there in the world. Happy drunks, fun drunks, animated drunks. Then there were the least desirable kinds. Addictive drunks, sad drunks, and abusive drunks. I wondered which one Sean was. After tonight‬, I was leaning toward the addicted kind considering his usual disposition. The life of the party. ‬‬‬‬‬‬

  “Dinner’s up.” Boone appeared from the kitchen and placed a giant bowl of stew in front of me.

  “Thanks.” I took the proffered spoon, and our fingers brushed. A zap of static electricity pinged up my arm, and I dropped the spoon onto the bar. Shaking my hand, I said, “Damn it! I thought I’d shaken the static. I was zapping everything there for a while.”

  Boone laughed. “Maybe Sean’s right. Maybe you are a witch.”

  “There’s no such thing, and that’s mean, by the way.”

  “Why?” He tilted his head to the side. “You wouldn’t want to be able to use magic if you could?”

  I made a face and picked up the spoon. “All I’m worried about right now is food. And besides, there’s no such thing as magical powers, so why bother thinking about it. If I decide to write a novel, I’ll ask you for research, okay?”

  “Leave the poor girl to eat in peace,” Maggie shouted at Boone. “You can ask her for a kiss later.”

  My cheeks instantly flushed crimson, and I almost dropped the spoon again. Boone almost choked on his own spit and shoved his hand through his hair be
fore backing away and escaping into the kitchen.

  “Maggie!” I exclaimed.

  “What?” She shrugged, though she wasn’t able to hide the wicked grin on her face.

  Embarrassed because I wouldn’t have minded a full-on open-mouthed kiss from the mysterious Boone, I began shoveling stew into my mouth.

  “He likes you,” the bartender said in a singsong voice.

  “Does not!” I exclaimed through a mouthful of potato.

  “Don’t be shy, Skye. There have been loads of women who’ve tried to capture his eye, but none have. He’s a good sort, our Boone, even though he can be all mysterious. It’s the trifecta if you ask me. Tall, handsome…and brooding.”

  “I thought it was tall, dark, and handsome?”

  “Brooding is sexier.” She winked.

  I snorted and shoveled another spoonful of stew into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to add to the conversation. Last thing I wanted was to reveal my crush on Boone. I wasn’t sure why I was so embarrassed about it. I was acting like a seventeen-year-old girl. Hell, I was acting like Mairead.

  Still, my curiosity won out over the fact he’d never been out with anyone. “How long did you say he’s been living here?”

  “About three years, I think,” Maggie replied.

  “And in all that time, he hasn’t…been with anyone?”

  “Nay. Not one.”

  “Isn’t that weird?”

  “It depends on how you look at it,” she replied, leaning against the bar. “Some people sleep around, you know? They don’t care too much about settlin’. Others wait for somethin’ more meaningful.”

  “And you think Boone is the latter?” I frowned.

  She smirked and raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” I asked, scooping out the last of the stew and licking the spoon.

  “Nothin’,” she said, picking up my empty bowl.

  “Whatever,” I declared, leaving a twenty euro note on the bar. “I’m going home before this gets any more awkward than it already is. Just let me try to remember where I parked my broomstick.”

  Maggie snorted and waved. “Goodnight, Skye.”

  Outside, the air was cool, and it felt heavenly on my flushed cheeks. Boone had not had a girlfriend in the three years he’d been living in Derrydun? Yeah, right. He was interested in me? Yeah, right. Oh, who was I kidding? The thought he might be interested in me, like in a romantic way, had my nether regions tingling.

  “Juliette…”

  The sound of a man’s voice moaning somewhere in the darkness broke through my lustful thoughts, and I stepped forward without fear.

  Seeing Sean McKinnon, I frowned. He’d left twenty minutes ago but hadn’t made it very far at all.

  He was lying in the gutter, moaning as if he were in pain. Unsure as to what I should do—in case it wasn’t pain he was in but something more disturbing—I stood there watching him. He rolled over onto his back, and that was when I saw the tears staining his face.

  “Sean?” I asked, taking a step toward him.

  “Juliette,” he said with a moan. “Juliette…”

  “It’s Skye,” I murmured. “Aileen’s daughter. You know, the witch.” Helping him to sit up, I knelt before him and placed my hands on his shoulders. “That’s better, right?”

  “She’s gone,” he muttered, then sniffed. “She’s gone and left me all alone.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but I gathered Juliette had been his girlfriend and had broken up with him, leaving him blindsided. Now he was medicating himself with beer.

  “Broken hearts suck, huh?” I said. “You know, my boyfriend broke up with me out of the blue a few days before I came here. It blows, but getting drunk and sleeping in a gutter won’t help you. You’ll just have one hell of a headache in the morning.”

  Sean was listening intently, or at least, I thought he was. He blinked every so often, signaling the lights were on, but I wasn’t sure anyone was home.

  Frowning, I felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. If only there were some way I could ease his pain. Taking a deep breath, I squeezed his shoulders.

