Crescent Legacy, Nicole Taylor [best 7 inch ereader .txt] 📗

the other witches, I was the problem, and knowing Carman was back would only make things worse. Add a dash of taking away a whole coven’s Legacy forever—I understood why Legacy was capitalized now—and you had the perfect recipe for hatred. Long story short, I was screwed.

“They know we’re here…” I murmured.

Boone frowned.

“I can use my magic more openly,” I said. “I can cast barriers and wards or something around the village and the hawthorn. I can do something.”

“You’ll attract wanderin’ craglorn,” Boone pointed out. “They’ll sense your magic and—”

“Go poof!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together.

“I don’t think a barrier is like an electric fence, Skye.”

“Don’t dash my hopes for a Christmas miracle,” I said with a pout.

“Talkin’ about Christmas miracles. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

My ears pricked up at the word surprise. Thankful for the distraction, I shot to my feet and dropped the spell book on the couch.

“Oh! Oh! What is it? A pony?”

Boone’s eyebrows quirked. “Uh, no?”

My shoulders sank, and I screwed up my nose.

“Just…” He sighed and gestured for me to stay put. “Wait here.”

“One Christmas miracle, two Christmas miracle…”

There was rustling and thumping at the front door, then the tip of a pine tree was poking into the lounge room. I could’ve made a dirty joke, but I held my tongue when I saw how excited Boone was.

“A Christmas tree?” I asked.

I’d never had a tree after I’d moved out of home. It always seemed like too much work with all the putting up and taking down and the tangled tinsel. Not to mention there was always one light that didn’t work, and when one bulb blew, the whole strand was useless. Who kept the spares, anyway? You put them in a place so safe you forgot where a year later when it was time to get them out again.

The room filled with the scent of pine as Boone set up the tree in the corner, needles falling everywhere as he steadied the base.

“What are we decorating it with?” I asked, watching him. “Miniature athames, wands, and pentagrams?”

“Very funny,” he said, going outside and bringing back a box. “I got all kinds of stuff.” He pulled packets of ornaments and wads of tinsel out and strew them all over the floor. “Baubles, tinsel, lights…”

“I see there’s a color scheme,” I declared, holding up a box of black, silver, and gold Christmas balls. I snickered as a dirty thought lit up my brain. Balls.

“It’s a Crescent tree.”

I raised my eyebrows. A Crescent tree, huh? Diving back into the box, I found a packet of crescent moon ornaments and snorted. Merry Crescent-mas.

Opening the plastic package, I held up one of the little moons and hooked it onto the tree. Boone smiled up at me, knowing how better I felt even before I did.

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re right as usual.”

His smile turned into a grin. “You’re welcome.”

Christmas morning was a whirlwind of activity at the cottage.

We all sat underneath the horror that was the Christmas tree I’d decorated and unwrapped our meager presents. With everything that had happened since Halloween, I hadn’t thought about let alone had time to go get any presents, so I did last-minute shopping online with express delivery.

Boone was still stuck in Derrydun, unwilling to go past the limits of the hawthorns out of habit, so he shopped locally like the good guy he was. He’d given me a new pair of fingerless gloves and a sloppy beanie he’d asked Cheese Wheel Aoife from the handicrafts store to knit. Black with metallic gold thread weaved through. Very Crescent of him.

I’d been a total smartass and given him a new black and red checkered shirt and a black T-shirt with a fox design on the front. For Mairead, I gave her a new pair of Doc Martins, and Boone got her a fancy box to put all her paints in.

But Mairead blew us all out of the water.

Hanging in the hallway was the painting of Derrydun she’d been working on for the last two months. All that building up of color and dabbing blots of paint all over the canvas had really paid off. The finished product was stunning with all its intricate details. The tower house stood proudly on the hill, each block of stone detailed with the very tip of her paintbrush. The sky was streaked with swirling clouds, the forest below was awash with every shade of green imaginable, and the main street of the village was vibrant and alive. The hot pink of Mary’s Teahouse stood out like a sore thumb among it all, but that was exactly how it was like in real life. Garish. She’d even managed to get the ancient hawthorn in the picture. Its canopy rose over the rest of the trees in the forest, tall and proud. The kid had mad skills.

Once the presents were open, Boone and I showered and dressed before making our way over to Molly McCreedy’s. Apparently, Christmas lunch at the pub was a huge tradition in Derrydun. Everyone came, bringing food, drink, and presents, and partied until they were drunk as skunks. It was the local Irish way, Boone said. The village was so tight-knit that everyone was everyone’s family, and no one was turned away.

I didn’t have any presents, so I brought along all kinds of crystals and tumbled stones, handing them out to those whose energy matched. Amethyst for Mrs. Boyle. Citrine for Mary Donnelly. Rose quartz for Roy, and even though it was pink, it was good for his nature-loving soul. Even Sean McKinnon got a piece of tiger’s eye. He grumbled about getting a rock but put it into his pocket, anyway.

“Skye! Skye!”

I turned at the sound of Mairead’s excited voice and stumbled as she almost crashed into me. She was wearing her usual drab garb, but she’d donned a black Santa hat with white furry trim. I’d known her long enough to not be surprised by the irony.

“Where’s the fire?” I asked,