Crescent Legacy by Nicole Taylor (interesting books to read for teens txt) 📕

my tarot cards and began shuffling. If anything were going to show me the way through this pain, it would be the message revealed in the cards. They’d helped me before, so they would again.

Please, not the Chariot, I thought to myself as I drew a card. Anything but the Chariot.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned over my selection, then took a deep breath. Now or never… I opened my eyes and relaxed when I saw the Five of Cups. It was a card of loss, but the loss wasn’t total.

Studying the image, I saw that three cups were knocked over, but two were still standing. Holding up the card, I tilted it back and forth, watching the light play on the metallic design. This was one of those ‘the cup is half full or half empty’ scenarios. I could wallow in my heartbreak, or I could take what I had left and continue to fight.

I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to be alone either.

Getting up off my fat ass, I slunk outside, the cold air burning my cheeks. I glanced up and down the street, studying every facade, picking out all the little details I’d never bothered to notice before.

The Virginia creeper covering Molly McCreedy’s had lost all its leaves, leaving behind a mess of vines and woody growths. An old bird’s nests lay ruined among the twists, bits of feather blowing in the icy breeze. Mary’s Teahouse stood out like a sore thumb, the hot pink neon contrasted to the snow nestled on the ground.

The hawthorn tree had finally lost all its leaves and was full to bursting with little red berries. It was a strange sight to my eyes, only having ever known it in the summer months. It clashed with the teahouse, but it kind of fit into the irreverent spirit of Derrydun.

The lights were on in the window of the handicrafts store, and within, I could see Cheese Wheel Aoife knitting by the fireplace. I wondered if she’d found anything else in Slieveward Bog to go with her ancient cheese.

Glancing up the hill, the ruined tower house was shrouded in mist, the weather really taking a turn for the worse. I couldn’t help wondering if it had anything to do with Carman. The last time snow had fallen, she’d snuck back into the country. Was this cold snap a sign Boone had returned to the evil fold?

My headache was stripped raw once more, and I held back a sob. Alone. Was this how Aileen felt all those years ago when she went through her own Crescent Calling? She’d left Dad and me behind and had come home to news her family had been murdered. She’d been alone then, dealing with all this magic brouhaha. How did she handle it? Thinking about Robert O’Keefe, the lawyer who may or may not be a leprechaun, I scoffed. Fat lot of good he was doing. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral months and months ago.

Shrinking into my coat, I thought about the people who were here. Humans, innocent and welcoming all the same even though they’d thought Aileen was a little coo-coo, and I must be by extension. Maggie cared, and even Sean must, in his own crackpot way. The village was exactly like an extended family that lived in an insane asylum. Everyone was different, but we were all linked despite our abilities and despite me being a witch…and especially despite this being ground zero for a supernatural grudge match.

No matter where I turned, Derrydun was still full of people who cared about me, and vice versa, no matter what Sean McKinnon dribbled. I had to go on just like Aileen had.

The sound of metal scraping across earth drew my attention to the cottage down the street by the bus stop. Mrs. Boyle was bent over in her garden, shoveling snow from the path, her back all crooked. I didn’t want to say she was Derrydun’s Boo Radley, but she was the village recluse. An eccentric and borderline-crazy cat lady—without all the cats. The closest I’d seen to a feline army around here was Father O’Donegal’s tabby cat shitting in her garden. He got chased with the broom, too.

I’d never stopped to speak to her, mainly because I was terrified of being whacked with her seasonal weapon of choice, and seeing her struggle to tend her garden was really making me feel awful about it. Without Boone here to help her, she was still getting on with it. If old Mrs. Boyle could, then so could I.

Crossing the street, I approached the old woman, taking my life in my hands. I’d seen her chase kids half my age and gain on them, so I knew she had plenty of spritely energy in reserves. Spooking her was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Mrs. Boyle?”

The old woman glanced up at me, her fingers tightening around her shovel. The scowl on her face was positively apocalyptic.

“Can I help you with that?”

She looked me up and down before thrusting the shovel at me. Taking that as a ‘hell, yes,’ I began scraping the snow from the path, all the way from the gate to her front door. As I worked, she stood and watched me, much like she supervised Boone.

When the last shovelful of snow was cast aside, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and handed back Mrs. Boyle her shovel. Hesitating, I spied movement down the road, and my heart skipped a beat.

A shadow was looming out of the mist, and I froze, watching the misshapen blob grow darker as it approached. When the muffled thumping cleared into definite hoof beats on the asphalt, my heart slowed. It wasn’t a fae coming to eat me. It was just old Fergus and his faithful Jack Russell terrier riding on his donkey’s back.

Fergus raised his hand as he passed, his dog lifting its head to peer at us. He was going to Molly McCreedy’s.

“Do you suppose