  “You seem harmless enough,” I declared. “How about I help you home?”

  “Skye?”

  I glanced up at the sound of another voice and found Boone standing over us. I opened my mouth, but at the sight of him glaring at me in annoyance, I closed it again. He was giving me one hell of a dirty look, and I had no idea what I’d done to deserve it.

  “What are you doin’?” he demanded.

  “I found him lying in the gutter,” I snapped, reacting to his uncharacteristic mood. “I didn’t want to leave him here. He could get run over by a crazy driver or get sick from exposure.”

  “Leave him be,” he said, practically pushing me aside. “I’ll look after him.”

  Standing, I took a few steps back and scowled as Boone dragged Sean to his feet.

  “Go home,” Boone said irritably.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?” My mouth fell open.

  “It’s dark out here,” he added.

  “I’m not scared of the dark.” I pouted.

  He didn’t reply this time. Anchoring Sean against his side, he turned away and began walking in the direction of the single set of traffic lights.

  “She wouldn’t buy me a drink,” Sean said with a slur as Boone practically carried him down the road away from me.

  I watched them stumble away with a mixture of confusion and hurt.

  “What did I do?” I shouted after them.

  “Go home, Skye,” Boone yelled back without even turning.

  My heart sank as I stared after them, tears pricking at my eyes. What did I do? I just wanted to help. Did Boone want me to be part of this village at all? Sure didn’t feel like it right now. Maybe he was starting to resent me as Aileen’s daughter. He was as good as her son after all, and he got nothing in her will. Maybe I was wrong. Or maybe I was overreacting.

  “Make an effort, you say!” I shouted into the darkness. “You’ll always have a place here, you say! Yeah right!”

  Kicking a rock with all my might, it skipped down the road and disappeared into Mrs. Boyle’s hedge. Who was overreacting now?

  “Kiss a donkey’s ass!” I yelled after them.

  Staring at the tarot cards on the counter at Irish Moon, I scowled. Glancing at the book I’d been using to try to decipher the meanings, I scowled even harder.

  I’d drawn the Nine of Swords.

  It showed a crying man with swords hanging over his head and two piercing each arm. So not what I wanted to see this morning. It reminded me of Sean McKinnon—because I couldn’t refer to him as anything but his full name—and how I’d found him paralytic in the gutter last night.

  The book told me it was to do with being alone in the world, and the swords hanging down represented vulnerability and an uncertain fate hanging over one’s head. I felt a lot like that person depicted on the card this morning, especially after Boone’s attitude last night.

  The bell jingled above the door as Mairead walked in, and I almost jumped out of my skin. She clomped across the shop, her earphones stuck in her ears, and disappeared out the back.

  The bell jingled again, and I glanced up. This time, Boone walked in, and I rolled my eyes and turned back to the tarot cards.

  “I just wanted to let you know—”

  “What. Ever,” I declared, not even looking at him.

  “Skye.”

  “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

  “You’re mad at me,” he stated.

  “Duh.”

  The way he’d glared at me last night still cut, and the command he’d barked—go home, Skye—grated my raw heart. I didn’t expect him to act that way, and I’d only been trying to help. It wasn’t like I was going to take advantage of a drunk man or vice versa. Sean couldn’t even walk without being propped up, let alone go in for a grope. What was the big deal? Maybe I’d broken some sort of unspoken Derrydun bro code.<
br />
  “Skye…”

  “I’m not in the mood, Boone,” I said thinly. “Not right now.”

  He sighed and shuffled from foot to foot. When he finally got I wasn’t going to give him any more one-syllable words, he turned and strode from the shop. The bell dinged violently, and the door slammed shut. Lifting my head, I watched him power across the road and disappear into Mary’s Teahouse.

  Mairead appeared in front of me, and I glanced away.

  “What’s going on with you two?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  I sighed dramatically. “I found Sean McKinnon in the gutter last night and tried to help him, but Boone got his knickers in a twist over it.”

  “Ah, he’s always takin’ Sean home,” she explained.

  “Well, he must have a crush on the guy because he didn’t like sharing,” I said sullenly. I knew I was acting like a spoilt child, but the one-liners kept coming.

  “Nah, he’s not that way inclined,” Mairead said, sounding offended.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said with a smile. “You’ve got a crush on him.”

  “Have not!” She stamped her foot. Like, she actually raised her boot off the ground and thumped it onto the floorboards.

  “You’re too easy.” I laughed and shook my head.

  At that precise moment, the serene and sunny morning was split apart by the musical sound of flutes blaring over a loudspeaker. I glanced at Mairead. Then the soft crooning of a female voice began singing, “Far across the distance…”

  “Is that…Celine Dion?” I asked, screwing up my face.

  “Holy shite!” Mairead declared, pressing her nose up against the window. “He’s gonna jump!” Then she threw open the door and ran outside.

  Leaping off the stool, I rounded the counter and followed Mairead outside. A little group of people had begun to gather around Molly McCreedy’s, and I followed their stunned pointing, wondering what was going on.

  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.