Crescent Prophecy Page 11

  “If you need anythin’, I’ll be at Mary’s until early afternoon, then at Molly McCreedy’s.”

  “Sure.”

  Boone smiled and kissed me softly on the lips.

  “Don’t worry too much about Lucy,” he added. “She’ll turn up, or she won’t.”

  I grunted.

  “I love you,” he added, backing toward the door.

  Sighing, I managed a half-smile. “Love you, too.”

  By the time closing rolled around, the store was in chaos.

  Locking the door, I turned to the mess and sighed. Starting at the closest display, I began straightening the agate slices and polishing off grubby fingerprints. Since I’d learned more about crystals and magic, I knew they absorbed energies as well as giving them out, so after a day of being handled by various strangers, they soon became muddled. I felt it every time I wrapped up a pretty specimen, so I made sure to cleanse as I went.

  Picking up a slice of blue agate, I studied the pattern—which looked like the age rings in a tree trunk—and sighed. Ever since Lucy told me about the witches disliking me, I was miserable. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Should I sit back and keep to my own—my own being Derrydun and no one else—or continue on my path to handing Carman her ass despite how my own people felt about me?

  The sound of the lock turning caught my attention, and I glanced up to find Lucy pushing the door open. I could feel the hum of her magic in the air, and it made my stomach turn.

  “Be careful with that,” I said, putting down the agate. “I don’t want your magic attracting a craglorn. I’ve got enough to deal with without cleaning up your mess.”

  “You’re still angry,” she said nervously.

  “I’m livid!”

  She glanced over her shoulder, likely regretting coming back at all. Or she was making sure she wasn’t standing in the crosshairs of the sniper she’d arranged earlier.

  “Do you want this job?” I asked. “Do you genuinely want it, or was it all about canvassing the village for optimal vantage points to take me out?”

  “I didn’t want you to find out this way,” she began, and I rolled my eyes.

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  “I didn’t tell them,” she blurted. “They don’t know about you yet.”

  “Who? Your coven?” I snorted and moved to the next shelf and began tidying it.

  “Yeah…”

  I wanted to ask her all sorts of questions, but my distrust was stronger than ever. To know there were other witches out there? I needed help learning how to use my magic, and especially a witch history one-oh-one class so I knew what to look for when it came to magical creatures and if they wanted to murder me or not. That would’ve been handy.

  Finding where you belonged? It was meant to be a happy occasion like meeting your long-lost family, but no. Not for me. I was apparently the outcast.

  Glancing at Lucy, who hadn’t moved or uttered another word, I said, “Answer one simple question, and depending on your answer, you get to keep your job.”

  She nodded.

  “Why did you come here? Why did you come searching for me, and why did you stay?”

  “I… I wanted to see if it was true,” she said. “That the Crescents were no more.”

  “My mother hid me well, I see,” I drawled. “I suppose you had dealings with her since you seemed to know she was hanging around?”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything else. I figured they’d had the same amount of respect for Aileen as they now showed me, which was why she kept to herself here in Derrydun. I would have to ask Boone about it later and see what he knew because he’d never met any other witches in the whole time he’d been here, either. It was very telling.

  “So the Crescents saved all your asses from Carman by kicking her out of Ireland, then closed the doorways to the fae realm,” I declared, rattling off what I supposed was common knowledge. “They bound all this with their blood, my blood, and it’s the only thing that can undo it all. Sound about right?”

  Lucy blinked, looking a little shell-shocked.

  “Now you’re all in ultimate dilemma mode because here’s the last Crescent, some random Australian chick who doesn’t know shite all, who’s the key to one of two things. Salvation or extinction.” I raised my eyebrows. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you all hate my guts by default. Without even meeting me. Without even giving me a chance.”

  “It’s not like that…”

  “It’s totally like that,” I declared. “Why should I risk my life, huh? If the witches don’t care about me, then maybe I should just let the fae continue hunting you all down. I’ll get my powers bound again and go sip a mai tai on a beach in Thailand while you deal with your war.”

