Crescent Rogue Page 4

“You’re Boone, the lad staying with Aileen, right?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “I hear ye are goin’ to be workin’ with Roy.” He held out his hand. “Sean McKinnon.”

  Slapping my palm in his, we shook. We seemed to be around the same age, though Sean was well worn around the edges. His face bore the lines of exhaustion, his beard was scrappy, and his clothes were slightly rumpled. He also had the ingrained smell of alcohol around him, which didn’t bode well.

  “Yes, I start tomorrow‬,” I replied. ‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

  “Have ye worked with sheep before?”

  “No, but I have a way with animals,” I said. A literal way considering I could break all the bones in my body and change into them at will.

  “There’s naught much to it,” he said, his thick accent almost musical. “I can teach ye how to whistle to Phee, and she be doin’ all the leg work.”

  “Phee?”

  “The border collie. Smart as a tack for a dog, and to think she was the runt of the litter.”

  His words evoked a familiarity to me, and I frowned, shaking off the sensation before my head burst in the middle of the pub.

  “Here you go.” The woman behind the bar placed a pint of beer down in front of me, her red lips smiling broadly at me. Her eyelashes fluttered. She was quite pretty with her red hair, freckled cheeks, and slender frame, but romance was the furthest thing from my mind.

  “Stop makin’ eyes at him, Hannah,” Sean complained. “You know my heart burns for ye.”

  “Sean, stop it with your blabberin’,” she said with a groan. “You’re drunk. You know what that means.”

  “Aye. Time to go home.” He slammed his empty glass onto the bar and held out his hand to me. “Nice to be meetin’ ye, Boone. I’ll see you on the farm.”

  “Sure,” I said, shaking on it. As he stumbled off, he bumped against a table, then immediately sat in a chair by the door.

  “He lost his wife a few weeks ago,” Hannah explained as I sipped on my beer. “Cancer, the poor girl. She was a real beauty. Sean’s been a fixture around here ever since.”

  “He’s not handling it very well?” I asked, assuming he was self-medicating his loss with alcohol.

  “Yes and no. Sometimes, he’s bright as can be, but other times, he’s just lost, you know?” Hannah glanced across the bar and frowned. Following her gaze, I saw Sean had slumped in his chair and had begun snoring loudly. “He comes here so he’s not alone, I think. We look out for him, but there’s only so much we can do.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You might have to start cutting him off.”

  “Oh, I see how it is,” she declared, pouting. “One week in Derrydun, and you know how it is. Where did you come from to know all there is about these parts, eh?”

  “Do you want me to take Sean home?” I said, blatantly avoiding her questioning. “He’s starting to drool.”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes. “If you like.”

  Standing, I brushed off my trousers. “Where does he live?”

  “Half a mile along the main road to your right. The farmhouse just past the bend. On the fence near the gate, you’ll see the name of the house, Ashmere. That’s the one you be looking for.”

  “Thanks.” Approaching Sean, I wondered if I could carry him. I seemed to have a great deal of strength, but I wasn’t sure it extended to drunken Irishmen.

  “Boone?”

  Turning at the sound of Hannah’s voice, I raised an eyebrow.

  “Thank you. He’s impossible to move when he passes out. I was afraid I would find him asleep in Mrs. Boyle’s flowers again. She was beating him with a broom, and he still wouldn’t move.”

  Smiling, I nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  Giving him a shake, Sean’s eyes opened, and he started muttering to himself.

  “Time to go home,” I said, pulling him to his feet.

  Giving one last wave to Hannah, we left the empty pub and started the walk, his arm slung over my shoulder while I propped him up. We must’ve been a comical sight, stumbling down the side of the road in the dark, but Derrydun was a sleepy little place, and there was no one around to witness it.

  As we approached the farmhouse, my skin began to itch and prickle. Pausing to rest a moment, Sean moaned, his breath stinking of beer.

  “Are we there yet?” he asked.

  “We’re just outside,” I replied. “Do you see?”

  He peered up at his house. “Oh, yeah. That’s the one.”

