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

I retrieved my meal and my bag and went upstairs with Buddy on my heels. Setting myself up on Aileen’s bed, I took out the tarot deck I’d found that morning, laid out the book, and began picking at the chicken with gravy, vegetables and roast potato that I’d nuked downstairs.

Buddy curled up on the end of the bed, not in the least bit interested in the rubbery food I tortured myself with. Smart guy, that one.

“Let’s see…” I said, opening the box and taking out the cards. Shuffling, I stopped when I felt like it might be right and drew the card at the top. Turning it over, I raised my eyebrows. The Tower.

It was the same card I’d chosen earlier, and I wondered if it was yet another weird sign from the spirits of Derrydun. They sure knew how to shove coincidences down my throat, after all.

“All right,” I muttered. “If you want to play with me, then what do you mean.”

Turning to the index, I found the page reference for the Tower and then turned back to the right place in the book.

I read the passage aloud so it would sink into my brain faster. “When the Tower shows itself in a reading, consider it a blessing in disguise. Forceful change is being pushed on you, and though it may feel like it is happening against your will, you need to remember it’s for your own good. Often, this card appears when a change has been in the air for some time, and you have resisted or ignored it. There may have been small problems arising because of this, and they are likely increasing and getting out of control. The Tower represents the Universe reminding you that you need this upheaval to run its course for your own spiritual growth.

“Hear that, Buddy?” I said to the cat. “That sounds exactly like my life. Forceful change.”

Holding up the Tower, I studied the card. Boone had said it meant ‘out with the old, and in with the new.’ I thought he’d been talking about Aileen passing, but maybe it was more than that. My old life had fallen apart, much like the picture of the Tower in the book. I’d lost my job, my boyfriend, my home, but now I was in Derrydun, and a whole new way of life had presented itself in an unlikely scenario. Lucky for me, I had dual citizenship.

No doubt, the part referring to the ‘small problems’ could be interpreted as the trio of oddities that occurred when I had decided I wanted to sell. The door to Irish Moon became stuck, the computer froze, and the real estate agent crashed his car into the creek.

It was very specific, and I found myself wanting to believe. Guidance, huh? Maybe there was more in these tarot cards than I first thought.

A loud thud broke the still air, and I jumped, my heart doing a double backflip in my chest. Even Buddy’s head flew up, his eyes wide, and his irises so black hardly any green was left showing.

“The hell…” I muttered as I saw a stack of old romance novels had fallen off the nightstand onto the floor.

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