Blood Moon (A Louisiana Demontale): Book 1 of the Crescent Crown Saga

by Schuyler Windham

  Blood Moon

  Book 1 of the Crescent Crown Saga

  Schuyler C. Windham

  Fox Hollow Publishing

  “Live, wicked girl; live on, but hang forever,

  And just to keep you thoughtful for the future,

  This punishment shall be enforced for always

  On all your generations.”

  — Ovid’s Metamorphoses

  Copyright © 2020 by Schuyler Windham.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the web address below.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Printing, 2020.

  Fox Hollow Publishing & Fox Hollow Innovations

  Lincoln, Nebraska

  www.schuylerwindham.com

  To those who are biting your tongue out of fear . . . Your voice matters. You matter.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Crisp autumn wind whispered through the sycamore trees of the Appalachian forest beyond the campsite. Leaves of gold and crimson danced back and forth like the flickering flames of a fire.

  Leo watched the campfire with awe. The flames curled around the logs, reflecting light in his wide, amber-brown eyes. He stared intently as the tendrils of fire climbed the logs and sputtered hickory smoke into the air, until—plop!—the marshmallow at the end of his stick fell into the hungry flames. His lip quivered as he gaped at the melted goop.

  Mom leaned over. Her long raven-black curls spilled over her shoulders, contrasting with her cream-colored sweater. She placed a hand on Leo’s dark springy hair and patted him tenderly. He pursed his lips and met her cerulean blue eyes, trying not to cry.

  “Oh dear,” she said softly, a warm remnant of an Irish accent on her pink lips. “I’ll make you a new one, love.”

  Leo let her take the stick from his small fingers and she sauntered back to the picnic table to prepare. Thirty yards beyond, Dad sat at the edge of the lake in his folding chair. A New Orleans Saints cap sat over his short curly black hair and shielded his face from the setting sun. Dark stubble lined his jaw. He snoozed with a fishing rod in one hand and an empty beer bottle in the other, each threatening to slip from his loose, umber-brown fingers.

  Leo tripped forward as his sister ran by, shoving him playfully from behind.

  “Tag!”

  Monette was already halfway up the hill by the time Leo turned around. She jumped up and down in anticipation, her wavy bluish-black hair bouncing over her shoulders. A glittery barrette clipped the bangs out of her tawny brown face.

  Leo shook his head and frowned. “No way, Mona. I’m about to get a s’more.”

  Monette sprinted off toward the forest and called over her shoulder, “You gotta catch me!”

  Leo whipped his head back and forth from Mom, who was now roasting a new marshmallow for him, to his sister, who had disappeared among the trees.

  What if she got lost? He sighed and dashed after her.

  “Don’t stray too far!” Mom called after him.

  “I won’t!” he shouted back.

  Leo ran, searching wildly through the sycamore and hickory trees until the only sign of their campsite was a trail of smoke floating over the tops of the fiery leaves behind him.

  “Mona! You’ve gone too far!”

  She giggled a few paces away, yet all Leo could see were tree trunks and underbrush. He sprinted toward the sound of her giggling, but he could already hear her footsteps racing through the fallen leaves.

  “No fair, Mona!” He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. He hated playing games when she could cheat and simply turn invisible.

  She was keeping him from his s’mores and the warmth of the campfire. She was keeping him from Dad’s snoring and Mom’s lilting voice. She would sing for him if he asked, take him in her lap and sing Irish folk songs she learned from her mother when she was little. Leo loved to listen and hum along. The music seemed so magical.

  But instead of these simple pleasures, he was lost in a forest searching in vain for his pesky twin sister.

  “Stupid sister,” he muttered.

  Leo knew she shouldn’t be able to disappear, just as he knew he shouldn’t be able to grow flowers from his hands. The stems would twist around his fingertips and blossoms would erupt in rainbows of color.

  No other kids in their neighborhood could do this. Anytime Monette or Leo would ask if the other kids could do these things, they would think they were playing make-believe. The other kids would pretend to do magic, but it was all just a game. So, they never showed the other kids what they could really do. They never told Mom and Dad. It was their little secret.

  “Fairytale magic,” Monette would call it. She loved to twirl around as Leo showered her in flower petals. Twins kept secrets. That’s just how it was.

  A scream pierced the crisp air. Leo jumped and whirled around in confusion. Then he dashed toward the sound, his heart racing.

  “Mona!”

