Crescent Legacy

  Crescent Legacy

  The Crescent Witch Chronicles - Book Three

  Nicole R. Taylor

  Crescent Legacy (The Crescent Witch Chronicles - Book Three) by Nicole R. Taylor

  Copyright © 2017-18 by Nicole R. Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Rebecca Frank Art

  Formatting: Nicole R. Taylor

  www.nicolertaylorwrites.com

  nicole@nicolertaylorwrites.com

  Chapter 1

  The air was cold, but it wasn’t anything new. Ireland was always chilly.

  I shivered as I followed Boone through the forest, gingerly stepping over fallen logs and weaving around ancient tree trunks. Mist clung to the open parts of the landscape, and I buried deeper into my leather jacket, nestling my chin into my fluffy black scarf.

  My boots slipped on a patch of moss, and I yelped. My legs flew out from underneath me, and I landed flat on my ass with a thud.

  “Is it much farther?” I asked, moaning when I felt icy water seep through my jeans.

  Boone turned and came back to fetch me. I took his hand, and he hauled me up, not even cracking a smile at my clumsiness.

  “We’ll be there soon,” he replied, his Irish accent sounding thicker than usual.

  I nodded and tightened my grip on his hand. This was a difficult thing for me to face, but for Boone, it was so much more. Going back to the very spot he was attacked by one of the higher faes and where Aileen had been swallowed by the earth was painful, to say the least. For so long, he’d believed he was to blame for my mother’s death. He’d lived with it for a long time, and now a vision a tree had shown me had led him back. It was all a little wearing on the soul after everything we’d been through.

  The vision the ancient hawthorn had shown me had staked the fires of hope so high that the heat was almost unbearable. To think my mother, Aileen, could still be alive and trapped under the earth was startling.

  Protecting magic, fighting Carman…I couldn’t do it alone. As a shapeshifter, Boone was a creature of magic, but he wasn’t like me. To have another Crescent Witch beside me would be amazing, but for it to be the mother I never knew? That was epic.

  Boone let my hand go and walked again, leading me through the forest. I studied the back of his head, taking in his messy black hair, the black and red checkered pattern of the shirt collar peeking out from underneath his jacket, and the way his legs pushed through the carpet of emerald ferns. It felt like we were in a funeral procession, not a possible rescue mission.

  “Are you still worried about the wolf thing?” I asked, watching him carefully.

  Only a day had passed since the ritual that had almost taken my life. The ritual that was supposed to break the curse locking Carman out of Ireland. In a moment of raw agony, Boone had done something neither of us knew he was capable of. He’d shifted into the shape of a wolf—a shape he’d never formed before—and broke through the magic keeping us apart like it was nothing at all.

  He had been beautiful. His fur silver and his chest and paws snowy white, but the beast in him had full control. Seeing Boone like that had been terrifying, to say the least. The only thing that had brought him back had been a touch of Crescent magic.

  “Of course, I’m worried about it,” he said over his shoulder. “I changed faster than I ever have before, I healed the cuts on your arms with my spit, and I broke through Lucy’s magical barrier…” At the mention of Lucy, he grimaced and glanced away.

  Remembering the moment his wolf jaws had closed around her throat, I shivered, glad he wasn’t looking at me. I had been through something terrible that night, but so had he. I was dealing, but Boone… He wasn’t. Not really. He was good at pretending, but I could see right through him like a greasy paper bag.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know.” He shrugged. “I was a wolf before. So what?”

  I sighed, knowing I wouldn’t get anything coherent out of him when he was in a mood. His amnesia was a sore point, literally.

  Not wanting to give him a magically induced headache, I let it go.

  We walked in silence, the mist clinging to the forest dulling all the usual sounds. I used to be afraid of being alone out here, not knowing who was lurking in the shadows, but since I’d discovered I was a Crescent Witch, the vastness of this place felt more like home with every passing day.

