Crescent Calling: The Crescent Witch Chronicles - Book One, R Nicole [electronic book reader .TXT] 📗

across the street, and sailed into a coach bay beside a quaint little cottage with a thatched roof. I came to an abrupt halt, my whole body sliding forward and back as I planted my foot on the brake.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel, and I took a few deep breaths while my heart returned to a healthy rhythm. A range of curse words revolved through my mind, and I reached down and flipped the key in the ignition, turning the beast off before I accidentally put my foot on the accelerator and drove into the creek in front of me.

Getting out of the car, I slammed the door shut and breathed in the clear country air. Welcome to Derrydun, indeed. At least the sun was shining, and I wasn’t freezing in my dress.

Glancing around the little village, the first thing I noticed was the lack of noise. There was zero traffic, zero pedestrians, and zero human noise. I wasn’t used to it.

Really, the whole place looked like it was out of a children’s picture book. There were cottages with thatched roofs that had been turned into shops selling arts and crafts, a few whitewashed buildings bordered the road, there was a traditional looking pub covered in some sort of red leafed creeper, and overlooking the scene were ruins of some kind on the hill.

Where there wasn’t a building, there were masses of green. Trees, flowers, babbling brooks—the works. It was so quaint I almost threw up.

Farther up the street was a single set of traffic lights and a modern service station. I had no idea what they needed the lights for since the road was deserted. I was the only fool on it.

When my heart had stopped trying to claw its way out of my chest, I spotted Robert across the street where he was talking to a much taller man. They’d obviously witnessed my near miss with the tree, and my cheeks flushed. What an entrance.

Robert raised his hand in a wave and waddled over. I glanced at the man he’d been standing with, but he’d already walked off.

“What’s that tree doing in the middle of the road?” I exclaimed with a huff. “I nearly took it out!”

“It’s a hawthorn,” the lawyer said with a chuckle. “We build around because it’s bad luck to cut them down. They’re the trees of the fairies, you know. They’re supposedly the mystical doorways into the fae realm.”

I raised my eyebrows. “If you say so. They should put a sign or something.” I waved my hand at it.

“Was your trip enjoyable?” he asked.

“Until the tree incident, it was as fun as being stuck in a tin can for twenty-six hours straight.”

He smiled, not put off by my irritableness at all. “Welcome to Ireland. It’s good to have you home.”

Home? I wasn’t so sure about that. This was my mother’s home, whoever she’d been, and I had no connection to this place whatsoever. I was a stranger in strange lands. Hell, I couldn’t even understand the accent half the time, and we were all speaking the same language.

“Here are the keys,” Robert said, handing over a heavy padded envelope. “I know you’ve traveled a long way, so I’ll come by afore the funeral with the final paperwork.”

“You’re just handing me the keys without a signature?” I asked, peering into the envelope. “Just like that?”

“You’re Aileen’s daughter.”

“So that’s a thing? Like a discount card?” I made a face.

He shrugged. “You’ll find Irish Moon right there.” He pointed to a shop across the street. “And Aileen’s cottage is directly behind it. The two-story bluestone with the garden.”

“Irish Moon?” I asked with a frown.

“Your mother’s shop.”

I followed his pointing finger, but instead of finding the shop, my gaze collided with the strangest scene. There was an old man shuffling down the road, leading a donkey with a scrappy little Jack Russell terrier perched on its back.

My mouth fell open as they approached. It was a mirage. I was tired as hell from the flight and the death-defying drive over from Dublin, and now I was hallucinating.

“All right, Fergus?” Robert asked as they passed.

“Right,” the old man muttered.

“That’s a thing?” I asked, watching the procession with wide eyes.

“To be sure,” the lawyer said. “Fergus is a local institution. He sells his handwoven crosses of St. Brigid to tourists right there. Has for years. You should get him to make you one. Brigid of Kildare is one of the patron saints of Ireland. Besides, old Fergus would like you more if you did. Bein’ Aileen’s daughter isn’t a discount card.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Robert.”

“Anytime. The funeral is tomorrow at the church. I’ll come and get you in the mornin’.”

I nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”

The lawyer waved and waddled down the street, his ill-fitting suit hindering more than it helped his image.

Irish Moon sat across the street. I looked both ways before I crossed, but there hadn’t been any traffic the whole time I’d been standing there. A wrought iron fixture was screwed into the facade, and a pale purple sign hung from the black metal. The lettering was done by hand with a crescent moon painted behind.

A girl was sitting on the footpath by the door, dressed from head to toe in black with big combat boots on her feet. Her eyes were dark with matching eyeliner, and her long, dyed black hair hung in her face. As I approached, the hiss of loud music coming from her earphones floated through the air. The whole ensemble reminded me of myself as a teenager. Rebellious to the point Dad pulled out his hair, hardcore into punk music, leather jackets, blue hair, and underage partying.

She was fiddling with her phone, and when my shadow fell over her, she glanced up.

“About time,” she said, pulling the earbuds out of her ears and rolling her eyes. “I’ve only been waitin’ here for an hour.”

“Excuse me,” I said haughtily. “I didn’t realize there was a timetable.”

The girl pushed to her feet