  He nearly stumbled into the clearing ,and his stomach pitched as he stared up in horror. A beast with fur the color of night and smoldering red eyes towered over his sister. She was backed up against a tree trunk, cowering under the strange creature with a powerful jaw and razor teeth the size of Leo’s arm. It raised a paw, claws glinting in the waning sunlight.

  Monette shielded her face with her right arm as it slashed its claws across her flesh. She cried out, kneeling on the ground and grasping her bloodied arm.

  “HEY!” Leo called at the animal. It lifted its gaze to him, pointed ears twitching and fangs bared. He didn’t recognize it, other than that it was wolflike in appearance, but twice as big, with almost bearish features on its chest and face. He remembered what Dad told him to do. He couldn’t look like prey. He couldn’t run away. He couldn’t leave his sister behind. He had to be as big and loud as he could, even if it was hard to do when he was so small.

  The wolflike creature took a few tentative steps back as Leo stormed toward it, yelling as loud as he could. He positioned himself between the beast and Monette. She sobbed on the ground behind him in a crumpled heap.

  “Stay back!” Leo threw his arms wide. His eyes were fierce though his small heart pounded in his chest. The blood-soaked leaves trembled beneath his feet like they were threatening to burst forth from the cold ear
th. He could feel a tingle of power, like when he conjured flowers from the air. The roots were shifting beneath his feet, casting fiery leaves that came spinning from the sky as the trees shook around them.

  The animal reared its head, claws slashing the air before it barreled toward Leo. He stood his ground. For Monette, he would do anything. Who else would he be without his twin?

  A boom echoed through the woods. The creature roared and backed away, limping. It shook its dark head from side to side. Leo heard the distinct click of Dad’s bolt action rifle as he cocked it toward the creature once more.

  “You’d best git!” Dad hollered, his voice shaking.

  The beast thrashed its head one more time before leaping into the woods and vanishing with the lash of its long, shaggy tail.

  Dad waited a beat, his rifle still aimed at the place where the beast leapt through the trees. Then he clicked the safety into place and swung the rifle over his muscular back. He took a heavy breath and then rushed forward, skidding to a halt next to Monette. He knelt over her on one knee, examining her wound.

  “Monette, sweetheart, look at me,” he said as he tore the sleeve from his flannel shirt.

  She did so, tears streaming down her face.

  “Take a deep breath.”

  She drew a shaky breath as he wrapped the fabric tightly around her torn and bloodied skin. She whimpered. Tears dripped from her chin to join the blood-soaked leaves beneath her.

  Dad lifted Monette into his arms, and she sobbed into his chest. He grasped Leo’s hand and led them from the clearing.

  “Son . . .” Dad’s voice was low as they walked through the trees. Leo’s wide eyes met Dad’s steely gaze. Would he be angry that they ran so far into the woods?

  “You were reckless.”

  “I know, Dad.” Leo felt ashamed. He knew the forest was dangerous. It was the whole reason why he ran in after Monette in the first place. She didn’t take the danger seriously, and it ended up getting them both in trouble. Would she have kept running if he didn’t chase her deeper into the woods? Was this his fault?

  “You were reckless,” Dad repeated. “But you kept your sister safe long enough for me to get there. You were brave. It’s what is expected of a knight—to defend his family, to keep the people he loves safe. That’s what it means to be a man.” He squeezed Leo’s hand gently. “You did good, Leonidas.”

  Leo’s mind raced. Every rustle of the trees now reminded him of the wolflike beast. He wondered whether they would have been eaten by it if Dad hadn’t arrived. He didn’t feel so brave. The fear still gripped him, turning his stomach inside out until he wanted to keel over and vomit. He took deep breaths of the cool air into his lungs and gripped Dad’s hand a little tighter as they navigated the woods back to their campsite and Mom’s tender arms.

  That was the last time Monette ever turned invisible. She never asked Leo to shower her with flower petals again, and he never offered. He tried not to think about magic or the strange creature in the woods again, though it often prowled his nightmares. Even years later, he would wake up in a cold sweat, the smoldering eyes imprinted in his vision and his sister’s scream ringing in his ears.

  Eventually, the childhood magic and horror of the camping trip all drifted away like a distant fantasy.

  Chapter 1

  Paradise is so easily lost for those who fall in love with hell. The Muses bless a unique few, but no matter how blessed the artist, she must forever guard her creations from destruction, he must constantly fight to be heard and seen. The Muses cannot defend a right to expression, only stoke inspiration in those willing to hone their craft and revel in the pure act of creation.