  They weren’t fighting, so why should I? I knew there was a metaphor for survival and the human condition or something equally as poignant, but I didn’t really want to think about it. Here I was thinking having magical powers would be the best thing that happened to me, like that kid and his wizarding school, owls, adventures with his two best mates, and crazy broomstick-riding classes. Instead, here I was being slammed with rotten tomatoes.

  “We can’t stop you,” Lucy said after a moment. “If that’s what you want to do, then…”

  I stared at her, the gravity of who I was beginning to sink in. “You’re telling me that…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “You have more magic in you than any of us,” she went on, shaking her head. “At least, of the witches I’ve met. Which hasn’t been many.”

  “I’m not…” I almost choked. “I’m not all powerful. I’m just a woman…”

  “You’re a Crescent.” She shrugged.

  I narrowed my eyes and turned away, feeling really uncomfortable. Clueless Skye Williams, the savior of Ireland. Pfft.

  Not even six months had passed since Aileen died, and I’d been a practicing witch less than that. I didn’t know who to trust other than Boone, but I couldn’t deny I needed help. I was a stranger to these people and to my destiny. I had no choice but to trust Lucy at least a little.

  “What now?” I asked. “Now we both know the truth of our positions, what are you planning to do?”

  “Me?” She raised her eyebrows. “What are you plannin’?”

  “You’re in my house,” I shot back. “And I asked first.”

  “If you want to fight, then I’m obligated.”

  “I don’t want your obligation. You may as well slap me in the face.” I pouted and shook my hair. “I need a friend, Lucy. I need an ally who wants to be here because they genuinely care, not because they were conscripted against their will. If that’s what you think this is, then you know where the door is. I can beat Carman with or without your help.”

  Her eyes seemed to light up, and she smiled. Looked like I’d said the right thing, but it was the truth. I’d always planned on facing Carman even before learning about the scandalous reputation of my coven. She’d messed with my life and loved ones, and there was no way I was going to turn a blind eye like a coward. Through Hannah the spriggan, she’d killed my mother and hurt Boone. Then there was all that crazy prophecy shite. There was no way I was letting that scrag use me!

  “Then I’m with you,” Lucy said.

  “You can stay, on one condition.”

  “Anythin’.”

  “You must keep my existence a secret even from your coven. The Crescents are no more, you hear me? The last thing I need is random witches turning up on assassination missions. Or an influx of magic putting the village at risk. This stays between you and me. I’ve got enough crazy to deal with already.”

  “Of course.”

  “We don’t use magic here,” I said, feeling a sharp pang of protectiveness over the village. “We only use it to protect ourselves and nothing more. The hawthorns here are my birthright, and they belong to the Crescents. Got it?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “Say it, so I know yo
u understand.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.” I eyed her warily and grunted.

  We fell into an awkward silence, a crumbled wall of distrust still between us. Lucy began straightening the stock in the display cabinet beside me, and we rotated around the entire store before she worked up the courage to speak.

  “I’ve got a lot of work to do, haven’t I?”

  “Yep,” I said, popping the p at the end.

  “You said you’ve only known you’re a witch for four months?”

  “Four months, yes.”

  “Have you had anyone show you how to use your magic?” She coughed and glanced at me. “Properly, I mean. Control and all of that.”

  “I’ve done just fine all by myself,” I said haughtily.

  “I can show you,” she said excitedly. “I can show you how. I would love to see Crescent magic…”

  It was everything I’d longed for. A teacher and a way to link to what I was. So many times I’d over juiced spells—like the mess with the craglorn—and wasn’t sure how to reel it in, although I was improving. Lucy could help me, though something told me to keep my cards close to my chest and not reveal too much. About Boone, the spell book, the Crescent athame, and the visions the hawthorn in the forest tried to shove into my mind.

