The Crescent Spell: The Alehem Witches Duology Book One Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by Zoe Abrams

  Variance

  First publication: August 2, 2022

  Cover design: Rachel McEwan

  Map design: @Saumyasvision/Inkarnate

  Editor: Bookish Dreams Editing

  Interior formatting: Miss Eloquent Edits

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, this book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Zoe Abrams

 

  A Word To The Reader

  The Crescent Spell is a work of fiction, however there are some real-world situations throughout the book that might be sensitive to some readers. This book contains themes of sex, imprisonment, and parental death. This book is intended for audiences over the age of eighteen and contains explicit MF and MFM pairings. Please be kind to yourselves!

  Much love,

  Zoe

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also By Zoe Abrams

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  “How would you like to go on an adventure, little bird?” The man’s voice wrapped around my still body, the silky fabric I’d been working on completely forgotten in front of me.

  “What?” I whirled around and stared dumbly at the dimple forming on his cheek as his mouth stretched into a wide smile. How did I get here? I would’ve remembered a man like this coming into the shop, but the last memory I had was of pinning fabric, my eyes heavy with exhaustion.

  I was dreaming. Yes, that was what was happening. I reached carefully for the soft skin of my thigh, pinching slightly through the fabric of my dress. When he didn’t disappear, I frowned, all civility forgotten as I took a step towards him. There was a small croquet mallet beneath the counter behind him. If I could just skirt around him, then I could grab it…

  The beautiful man chuckled as he drew his fist from his cloak pocket and lifted it towards me, stopping my hesitant steps. His long fingers unfurled slowly until he revealed curling smoke caught within his palm that looked like dark swirling night flecked with stars.

  Surely he didn’t… He couldn’t… No.

  Magic didn’t exist in Islar.

  I looked, really looked at the man waiting for my answer. He was so familiar…

  His black hair was swept from his sharp face and shorn on the sides, with dark curls trailing down his forehead, and his bright green eyes were focused on mine. The darkening night sky filtered in through the windows, casting an almost ethereal glow to his rich black skin. Towering over my mannequins, he wore a cape of fine material in a midnight blue that shone like the night sky.

  “Well?” he said expectantly, the swirling smoke in his hand reaching soft tendrils out, almost as if it were drawn to me.

  “I-I…” Words escaped me, my mouth feeling like it was full of cotton. The man shrugged, mischief lighting his eyes, as he waved his hand in my direction, and the smoke shot towards my face and chest, exploding in a flurry of starry night sky.

  “Ah!” It went everywhere—in my hair, my eyes, up my nose. I could hear his tinkling laugh as I desperately tried to wave the darkness from my face.

  “Give Avan my regards…” His voice sounded so far away as the dark smoke obscured my vision.

  I gasped into the fabric in front of me, knees against the floor as my hands fisted tightly into the silk. What in the bloody hell was that? My sticky hair whipped around as I turned my head from side to side, but there was no trace of another being in the shop. I was right where I remembered before, endlessly pinning into the dress form, my eyes drooping from a long day. Smoothing out the wrinkles of the fabric, I rubbed a spot on my chest, a sudden heaviness settling there as I tried to rationalize what had just happened. Was that a dream? Exhaustion had been riding me hard lately, as I struggled to keep up with the demands of being a shop owner, but I’d never fallen asleep in the shop like that.

  I turned back to the dress form I’d been working on, sweaty dark tendrils of hair wisping against my cheeks as I trailed a finger down the blood red silk. Shaking my head, I assured myself the man was just a result of sleep deprivation and not enough raspberry danishes. I stood and wandered through the shop, double-checking the locked door in the stockroom. Nothing. I peered out the window to the dwindling light cast across the courtyard, half expecting to see someone striding away from the shop, but no. It was empty.

  The image of his face burned behind my eyes as I scrubbed the heels of my palms across my lids. Maybe he’d been a merchant from one of the ships that sailed along the river cutting through the town I’d encountered along the way and my tired brain had created some inane fantasy. Yes, that was why he looked so familiar. And an adventure? No, thanks. Even though the daydream probably meant I needed to take a vacation. I sighed, dropping my hands and shaking myself from the strange fantasy.

  “You’re just imagining things, Briar. Pull yourself together. There’s no magic in Islar. It was just a dream.” My fingers only shook a little bit as I grabbed a few pins, draping more diaphanous fabric across the form. I had to get this dress done. There was a dance tomorrow the girls had been tittering about for days, and this client was insistent she be the best dressed. I’d never been one for dances—honestly, I’d rather shove these pins underneath my fingernails—but the look on their faces when they talked about dancing the night away made my heart pang. Maybe I should book that vacation.

  I’d owned this dress shop for a few years, mostly working on word-of-mouth referrals, until one day when one of the high ladies requested a birthday dress for her daughter. That was my foot in the door, and business exploded once all of the other ladies saw my work. Now it was my dresses that the merchants and elite of Islar clamored to wear, and I often worked well into the night, draping and pinning.

