Cresent Prophecy by Axelle Chandler (sad books to read TXT) 📗

in the ass end of nowhere?” I asked, voicing my thoughts. “Surely, there are more exciting places you can go?”

“I suppose so, but I don’t want to leave Ireland.” She shrugged. “Out here is where the history lives, you know? There’s a ruined tower house on your doorstep, so it doesn’t get any closer than that. I can earn money doin’ somethin’ I’m interested in and be among history.”

This woman was too good to be true. She was like the ready-made librarian, know-it-all sidekick out of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The guy who knew everything because of books. What’s-his-name. The plot device needed to fill all the holes with his superior book smarts. Just what this story needed!

“It gets busy in here,” I said, giving her the rundown of what I needed. “Derrydun is a stop on most of the bus tours, so don’t let the calm before the storm fool you. I have commitments that sometimes drag me away unexpectedly, so there’ll be times I might have to leave you to manage the place alone. You good with that?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Galway is the same with the tour buses, and I don’t mind working alone. I like to be busy.”

“And we’re strange around here.”

“Aren’t all the best people?”

I threw my hands up in the air. “You say all the right things. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s a date!” I declared. “See you at ten a.m. sharp.”

After seeing Lucy out, I watched her cross the street, pass under the hawthorn growing in the middle of the road, and get into a little blue car parked by Mary’s Teahouse. The tree didn’t move, and I frowned.

When I’d first arrived in Derrydun, Boone told me the hawthorn had bent toward me, its leaves attracted to my magic like a magnet. I’d almost expected it to reveal something about Lucy as she passed beneath its branches, but not even a breeze stirred its limbs.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. It had been too easy, her walking in here with her stellar resume and boho hippy sheik. She was perfect for the job, and I needed someone to run things when a witchy crisis was in full swing, so why was I all wound up about it? Maybe all this Crescent Witch destiny stuff was making me paranoid.

I shook my head as a big white tour bus came around the bend and began to slowly navigate its way around the hawthorn.

Maybe there was a way to make sure she wasn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing or so to speak. I’d been attacked by a wolf—which were meant to be extinct in Ireland—almost gutted by a twisted fae with giant claws, escaped a near drowning by a bunch of Sluagh—shadow fae who ate peoples’ souls for a living—and almost put myself into a magical coma when I used all of my magic to heal Boone. I was definitely not going to be brought down by an unemployed archaeologist.

I had to be sure. Right? The last Crescent Witch couldn’t take any chances, not when the existence of magic hung in the balance.

When I got back to the cottage that night, I retrieved the spell book from underneath the floorboards in the bedroom and brought it downstairs. Sitting on the couch—with its awful floral and beige color scheme—I began studying the pages.

Lucy was way too good to be true. I had an uneasy feeling, but I wasn’t sure if it was my gut talking or the lingering doom and gloom of the battle for magic giving me a complex. There had to be a way to know for sure if she was a fae or under the influence of one.

The spells at the beginning of the book were written in Irish and Latin, the pages were wobbly and brown with age, and the further I went, the clearer the words became. It was a trip through time, though how long ago was anyone’s guess.

I hoped I would be smart enough to put a spell of my own in there one day. After experiencing the magic I unleashed when I was fighting the craglorn, I knew it was in me. It was just putting it on paper that was the problem. I didn’t know which words to use to describe the instinct I’d used, let alone what kind of spell would be useful. You couldn’t teach love. It just was.

The front door opened and banged shut, revealing Boone. He stomped his feet on the mat and kicked off his boots before shuffling into the lounge room.

“Ah, here comes the Iron Chef,” I said, hinting I wanted him to cook dinner. It was the only way he was going to get a meal that wasn’t microwaved.

“What’s an iron chef?” he asked, sitting beside me.

“It’s this show that used to be on one of the TV channels back home,” I explained. “From an Asian country, I can’t remember which. It was a game show where chefs competed against one another in an arena.”

“What did they win?”

“They won the title of Iron Chef. Duh.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” I air quoted the last part.

“Surely, they won cash and prizes. I thought that was the point of those programs.”

“Surely, the achievement is worth more than money and a bunch of stuff,” I said with a pout. “Don’t mess with Iron Chef. It has a cult following, you know.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’m weird? You’re the fox in human’s clothing.”

Boone puffed out his chest and winked. “Aye, I am a bit of a fox if I do say so myself.”

“Can you change into a pig?” I made a face.

“Very funny.”

Turning back to the spell book, I began flicking through the pages again. Tracing my fingers over worn handwriting and diagrams, I tried to piece together a plan.

“What are you doin’?” Boone asked, looking at me like I’d sprouted a second head.

“I want to see if there’s a way I can test her,” I muttered.

“Test who for what?”

“Lucy.”

“Who’s Lucy?”

“The