  Glancing at the forest behind the farmhouse, I was sure something lingered just past the rise. Hoisting Sean up, I guided him down the path to the front door of his house, and he leaned against the wall, completely out of his mind.

  Everything felt electrified as if a storm was brewing on the horizon, but I knew there was no bad weather coming. Not in the sky at least. The harder I focused on the presence, the more my skin prickled. It tugged at me like a magnet attracting metal, and I turned, staring into the darkness. There was something there, calling to me. Something…

  Sean moaned and began rattling at the door. “It’s locked,” he cried. “Justine! Let me in, woman! Justine!”

  Shaking off the odd sensation, I turned back to Sean, assuming Justine had been his wife.

  “She’s not here,” I said, patting his coat pockets looking for his house keys.

  “You’re Boone,” he said, slurring his words.

  “That I am.”

  “You’re staying with Aileen.”

  “Yes.” Finding the keys, I began trying each in the door until I found the right one. The lock clicked, and I let us into the house. “Can you find your way to bed?”

  “Go, go,” Sean said, waving his hand at me. “I’ll be fine.”

  Not wanting to linger a moment longer, I let him be, leaving behind the farmhouse and the weird pull toward the forest.

  Outside, the darkness was soothing, the air seeming to dilute the effects of whatever was lingering just outside of my awareness. Worried it might have something to do with the things that were hunting me or even the parasites Aileen had mentioned were searching for her, I hurried back to the village.

  The lights were still on in the cottage when I finally crossed into the garden, and inside, I found the witch sitting in her favorite armchair, knitting some unknown article of clothing. Her fingers worked the needles with expert precision, and she didn’t even drop a stitch when she looked up at me.

  “I hear you’ve been busy,” she said as I stood in the doorway.

  “I have. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Aileen screwed up her nose. “No need to apologize to me. I’m not your mother.”

  I began to wonder who was, and a now familiar headache erupted in my brain.

  “You need to work on that,” the witch said, resuming her knitting. “You might blow your brain to smithereens.”

  “I was at the pub,” I said. “I took Sean McKinnon home…”

  “Aye? He lost his wife a few weeks back.” She clucked her tongue. “Such a lovely woman.”

  “So I hear…”

  Setting down her knitting needles, Aileen peered up at me. “What else did you find?”

  “Err…” I wasn’t sure how she knew, but her intuition was starting to become annoying.

  “Well then, spit it out.”

  “Beyond Sean’s farmhouse,” I began. “Something was…”

  “Ah, there’s another hawthorn down there,” Aileen explained. “That’s likely what you felt. Like a tingling, yes? A magnet pulling at your skin?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “All creatures of magic are drawn to such places,” she went on. “It’s normal to sense them, but it’s not always wise to seek them out.”

  “Why? If it’s only a hawthorn…”

  “They’re never just a hawthorn,” she said with a pout.

  I frowned but didn’t continue my questioning. It was late, and I had an early morning if I wanted to be on time for my first day
working on Roy’s farm. Still, I was curious. If it were only a hawthorn, the tree that protected our kind, then why would she warn me away? I had no idea.

  I had turned, intending to go to bed, when Aileen called out.

  “Boone?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and waited.

  “Don’t go looking for trouble, you hear? It never ends well.”

  “No,” I murmured, still thinking about the strange magic that lingered past Sean McKinnon’s house. “I won’t.”

  Chapter 6

  Roy was a robust man in his early sixties. His belly was round, his cheeks were red, and he didn’t seem to give a hoot about anything.

  We were sitting on a bale of hay, watching a truck reverse into the yard. A dozen or so sheep were loaded in the back, bleating and stamping their feet on the tray as the driver went over a bump. A black and white border collie was running laps around the entire scene, biting at the wheels and barking in excitement.

  Roy whistled sharply at the dog. “Phee! C’mere!”

  Phee did another lap and came toward us, her tongue lolling happily. The moment she saw me sitting there, she bounded straight up to me, sat at my feet, and nudged my leg with her snout until I placed my palm on her head.

  “You’ve got a way about ye,” Roy said, scratching his head. “She’s in love.”

