Brand New Moon (Crescent Deveyne Chronicles Book 1)

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FOUR

An hour passed before she fully came to. She gazed down at her tattered clothes, sighed and headed straight for the mini bar. I watched from my armchair as she poured herself a straight bourbon and knocked it back in one gulp. She refilled her glass and stared at it, lost in thought. Her black shirt hung from her, revealing the vest top beneath. A giant hole in the fabric showed her flat, smooth belly. I shivered, recalling the giant hole in her flesh.

“You still up?” she asked without looking at me.

I bristled at her abrupt tone. After a near death experience, I’d expect a person to be pissy, but that was uncalled for. “Looks like,” I mumbled.

“It’s late. You have school in the morning.”

She stared into the brown poison, casually swirling it around in her glass. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’d have preferred it if I’d gone to bed and let you bleed to death on the sofa?”

Her lips creased into a humourless smile. “I’d prefer for you not to miss class, graduate, go to college and make something of yourself.” 

She glanced up as Orion entered the room, crossed the floor and slumped onto the sofa. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of the truth.

“What about my destiny? My future as a witch?” I persisted.

She finally looked at me, eyes clouded with regret. “You don’t have one. You can’t be a witch without powers.”

“But…”

“No, Crescent, listen to me.” She slammed her glass down against the bar, giving me her undivided attention. I’d never seen her so serious. “You’re the lucky one. You have a chance at a normal life. You can have a career, a family, an existence that doesn’t involve late nights, violence and the label of insanity. You can live to be an old lady, in a world of gingerbread and grandchildren. You can be whatever you want to be.”

In her voice I heard the life she wanted for me, but her eyes described the life she’d wanted for herself. I’d never thought of Mom as unhappy, even after Dad was taken from us. She was a true stoic; a soldier with a job to do, unflinching in the face of duty. She never complained, never took a personal day. Being a witch was no different to being a woman. She just was. 

But for the first time she was allowing herself to romanticise and ask that simple open-ended question: what if…?

I glanced at Orion and it was there in her eyes too: the weight of magic; the burden of being a hero. Until you were forced to carry it, you had no idea how heavy it could be. They were telling me to stop fighting it – to accept my role as an ungifted, unextraordinary eighteen-year-old girl – and make the most of it. 

But how could I do that when I knew the truth?

“What if I had powers,” I began after a deep breath, “but before I could use them, they were stolen from me?”

My two-person audience traded worried glances.

“Stolen how?” Orion ventured.

“With magic,” I clarified. “What if a bunch of demons stole my powers so they could use them for evil?”

Silence.

“Are you asking us? Or telling us?” Mom finally spoke. Her eyes and mouth were narrowed into parallel lines.

I paused, lip between teeth, unsure of whether to proceed. I didn’t want their help. I’d intended to figure it out for myself from day one, no matter the consequences, in an effort to prove myself worthy of the powers I craved. But I was in over my head. I could use their expertise.

“Something evil is due to rise on the Dagger Moon,” I said. “That’s this Friday. I’m pretty sure my powers have something to do with it.”

“Is that what you’re basing this on?” Orion scoffed. “Gossip from Darrow’s shop?”

“You knew about this?” Mom’s frown pivoted to Orion.

“Yeah, Crescent told me. I looked it up,” she explained. “The prophecy said something good is destined to rise. Nothing about evil… Wait!” She stopped, pity scarring her face. “Did you think it was you? Crescent, your powers aren’t going to rise on Friday. It’s too late.

I shook my head, smiled a humourless smile. I guess I was on my own after all. “I know. I’m just theorising.” I injected the words with sadness, as if I were just a simple dreamer. Their relief was like a physical presence, thinning the air. “You’re right,” I said, rising from my chair. “It is late. I should get to bed. Wouldn’t want to miss school in the morning.”

I had a hand on the doorknob before Mom called me back.

“Crescent.”

I turned. 

“I don’t want to do this, but after this evening I think it’s best to put you on lockdown.”

“What?!” I exploded. ‘Lockdown’ was the Deveyne word for ‘grounded’. It was a safety precaution, not a punishment, but the consequences were the same. I floundered for a suitable argument to persuade her otherwise. I couldn’t be on lockdown. I only had until Friday to locate my powers and somehow steal them back! “But… all you just said… about going to school and graduating..?”

“You can go to school,” she said, as if it were a huge favour. “Orion will take you and bring you straight home. No socialising. After tonight, you’re a target. They will come at you to hurt us.”

“I’m not helpless,” I yelled. “I can help you, just like I did tonight.”

Orion’s head shot up, fixing me with a warning glance. 

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Mom continued, “but pouring out a few healing potions is not exactly a crucial skill. I’m sorry, but I need to know you’re safe.”

I longed to contradict her. Not just about how we’d healed her, but about the vampires I’d fought, the demons I’d evaded and the information I’d procured. It all burned inside me, like a rocket waiting for launch. 

I kept my mouth shut. Telling her of my exploits would only make things worse. She’d think me reckless, stupid and suicidal. Even school would be off the agenda. She’d lock me in a cage and throw away the key for my own protection.

I swallowed, forcing it all into a bottle and firmly screwing the cap. “Fine. Pour your own damn potions. But I will stop whatever’s coming on Friday, with or without your help.”