  My power helped me hear the earth. The whispering of the wind, the bird songs, the rustling of tiny creatures in the underbrush, the unfurling of leaves, the sprouting of seeds. It was quite beautiful in a way. Nature was wild and untamable, and none of us were as alone as we were led to believe.

  Ahead, Boone came to a halt, and I stopped beside him.

  “Is this it?” I asked, peering into the clearing.

  He nodded, his jaw tight. We must’ve passed the limit of Derrydun’s hawthorns some time ago. Here, we were exposed, but it didn’t seem like it mattered anymore. At least, not for Boone.

  My gazed raked over the clearing. I didn’t get it. The ground was smooth. Slow growing moss had grown in between the dew-soaked grass, and a bird happily flitted through the branches overhead. There was no sign of twisted roots or anything else that might’ve disturbed the earth. Nothing at all.

  It hadn’t even been a year. Far from it, actually. It stood to reason there would be something here. Some kind of sign there’d been a battle between a witch and a higher fae.

  “There’s nothing here,” I said, edging around the clearing. “Nothing at all.”

  “I don’t understand…” Boone walked into the center of the open space, looking around in shock. “It was here. I’m sure of it.” He pointed to a tree opposite to where I was standing. “Right there. That’s where she…” He knelt, placing his palms on the earth. “Skye, I…I don’t understand. I remember it like it happened yesterday. The look on her face…”

  “Stop,” I whispered, my voice feeling louder than it should in the silent forest. “There are a lot of things I don’t understand about this world, but there’s one thing that’s pretty darn universal. Death.”

  Boone glanced up at me, his almost-black eyes shining mysteriously. I couldn’t look at him, so I turned away.

  “Skye, wait.”

  I hesitated, hugging myself to keep warm.

  “You’re not goin’ to try to sense anythin’? If you try, I’m sure you might find somethin’.”

  He was so desperate to believe Aileen was still alive that it broke my heart. After all these years believing he was to blame for her death, to have his hope taken away… I sighed and turned toward him.

  “I can’t feel anything,” I said with a shrug. “It’s just a forest, Boone. Trees, grass, ferns. There’s a deer somewhere close and a couple of birds. A frog. Maybe it’s a toad. I don’t know the difference. Aileen isn’t here.”

  “The hawthorn led you here for a reason.”

  I shrugged, starting to believe I’d misread the vision.

  “Put your hands on the ground,” he said. “Please.”

  “I’d know if she were here.”

  “Please.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and sank to my knees before him. If it finally put his mind to rest, then I would do it even though I already knew what I would find.

  Winding my fingers through the grass, I set my palms on the earth. The air was full of the damp scent of dirt, grass, and fresh rain. Mud and dew seeped through the knees of my jeans as I allowed my magic to flow.

&nbs
p; It trickled from the pit of my stomach and along all my nerve endings, tingling like I had a bad case of pins and needles. When my senses filtered through the top layer of dirt, I tensed and closed my eyes, aware Boone was watching me closely.

  I delved deeper, passing a worm, a rock, and more dirt…but there was no sign of the unnatural roots of a spriggan, only the thick tendrils of the oak forest and the fine web of ferns around us. There were no bones. No remains. Nothing.

  When I’d killed the fae that had stolen the face of my ex-boyfriend, Alex, he’d dissolved into ash and blew away on the wind. Hannah had probably wound up the same, but it didn’t account for Aileen. I would still feel some kind of trace. An echo. A ghostly tendril. A sprinkle of Crescent magic. Her bones…

  Holding onto my sigh, I went as deep as I dared, but my search was fruitless. It was the same feeling I’d had when I’d tried to find Aileen in her coffin. She wasn’t here.

  I opened my eyes, my shoulders sinking as my magic subsided. Glancing at Boone, our eyes met, and he knew.