  A name snagged in my thoughts as I worked—Avan, the man had said. A drop of unease floated in my stomach, my hands falling to my lap. I’d never heard that name, and Islar was small. I knew everyone.

  Sighing, I scrubbed my hands against my eyes. Midnight was drawing closer, and that absolutely insane dream was still on my mind. I couldn’t focus on the beautiful form in front of me, and inattention made for shoddy work.

  Standing slowly, I began the closing processes for the store. It took a while, but it was cleansing for me and I enjoyed the small tasks. As the broom swept across the floor, it took with it glimmering dirt and cloudy thoughts. I swiped a cloth across the wide windows, leaving the glass and my mind streak free. The lights clicked off silently, and my final look across the shop allowed me to leave my troubles and walk onto the street with a clear head.

  Draping a shawl across my shoulders, I made my way across the cobblestone courtyard to my apartment. My shop was part of a series of interconnected stores with small but cozy apartments above them. I climbed the wooden staircase, my shoes softly clicking across the walkway at the top.

  As I fiddled with the keys to my door, the wind suddenly picked up, flying strands of inky night across my face.

  Briarrrr…

  My keys clattered against the worn wood as I whipped my head around. The courtyard was silent, not even the sound of leaves scattering across the cobblestone. My eyes darted around, seeing nothing, and I reached a shaky hand down to my keys, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I took one last look around the empty courtyard and heaved a wavering breath into the night air.

  “Pull yourself together, Briar. It’s been a weird night, and you’re just hearing things.” I nodded to myself, shoving the dream—it was definitely a dream—aside, and jammed the key into the lock of the door, then entered the warm glow of my apartment.

  The soft cotton of my dress swished across my legs as I toed my shoes off, shutting out the craziness of the night with a soft snick of the door closing behind me. My apartment was the smallest at the end of the row, but it was just my cat Lucien and me, so we didn’t need much room. A lamp emitted a soft glow, the harsh white light covered by a scarf draped over the lampshade. I didn’t have much in the way of physical things, just enough to get me by. A soft chair, a knitted blanket folded across a small bed, and a few prized books were what encompassed my worldly possessions. I just didn’t have the need to fill my space with meaningless things.

  I stopped in the middle
of the room, my haggard face staring back from the reflection in the mirror. My hair was almost standing on end, the dark locks frizzed from where I’d run my fingers through them all day. I traced a finger over my collarbone, the dark gray eyes of my reflection tracking the lazy movement. Shaking my head, I turned from the morose sight, intent on pushing that strange dream from my mind.

  This night was drawing to a close, but my mind was buzzing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep much, so I grabbed a book and my soft blanket, then settled down into the plush chair next to the window. A gentle rustling drew my attention towards my bed, a small rush of leftover adrenaline causing me to jump.

  Lucien mewed softly, stretching his legs and arching his back before he padded towards where I was sitting. He jumped into my lap, probably sensing my unease, and began purring softly. I scratched his orange fur, enjoying the company.

  “I hope your day was less eventful than mine was, Luce. I had this crazy dream…” My sentence trailed off as I ran a shaky hand over his head. I flicked my eyes towards the window overlooking the courtyard, and I couldn’t help but imagine a figure standing in the courtyard, blood red hair shining in the moonlight and fluttering in the wind before they turned towards the alley. I blinked, and it was gone. Unease trickled across my skin, but I had to write it off as residual anxiety over the dream, my mind conjuring another person.

  There wasn’t a man out there who looked as sinful as the starry night sky, no other figure with bright eyes in the courtyard, and there was definitely no magic in Islar.

  Right?

  I woke determinedly the next day, rushing through my morning routine and pushing the last vestiges of the night before from my mind. I had a million little tasks to get done that ran through my head, so I shoved a day-old pastry in my mouth as I ran out the door, wrapping a shawl around my shoulders. My hands scrabbled to tie my dark hair with a ribbon I’d grabbed from the basket by the door.

  Finish pinning the dress, order new bolts of fabric, go to the market…

  A strange tugging sensation stopped my thoughts and steps, the pastry falling from my mouth at the sudden movement. I grumbled as it splattered to the ground, jam spilling out onto the cobblestone. I looked around, the feeling still there, planting itself in my chest. It was like there was something in the back of my mind, something I’d forgotten.

  Shaking my head, I ran a hand through my hair as my gaze was pulled towards the corner of the courtyard, red flashing in my vision before I blinked and it was gone. Maybe I needed to sleep some more, if I kept imagining striking men and magic of all things…

  “Briar! There you are!” A bright voice drew my attention behind me. Bouncy hair and a wide, stunning smile met my gaze as I saw my sister waving at me from the steps of my shop.

