Crescent Calling: The Crescent Witch Chronicles - Book One by R Nicole (essential reading TXT) 📗

the main street was lit, but behind Irish Moon, the garden was dark, and long shadowy fingers stretched across the vegetable patch. Shivering, I sank into my jacket and tried not to look back. The sensation of a hundred pairs of eyes watching my every move was freaking me out even though I knew I was alone. I suppose that was the problem. Anything could be lurking in the darkness where I couldn’t see.

My boots crunched loudly on the gravel path as I hurried through the night. Fumbling for my keys, I stood under the eave and wrestled with the lock. The moment the door opened, a dark streak darted through my legs and disappeared into the house.

Letting out a yelp, my heart twisted, and I fell back against the doorjamb. Was that a cat? It had better be a bloody cat because I had no patience left to wrangle any wild beasts tonight. Were there any dangerous animals in Ireland? Did squirrels sneak into people’s houses and attack their faces while they slept at night? Who knew. I was on foreign soil.

“Hey!” I exclaimed running inside and slamming the door closed behind me.

Bumping into the kitchen door, I turned on the light and spied a big tabby cat sitting on the table. It was watching me with its big green eyes, its tail flicking back and forth.

“Just make yourself at home, cat,” I said with a pout.

It yawned, showing its teeth and bristly tongue.

“Well?”

It licked its whiskers and continued to stare at me.

“What do you want, hey?”

It blinked slowly and rose to its feet like it was going to pounce. Standing beside the table, I looked it over. It was quite a pretty thing. Large for a house cat, but its coat shimmered with a rich tabby color, and it even had a tinge of ginger.

“So, are you a boy or a girl?” Holding up its tail, I made a face. “Yep. You’re a big boy all right. Are you Father O’Donegal’s cat? If you are, then you made quite the scene at the funeral today.” The cat headbutted me, nuzzling up for a pat. Placing my hand on his head, I scratched behind his ears. “You don’t have a collar, though…” I glanced at the fridge. “Are you hungry? I’ve got chicken casserole.”

The cat mewled and jumped off the table, making a run for the hall.

“Oh, no you don’t!”

Chasing after it, I groaned as I saw it leap up the stairs.

“You had better come back down here!” I shouted, knowing full well cats were right little so-and-so’s and never listened to anyone but themselves. It wasn’t coming back down anytime soon.

Glancing up into the darkness of the second floor, I grasped onto the balustrade. Who knew what lingered up there. Memories, smells, personal belongings, clothes, and knickknacks. All the things I didn’t want to face.

I placed my foot on the first step, and it creaked. This was how horror movies began. Get a grip, Skye. Thundering up the stairs, I flung open the first door I found and saw it was a bathroom. The next door along revealed a bedroom—which, by the lived-in feeling, must’ve been Aileen’s room.

Tiptoeing across the room, I found the lamp beside the bed and turned it on. The room was illuminated with a warm glow, revealing the cat had found his way to the most comfortable place in the house. Aileen’s bed.

“Typical,” I said, running my hand over his head. “Where have you led me, buddy?”

Turning my attention to the room, I began to add to the things I knew about my mother. A handmade quilt lay across the foot of the bed, the gold panels shimmering in the lamplight. The vibrant sun and moon design was kitsch and reminded me of a quilt cover I had as a child. I’d been obsessed with stars, and whenever Dad and I went to the beach house, we would sit out on the deck, and he would point out all the constellations he knew. Then I would spend hours staring at the moon, trying to make out all the craters through his battered pair of binoculars. Maybe Aileen had done the same thing before she left us, and this quilt was a reminder. It was a comforting thought.

Turning to the dresser, I ran my fingertips over a little tray of jewelry, studied a bottle of perfume, and peered inside a silver box. Opening the lid, my heart skipped a beat as I saw a familiar image. Picking up the photograph, my hands began to shake. The edges were worn, which meant it had been handled a lot. I knew because I had one exactly the same.

I stared at the candid snap of my dad, Aileen, and me and wasn’t sure what to think. I was a baby in the image, barely old enough to open my eyes, but my parents were smiling at the camera with the beach I knew like the back of my own hand in the background. Boone seemed to think she loved me. He’d said as much that afternoon on the hill. Maybe the photo was proof she thought of us at least some of the time.

Sliding the photo back into the silver box, I turned. Staring at the bed, I sighed. Dare I? It would be better than another night on the couch. The cat began to purr happily and kneaded his claws on the bedspread.

“This is such a weird place,” I said to the cat. “I’m either still jet lagged, or…” I shrugged. “I’m talking to a cat.” I snorted and rubbed my eyes. “This is my mum’s room, huh? Do you think she and Robert were, you know?” I snorted and shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. Actually, I was beginning to think Robert’s strangeness was just an Irish thing, but the more I get to know him, the more I think it’s just because he is strange. Everyone here has their own quirk. What’s