  Speaking of the visions, I hadn’t told anyone about those. Not even Boone. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten the hawthorn had tried to connect with me. Sighing, I put it on the back burner for now. That day wasn’t one I wanted to remember anytime soon.

  “Maybe you can show me something,” I said slowly, focusing on the witch.

  “Cool.” Lucy beamed and finished tidying the counter. “Just name the time and place. Whenever you’re ready.”

  And so, an uneasy alliance between a rogue witch and the last Crescent was forged. For better or worse, there was no going back now.

  Chapter 14

  Irish Moon was frosty in the days following Lucy’s big reveal.

  Our conversations were clipped, and the heater did nothing to warm my icy fingers. I took to wearing a pair of fingerless gloves I’d picked up from the handicraft store next door. They were made from one hundred percent Derrydun yarn, lovingly knitted by Aoife, a lady who lived out past Slieveward Bog who’d become a local celebrity when she’d found an ancient wheel of cheese that someone had buried in the sludge. I knew people liked old and moldy dairy products, but two hundred years was a bit of a stretch. Boone said the bogs were called ‘nature’s refrigerators,’ and people used to keep all kinds of stuff in them for safekeeping, so much so, there was always a story in the local paper about the latest find. Money, jewelry, ancient swords, food, animals, and even mummified human bodies had been excavated.

  The point was, Aoife, the ancient cheese lady, knitted a mean pair of fingerless gloves.

  It took me a few days to get over my beaten pride where Lucy was concerned. When it became clear she was neither going to leave me in the lurch at the shop or lead a lynch mob with flaming torches and pitchforks down the main street, I decided to cut her some slack.

  I decided to close Irish Moon for the day so we could start working on the introductory crash course known as witch one-oh-one.

  We bundled up in our coats, Lucy in her woolen overcoat and me in my leather jacket and scarf. We looked as different as night and day with our fashion choices. Lucy was the typical Wiccan witch, and I was the biker chick looking to rumble…all I needed was a length of chain and a skull to crack.

  Lucy questioned me on what I knew as we went, using big confusing words that made me feel inadequate. She’d spent her whole life being taught how to harness and use her magic, and here I was just taking a stab in the dark with the greatest power to ever walk the earth. No biggie.

  “Didn’t the Crescents have a grimoire?” she asked, starting to weave onto shaky ground.

  “If they did, I haven’t found it,” I replied, blatantly lying about the spell book that had become a favorite of mine.

  It wasn’t like I wanted to lie, but after everything that had happened with Alex and Boone, I’d learned the hard and fast rule about who to trust. Luckily, it hadn’t come to anything too dire. Otherwise, I probably would’ve turfed Lucy out on her backside when I found her juggling crystals. This whole world was like a house of mirrors at the local carnival.

  “Aileen never left you anythin’ of the Crescents?”

  “Other than this gnarly magic thing, no.” I shook my head. “I learned about it by accident just like everything else in my life lately.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “You know Sean McKinnon?”

  “The drunk guy from Molly McCreedy’s?”

  “That’s the one.” I snorted. “I found him drunk in a gutter one night. Completely inconsolable, mind you. I accidentally used my magic to calm him. Luckily, he was out of it. Otherwise, I don’t know how I would’ve explained myself.”

  It was true, it was the first time I’d used my magic, but it wasn’t exactly how I found out I was a witch. Not quite.

  Lucy frowned. “So you’ve been alone this whole time? You know a lot…”

  “I’ve had to learn fast. And some strange things have happened…”

  Oh, man, there were so many holes in my story it wasn’t funny. How could I keep Boone out of this when she kept asking a million and one things about verifying my whereabouts on x date? She was so good cop, bad cop.

  “Carman and the craglorn…” She eyed me suspiciously.

  “My stupid experiments caused one to come looking,” I said, my hole just getting deeper and deeper. I shuddered, remembering the teeth and claws.