  “At least someone is,” I said wryly, earning myself a laugh from the old man.

  Handing me a can of blue spray paint, he nodded toward the truck. The driver had started unloading sheep into the paddock by the gate, the pungent stench of wet wool filling the air as their hooves churned the earth beneath them.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “Spray a little line on their asses,” he declared. “We’ve got four lots of sheep runnin’ across that hill, and we need to tell ’em apart. That bugger McGregor tried to pinch me best ewe last summer by paintin’ over her. We kicked him out and lost his money, but even so, it was still cheaper than buildin’ a mile of drywall to separate them out.”

  One thing I was fast learning was that while not shy when it came to hard work, if the Irish didn’t have to do it, then they made it their mission not to.

  I climbed over the fence and landed in the yard, mud squelching under my boots. The sheep spooked and headed for the opposite side of the pen. In the background, Phee began to bark, disappointed she wasn’t allowed in on the action.

  Letting my instincts take over, I dove for the closest ewe, grasped her neck, and sprayed a neat line over her rump. Seeing I’d missed a spot, I filled it in before letting her go.

  “You don’t need to paint a bloody Rembrandt!” Roy bellowed. “Just spray ’em!”

  Grimacing, I darted about the yard, slipping and sliding while Roy and the truck driver bellowed with laughter. The sheep were slippery, and their flighty nature made them experts in the art of evasion. Fortunate for them, but not for me. Eventually, I managed to mark them all without falling on my ass in the mud. I would call that a win and some welcome entertainment for the men.

  Vaulting over the fence, I handed Roy back the can of spray paint.

  “Not bad for ye first go,” he said. “Where did ye come from, anyhoo? Ye a city lad?”

  I shrugged, unsure what tale to spin. I couldn’t exactly tell him I was a fox in my spare time.

  “You’re a man of few words. Be careful. People oft like to jump to conclusions about that.”

  “I fell on hard times, is all,” I said, filling in the gap as much as I could. “I needed a place to call home, and Aileen offered to help.”

  Roy eyed me. “She’s a good judge of character, our Aileen.”

  “She is.”

  “Ye better not be thinkin’ about causin’ any trouble around here,” he said sternly.

  “I don’t plan on giving you any.”

  We watched the sheep mill about for a few minutes, standing side by side. When Sean’s car came into view, the old man waved me away.

  “Go with Sean,” he said. “He’ll show ye the limits of the property and take ye to see the cows. Keep an eye out for Bully. He’s a mean bugger.”

  Thanking the old man, I went to meet Sean. When he got out of his car, I saw he was a sight cleaner in his jeans, flannel, and boots, but his eyes were red, betraying the raging hangover he must’ve woken with.

  “Hey, Boone,” he said.

  “Sean.” I nodded.

  “Thank ye for last night,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I know I was a right eejit. I suppose Hannah explained everythin’ to ye?”

  “She did,” I replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Gettin’ drunk isn’t goin’ to help, but I can’t stop myself.”

  “Time heals most wounds, I suppose.” I glanced at the sky and spied a falcon soaring above. Focusing on it, I began to feel the same pull I had the night before, but this time, my bones began to vibrate.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Sean replied bringing my attention down to earth. “Now come with me, and we’ll go see Bully. If ye are as good with animals as ye say ye are, then it’ll be a right treat, that.”

  “Roy already warned me about Bully,” I said with a smirk.

  “Darn it!” he cursed as we crossed the yard.

  Smiling, I thumped him on the back, grateful I’d already made a friend.

  After that, I settled into my new life in Derrydun with ease. With plenty of work to keep me occupied, I had little time to dwell on my past, which meant I almost completely stopped giving myself splitting headaches.

  I hadn’t realized it, but that first day on the farm, the falcon I’d seen flying above us had been calling to the magic inside of me. The animals I changed into were just as much a part of who I was as my original human form, and I was fast learning I had to change before I was forced to. It seemed staying human forever was not an option.

  Every other night, I went to the ancient hawthorn in the forest and changed, spending hours in the darkness running as a fox or flying as a gyrfalcon.

