Cresent Prophecy by Axelle Chandler (great reads TXT) 📕

“Me?” She raised her eyebrows. “What are you plannin’?”

“You’re in my house,” I shot back. “And I asked first.”

“If you want to fight, then I’m obligated.”

“I don’t want your obligation. You may as well slap me in the face.” I pouted and shook my hair. “I need a friend, Lucy. I need an ally who wants to be here because they genuinely care, not because they were conscripted against their will. If that’s what you think this is, then you know where the door is. I can beat Carman with or without your help.”

Her eyes seemed to light up, and she smiled. Looked like I’d said the right thing, but it was the truth. I’d always planned on facing Carman even before learning about the scandalous reputation of my coven. She’d messed with my life and loved ones, and there was no way I was going to turn a blind eye like a coward. Through Hannah the spriggan, she’d killed my mother and hurt Boone. Then there was all that crazy prophecy shite. There was no way I was letting that scrag use me!

“Then I’m with you,” Lucy said.

“You can stay, on one condition.”

“Anythin’.”

“You must keep my existence a secret even from your coven. The Crescents are no more, you hear me? The last thing I need is random witches turning up on assassination missions. Or an influx of magic putting the village at risk. This stays between you and me. I’ve got enough crazy to deal with already.”

“Of course.”

“We don’t use magic here,” I said, feeling a sharp pang of protectiveness over the village. “We only use it to protect ourselves and nothing more. The hawthorns here are my birthright, and they belong to the Crescents. Got it?”

Lucy nodded.

“Say it, so I know you understand.”

“Got it.”

“Good.” I eyed her warily and grunted.

We fell into an awkward silence, a crumbled wall of distrust still between us. Lucy began straightening the stock in the display cabinet beside me, and we rotated around the entire store before she worked up the courage to speak.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do, haven’t I?”

“Yep,” I said, popping the p at the end.

“You said you’ve only known you’re a witch for four months?”

“Four months, yes.”

“Have you had anyone show you how to use your magic?” She coughed and glanced at me. “Properly, I mean. Control and all of that.”

“I’ve done just fine all by myself,” I said haughtily.

“I can show you,” she said excitedly. “I can show you how. I would love to see Crescent magic…”

It was everything I’d longed for. A teacher and a way to link to what I was. So many times I’d over juiced spells—like the mess with the craglorn—and wasn’t sure how to reel it in, although I was improving. Lucy could help me, though something told me to keep my cards close to my chest and not reveal too much. About Boone, the spell book, the Crescent athame, and the visions the hawthorn in the forest tried to shove into my mind.

Speaking of the visions, I hadn’t told anyone about those. Not even Boone. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten the hawthorn had tried to connect with me. Sighing, I put it on the back burner for now. That day wasn’t one I wanted to remember anytime soon.

“Maybe you can show me something,” I said slowly, focusing on the witch.

“Cool.” Lucy beamed and finished tidying the counter. “Just name the time and place. Whenever you’re ready.”

And so, an uneasy alliance between a rogue witch and the last Crescent was forged. For better or worse, there was no going back now.

Chapter 14

Irish Moon was frosty in the days following Lucy’s big reveal.

Our conversations were clipped, and the heater did nothing to warm my icy fingers. I took to wearing a pair of fingerless gloves I’d picked up from the handicraft store next door. They were made from one hundred percent Derrydun yarn, lovingly knitted by Aoife, a lady who lived out past Slieveward Bog who’d become a local celebrity when she’d found an ancient wheel of cheese that someone had buried in the sludge. I knew people liked old and moldy dairy products, but two hundred years was a bit of a stretch. Boone said the bogs were called ‘nature’s refrigerators,’ and people used to keep all kinds of stuff in them for safekeeping, so much so, there was always a story in the local paper about the latest find. Money, jewelry, ancient swords, food, animals, and even mummified human bodies had been excavated.

The point was, Aoife, the ancient cheese lady, knitted a mean pair of fingerless gloves.

It took me a few days to get over my beaten pride where Lucy was concerned. When it became clear she was neither going to leave me in the lurch at the shop or lead a lynch mob with flaming torches and pitchforks down the main street, I decided to cut her some slack.

I decided to close Irish Moon for the day so we could start working on the introductory crash course known as witch one-oh-one.

We bundled up in our coats, Lucy in her woolen overcoat and me in my leather jacket and scarf. We looked as different as night and day with our fashion choices. Lucy was the typical Wiccan witch, and I was the biker chick looking to rumble…all I needed was a length of chain and a skull to crack.

Lucy questioned me on what I knew as we went, using big confusing words that made me feel inadequate. She’d spent her whole life being taught how to harness and use her magic, and here I was just taking a stab in the dark with the greatest power to ever walk the earth. No biggie.

“Didn’t the Crescents have a grimoire?” she asked, starting to weave onto shaky ground.

“If they did, I haven’t found it,” I replied, blatantly lying about the spell book that had become a favorite of mine.

It wasn’t like I wanted