  “You’re a natural.” Her skepticism was palpable.

  “When you’re born to fulfill a magical density, fate has a way of making things really bloody clear. Technicolor has nothing on witches and their prophecies.”

  “Prophecies?” Lucy asked, her head tilting to the side. “You asked me about that the other day.”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  Thinking about Fae-Alex, I suppressed another shudder. She’d warned me about him, that she felt he had malicious intent. Now I knew the truth about her, it was a lot clearer. She suspected he was a fae, but like me, she couldn’t see his true face. The more I learned about this crazy-ass world, the more I knew that I’d only seen him for what he truly was because he’d attempted to use his magic on me. Magic had broken the veil.

  “You sensed something was off about Alex, didn’t you?” I asked, glancing at the witch.

  “Yeah.”

  “I killed him, but I think you know that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said uncomfortably.

  “It wasn’t him. Not really. The fae had stolen his face.”

  We fell silent. The only sound was our boots crunching on the path beneath our feet. The forest canopy stretched overhead, blocking out most of the early morning mist. It was days like today that I wished the Crescent Witches had built an indoor amphitheater with central heating.

  “Is there a spell that warms your hands?” I asked. “You know, like those little hand warmer thing you sit in your pockets that have the little buttons you click? The stuff inside crystallizes and goes hard, and then you have to boil them to reset the liquid. Is there a work around for that?”

  “You’re lucky I came along when I did,” Lucy said with a laugh. “You’re not supposed to use magic like that.”

  “Damn,” I cursed. “So can I have an automated magical house like the Weasley’s out of Harry Potter? I really wanted a pair of self-knitting needles. I’ve never had the attention span to knit a scarf let alone a jumper.”

  “Magic is supposed to augment life, not replace it,” she went on.

  “What does that mean?”

  “No quick fixes.”

  “Typical.”

  The hawthorn came into view, and I immediately felt the pull of the tree. Since the day Boone and I had argued under her branches, its tendri
ls seemed to have become stronger. I knew it had to do with the connection it had made with me in my despair. I’d called out to my ancestors in a moment of desperation, and they’d tried to answer. At least, I think they did. I could’ve been delirious.

  Finding a decent spot in the middle of the clearing, Lucy unfurled the rug she’d brought along and lay it over the dirt. She sat squarely in the middle, leaving me the edge.

  “I should’ve brought a sandwich,” I muttered. “And a thermos. A thermos would’ve been good. Hot chocolate.”

  “The first thing you should know is magic is a part of you,” Lucy declared. “It’s your energy you’re usin’, so be careful with it. Too much and you could be in serious trouble.”

  “I do feel tired after…” I said, the ruse not sitting right even though she was hogging the blanket in a passive-aggressive power play.

  I already knew about the transference of power—it sounded all scientific and tangible that way, so that was what I was calling it. Healing Boone after he’d been attacked by the craglorn had sent me to sleep for three days with an awful fever.

  “What about potions and pentagrams and all of that?” I asked. “Is that a thing?”

  “Fallacy. Well, mostly.”

  “So I don’t need to say blessed be all the time?”

  “No.” She giggled, smoothing her wild hair behind her ears. “You don’t always need an incantation or an effigy to practice magic,” she went on, giving me an overview of the basics. “There are tools we can use to aid us, but a true master needs none.”

  “So all the herbs, roots, and gnarly poems are optional?”

  “It depends.” Lucy laughed and nodded. “Unless the spell is complicated, then there’s no way around it. Potions are a thing, but it’s not like you see on television.”

  Thinking about the web I’d cast to trap the craglorn, I nodded. That was an exception to the rule. I’d had to anchor the spell to set the perimeters. This witch business wasn’t all it seemed. There were so many nuances it was hard to keep up.

  “Sometimes, witches use incantations to better control the spell, or they use them to center themselves. It can help keep focus if they’re not good at instinctual magic.”