  And every time I circled Derrydun, I still felt the pull of the mysterious hawthorn in the glade behind Sean McKinnon’s farmhouse. Heeding Aileen’s warning, I stayed away, but it was becoming increasingly hard to ignore the buzzing every time I sat in the field overlooking the village as I was now.

  Perched on the drywall, I surveyed the scene that had become more familiar to me than my own face. The rolling green hills, the steely blue smudge of the ocean on the horizon, the snaking roads that cut across the countryside, and the roofs of the buildings that made up the village. Roy’s sheep chewed happily on the grass before me, and beyond that, I could see the shingles on Sean’s farmhouse. Even further, I could sense the place of power—the hawthorn—its magic hitting me in sickly waves.

  I couldn’t take it anymore.

  Deciding to investigate before I lost my mind, I cast my gaze over the field. No one was around. In the distance, the droning of Roy’s tractor could be heard as he rumbled across the far field, and Phee’s excited barking followed. Sean was away at the market, so that meant I was completely alone and free to slip away for an hour.

  My bones popped, cracking and shrinking into the delicate framework of my most familiar form. The gyrfalcon. My sweater began to billow around me, becoming too large for my shoulders, and my trousers fell down, my hips no longer able to hold them up. Feeling my eyes bubble and morph and my beak sprout, my world shifted as the animal took over.

  Burrowing out of my clothes, I hopped onto the edge of the drywall and shook out my feathers. Preening, I sat for a moment, becoming accustomed to my form. Changing was becoming more familiar now, and the pain was lessening the more I practiced. I no longer felt like throwing up when I regained my human shape, so I took it as a good sign.

  Leaping, I stretched out my wings and flapped. Wind buffeted around me as my senses picked up on the air currents, and I soared higher and higher.

  Wheeling over the farmhouse, I let my senses guide me. The cl
oser I ventured, the more my stomach rolled, and before long, I was able to pick out the hawthorn from the other trees around it.

  At first, I couldn’t see anything amiss, but as I circled lower, I zeroed in on a dark shadow at the base of the tree. It appeared to be digging where the trunk met the earth, and dirt was flying everywhere. The pull of magic was strengthening, and I wondered if this was what I’d been feeling the past week. Was the hawthorn calling for help?

  The more I pondered it, the more it didn’t make sense for Aileen to warn me away. The better course of action was to protect the tree and not let this thing—whatever it was—harm it.

  Circling lower still, I studied the creature. It was a man-shaped thing, but it wore no clothes, and there were no shoes on its feet. Its body was covered in a thick charcoal hide, its clawed hands tipped with mean looking talons that ripped and tore at the base of the hawthorn. The sounds of intelligible muttering reached me even at this height, and my heart began to beat faster. Whatever it was, it was definitely not from this world. Even I was smart enough to understand that.

  Landing on a branch overlooking the hawthorn, I watched the creature, my falcon eyes able to see much clearer than my human ones.

  The moment I settled, its head shot up, and it turned, its beady black eyes searching the glade. Sharp, pointed teeth protruded behind its lips as it sniffed the air, and I began to feel uneasy.

  The instant its gaze hit mine, it let out an unearthly roar and ran across the clearing. It leapt, colliding with the tree, and I was dislodged. Flapping my wings, I cried out, the sound echoing through the glade as I tumbled to the ground.

  A gnarled hand clamped around my middle and pinned my wings to my sides. I wriggled, pecking and clawing in a desperate attempt to free myself, but I was stuck.

  “Magic,” it said forcefully. “Magic!”

  “Let him go!”

  I screeched, digging my beak into the creature’s flesh. A gust of wind collided with us, and we were sent flying, the grip around my body slackening enough so I could wriggle free.

  That was when I realized Aileen stood at the edge of the glade, her hand raised. Magic bled from her, sending waves of heat across my body. I saw why she didn’t use her power unless it was absolutely necessary. The witch shone like a beacon in the darkness, calling everything to her. The sky, the earth, and all the creatures that lived between the two.