  “No…” he whispered. “I cannae believe…”

  Standing, I cupped his cheek, my skin rasping on his stubble. “I’m sorry, Boone. I wanted her to be here, too. I really did. Maybe the hawthorn was trying to tell me something else. I’m beginning to understand symbols aren’t so literal in this world.”

  “I thought…”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close.

  “Me, too,” I whispered. “Me, too.”

  When we got back to the cottage, the light was already fading. It was totally weird how early it got dark here. Boone said the sun set as early as four p.m. in the middle of winter. I knew it was going to mess with my equilibrium, not to mention my sleeping patterns.

  Speaking of Boone… I let him go on ahead, hanging back when I saw the light on in the garden shed. He was so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed, but he needn’t worry. Nothing evil was lurking among the rakes and shovels. One almost transparent wisp of magic told me it was just the demon child who’d taken up residence in my spare bedroom, otherwise known as the goth girl Mairead, doing God knew what.

  Crossing the lawn, I readied myself for anything. I hadn’t taken her for having a green thumb, so either she had a crop of hydroponically grown marijuana or she… Well, I had no bloody idea, so I was going with the weed as the likely explanation.

  Peering through the door, I raised my eyebrows when I saw her sitting on a wooden crate in front of a large canvas with a bag of paints at her feet and a mason jar full of murky water and assorted brushes. I didn’t know whether to be proud or disappointed.

  Stepping into the shed, I shivered. How she could stand the cold was beyond my little Australian mind. I was used to blistering summers and mild winters. Snow sometimes happened back home but only for a second, and it never stuck around long enough for a snowball fight.

  “Where have you been?” Mairead asked, glancing up from her canvas.

  “Just went for a walk with Boone,” I replied, not wanting to disappoint her with my fruitless search for Aileen. “Quality time, you know. What’s all this about?” I nodded at the palette of paint in her lap. “You’ve got green on your face.”

  “Cac, have I?” She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, making the dob of paint smear even more.

  “What are you painting?” I rounded the canvas and took in the image. It was a mess of green splotches and didn’t really resemble anything. “Is it abstract?”

  “No. It’s supposed to be a landscape.” She made a face and pointed to the picture sticky taped to the makeshift easel she’d constructed out of old boxes.

  Narrowing my eyes, I studied the image she’d likely printed out at Irish Moon and nodded. It was Derrydun from a distance. The main road stretched across the picture, giving a great view of all the shops. There was Molly McCreedy’s, the bright pink of Mary’s Teahouse, Irish Moon was there, and in the center of the street was the hawthorn. Further afield, I could see the ruined tower house on the horizon and the forest surrounding the sleepy village.

  “That’s supposed to be that?” I asked, pointing to the canvas.

  “I’m workin’ on it,” she replied with a pout. “I watched a video on the Internet where they were dabbin’ all the colors on like this…” She slapped the brush against the canvas, adding more green to the shape she’d already created. “Buildin’ color.”

  “What’s that green thing supposed to be?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

  “That part’s the hill.”

  “Really?”

  “Skye!”

  I laughed, feeling a little lighter after mine and Boone’s emotional bender in the woods.

  “Are you feelin’ okay?” Mairead asked, her brush falling into the jar of water with a plop.

  “Fine,” I replied, rubbing my arms. The gashes from the ritual had almost faded—all that was left were two pale pink lines—but it was more nervous energy that forced me to rub than any pain.

  Mairead didn’t look convinced.

  “Do you want to go inside?” I asked. “My nipples feel like they’ll get frostbite and drop off. Anyway, I promised I’d look at your drawings and help you figure out shit. I kinda got waylaid the other night.”

  “You had an excuse.” She glanced at my arm, worried Boone’s weird tongue magic was going to reverse itself, and I would bleed out on the spot.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m not going to explode, you know.”

  “You’re not worried about it,” she argued. “You’re not angry, or sad, or anythin’. You’re just…meh.”

  I shrugged. I kinda was, but wallowing got no one anywhere. Man, when did I start growing up? I was being all wise and shit. Maybe Boone was rubbing off on me. Not in the literal sense, because we rubbed off on one another all the time, but in the philosophical kind of way.