  “Ainsley! Here I am.” I forced my lips to tip into a smile, vowing to push the strangeness from my thoughts. I turned back to my original destination, that damnable list returning to the front of my mind, pushing thoughts of green eyes, magic, and swirling smoke away.

  “Oh, Briar, I had the most wonderful night! Clarkston took me out to dinner, and I really think he’s going to propose soon. He even brought me flowers!” My sister swooned, dramatic as ever. She and her new flavor of the week had only been going steady for a few months at best, but if my sister loved anything, it was being in love.

  I met her on the steps, my keys rattling as I opened the door. The tinkling bell reminded me of my strange visitor, and nagging déjà vu planted itself in my gut. Ainsley prattled on as she followed me into the shop, her delicate hand grazing over the soft fabrics draped across forms before she settled with a sigh behind the counter. I didn’t really understand her view on the world, the rose-colored way she looked at life. Maybe I was a cynic, or maybe I just didn’t believe the world was as colorful as she did. Regardless, I loved her, so I listened.

  “And he said all of these wonderful things, Bry. It was like poetry.” Ainsley sighed, her face framed by her hands as her eyes widened with every perfect thing Clarkston did from the night before. I rolled my eyes internally but glued a smile to my face as I squealed along with her. I’d had my fair share of courters, but not as much as Ainsley. Her bubbly personality won everyone over, and her bright laughter popped like champagne, intoxicating those around her. I guessed my humor was a bit too dry for most, but Ainsley always laughed along with me.

  I sidled up next to her at the counter, grabbing a strand of curly blonde hair and twirling it around my finger before I laid a palm against her face.

  “You deserve all of the love in the world, Ains. Clarkston would be an idiot not to see that.” I sighed and busied myself with opening duties before I could get any more mushy with her. We worked together like a well-oiled machine, and the day flew by in a blur of colors and customers. My other workers came in later in the day, and I was thankful to be able to take a break when they did.

  The bell tinkled above Ainsley and me as we walked out the door, arm in arm, our destination the pastry shop down the lane. I was a bit sour that my breakfast had fallen to the ground, and a hungry Briar was a cranky Briar. We giggled and talked as we made our way down the street, my heart happy like it always was around my sweet sister.

  Pastries in hand, our walk back to the shop was slower, and I took the opportunity to really enjoy what I was sure was one of the last bright days of summer, firmly putting everything except work from my mind and enjoying the sun. We had stopped at a bench, sitting and silently enjoying each other’s company. That was the true test of love between people—enjoying the silent moments together without the need to fill the void with useless conversation.

  “You know, Bry, Clarkston has this friend…” My sister waggled her eyebrows at me, her bright eyes dancing with mirth.

  “Oh, don’t even start, Ainsley!” I laughed, taking a bite of my jam filled delicacy.

  “I hate the thought of you alone with Lucien in that drafty old apartment. At least come stay with me for a while!” She pulled out the big guns, her lower lip quivering and big blue eyes rounding.

  “Lucien is fantastic company, so you don’t have to worry about that. And I’m so close to the shop, whereas you live clear on the other side of the commons! Plus, you have no pastry shops close. How would I satisfy my cravings for raspberry danishes?” As if to prove a point, I took a giant bite from said delicious danish, a glob of raspberry jam dropping to the stone pathway, so similar to this morning. I felt a small tug in my chest, and I rubbed the spot absentmindedly. I couldn’t help it as my thoughts trailed to last night, to the man inside my store. Resolutely ignoring the pull in my chest, I took another large bite from my danish, just the prove a point.

  Ainsley giggled at me, swiping a hand across my arm and jolting me from my melancholy as we rose from the bench. I did enjoy my solitude, there was no doubting that, and my sister lived a much more glamorous life than I did.

  Our parents had left us a handsome sum after their passing, and while Ainsley was smart enough with her share, she still spent more than I was comfortable with. I had purchased my shop and enough stock to begin with, but the rest was tucked away in savings. Ainsley spent her money on glamorous dresses and obscure art to decorate her apartment, and filled her nights with friends and wine. I spent mine on bolts of fabric and raspberry danishes. There were two types of people in this world, and they were usually sisters.

  I had to make a run to the market, bolts of new fabric basically calling to me across town, so Ainsley and I parted ways with a hug and a wave. That constantly running list grew in my brain as I wandered the afternoon market, already picked through from this morning. Our city was small, nestled in a valley between two high mountains, and we were mostly self-sufficient. The winding waters of the River Sirith bordered the town, bringing in what we couldn’t make ourselves, and that included the beautiful fabric I used for my dresses. The ships arrived before dawn, the vendors selling their goods in stalls set up down the streets along the river.

  Wandering down the street, I spoke pleasantries to familiar faces and practically panted over a new fabric print that had just come in on this morning’s ship. I was running my hand across the velvety texture, mentally calculating if I could fit this in with the hundreds of other fabrics I already had shoved in the backroom of my shop, when I felt a soft tug in my chest.