  Thinking about Lucy and the Nightshade witches, the ritual that was supposed to kill me and let Carman back into Ireland, the mass burning of the family I’d never met, the hatred toward my coven for standing up to Carman a thousand years ago, how they were ostracized for closing the doorways to the fae realm to stop a war from breaking out, and all the other injustices that had led to the Crescents calling me home, I scowled. I suppose I was angry. Real angry.

  “But—”

  “Life has to go on, Mairead,” I interrupted. “We’re fine, but we still have to do our duty by Derrydun. Boone and I… We can’t take a day off from that. We’ve just gotta deal and get on with it.”

  “Not even after…” Her bottom lip trembled.

  “Not even after near-death experiences. The bad guys won’t take time off for a weekend at the seaside, so neither can we. They’ll keep trying, and we have to be there to keep stopping them.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  I smiled and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “It never is.”

  Chapter 2

  Leaning against the kitchen table, I watched Boone as he sliced some carrots, tilting my head to the side.

  He had a really nice ass. Firm, round, and just—

  “What are you lookin’ at?” he asked, not even turning around.

  “How do you know I’m looking at you?” I retorted, leaning back in the chair, forgetting about the studying I was supposed to be doing. The Crescent spell book was before me, open at random page talking about magical Legacy—the word Legacy capitalized like it was a thing I was supposed to know—while Boone did what he did best. Cook for me.

  “Do we really need to keep havin’ this conversation?” he asked, dumping the chopped carrots into a huge silver pot on the stove.

  “No.” I sighed and shook my head. Boone always knew when I was staring at his ass. Always. I figured it was a magical animal thing, and animals were all into the ‘deed.’ You know, the nasty. He was a man, after all. “I thought you’d like me staring at your juicy peach.”

  He turned, his brow furrowed. “Juicy peach?”
/>   “Moneymaker?” I offered.

  His lips twitched into a ghost of a smile before he turned around and resumed chopping, this time, starting on the potatoes.

  A week after the ritual, and Boone was still fretting. His facial expression hadn’t changed from brooding—which was one of two settings he had, the other being cocky—and it was really beginning to worry me. At least, this time, he’d been transparent about it rather than hiding his fears away and stewing in his own juices. We all knew what happened last time he did that. Well, it did end up with us having sex in a ditch in the middle of the forest, but I couldn’t count on that happening again. While I liked being adventurous, I would rather my bare ass lay on something a little less…rocky.

  “Where’s Mairead?” Boone asked over his shoulder.

  “In the shed again.”

  “Paintin’?”

  “I should probably get her a heater,” I mused. “Or a hot-water bottle. It’s a pity I can’t spell her a fire pit or something.” It was a cool idea, but something like that would be a flare for wandering fae and craglorn. I may as well put up a flashing neon sign that said, All You Can Eat Buffet Now Open.

  Rolling my eyes, I glanced down at my arms and shoved up my sleeves. When I’d jumped into the shower that morning, I’d been shocked to find the little pink scars had vanished. They were gone, kaput, erased, gone like they’d never been there at all. Magic wolf spit, indeed.

  Turning back to the spell book, I flipped over the page. In all the time I’d been rifling through the ancient book I’d found under the floorboards, I couldn’t remember seeing anything about shape-shifting wolves that could heal with their tongues. There wasn’t anything about the Nightshade Witches or any other coven for that matter.

  As per usual, I was flying blind and fumbling in the dark, and all the other clever sayings for being a clueless biatch I could think of.

  I turned the page again and paused when I saw a hand-drawn picture of a nightshade flower. It was just an explanation of the plant and its various properties, but it felt like a sign. The entire magical world was all about omens. I’d had enough flashed in my face to last a lifetime, so I figured I had a good inbuilt omen detector by now. Maybe this was one I should be listening to.