  New Orleans was a crown jewel for the Muses, an artist’s paradise. But even paradise can become a prison. Leo had seen it many times before. Talented musicians playing the venues down Bourbon Street showed great potential. Often, they were left grasping for stars, never discovered. Sometimes their egos inflated so much they had no one to play with anymore.

  Leo struck a delicate balance between two bands and his solo act to pay his bills with a little to spare, but for this he was grateful. The nights and weekends were long, but he wouldn’t trade the thrill of playing music for anything.

  The scene was cutthroat. If you didn’t know the right people or said the wrong things, bands could find themselves unable to book a gig. Musicians talked. And many musicians also booked gigs for venues to fill the financial gaps between their own gigs. So, Leo kept his head down and played, and he was more or less unbothered.

  Paradise is so easily lost for those who fall in love with hell. For Leo, that day was fast approaching.

  It was a brisk January morning as Leo approached his new front door. The last of his boxes were in the back of his car. Monette was dawdling with her phone in the passenger seat when Leo headed to open up the door. She was supposed to be helping him carry in the boxes, but she was so easily distracted.

  The apartments were two stories, and each room had an upstairs balcony facing out over the courtyard filled with young magnolia trees and a fountain which was dry in the winter. The double awnings were decorated with thin pillars and intricate metal railing which depicted flowers and vines. Leo imagined it would be nice to sit out on his upstairs balcony and play acoustic guitar when the weather improved.

  A cloudy breath billowed out from his lips, warm and foggy, and he tugged his tufted bomber jacket a little tighter across his chest. He pulled out his key and suddenly froze. He never thought of himself as particularly perceptive, but at that moment, he had the distinct feeling of being watched. He turned slowly, scanning across the courtyard. He blinked a few times and gaped at his neighbor’s upstairs balcony.

  A handsome raven perched on the railing appeared to bow back toward the French doors opening out to the balcony. It wore what looked to Leo like a small top hat and a monocle, the chain tucked into the front pocket of a tweed vest. Next to the raven, a brown bat spread its coal black wings, flapping them a couple times impatiently before both the bat and raven flew off. A sable cat leaped from the patio to the railing and leered down at him. Its emerald eyes pierced through him, and it lashed its tail. A warning.

  The hair stood up on the back of Leo’s neck, and he quickly averted his gaze. He realized his hand, grasping the key, still hovered in front of the door. Now his hand was trembling.

  Monette rounded the corner from his car and sauntered across the courtyard with a cardboard box in her arms.

  “Hey, I thought you said you were getting the door,” she grumbled as she approached. “This is awkward to carry.”

  Leo managed to cram the key into the deadlock, step inside, and usher her in. He slammed the door behind them, snapped the lock, and took a deep breath.

  Monette dropped the box on the living room floor with a huff. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She flipped her wavy bluish-black hair from her face, shorter in the back and curling longer in the front. She had glowing, tawny-brown skin, and wore a blouse and leggings which accentuated her curves. She peered curiously up at him with stormy blue eyes partially hidden behind the oval glasses bridged atop her round nose.

  Unlike his sister, Leo’s skin was warm mahogany-brown, and he had fiery amber-brown eyes flecked with gold under thick dark eyebrows. His short black hair was styled up into the start of a flat-top afro. He was half a foot taller than his sister, and wore a V-neck t-shirt under a black bomber jacket, worn-out jeans, and scuffed-up sneakers.

  Leo panted and wiped the sweat from his brow. Trepidation seared through his sinews, down to the bone.

  Monette’s perplexed expression morphed to concern. “Leo?” She looped her arm in his and brought him to the sofa. “Breathe.”

  He took another deep breath.

  “I saw something weird.” He shivered. “Spooky ass animals, all coming off the balcony across the courtyard. There was a bat, and a crow, and the crow was bowing . . . and then the cat . . .”

/>   Monette pursed her lips and then snorted out a laugh.

  “Ridiculous! Your neighbor must just leave food out on their porch for animals.”

  “Those weren’t squirrels and seagulls!” he gasped. He splayed out his arms in exasperation.

  Monette shrugged and flashed a reassuring smile. “It’s New Orleans. There’s lots of weird little critters around these neighborhoods. Remember the old smoke stack at our elementary school? Hundreds of bats lived in that thing, and they’d fly out every night at twilight. Too bad they got rid of it . . .”

  Leo glanced out the window. He saw nothing weird, only harsh winter sunlight on the curling tree limbs from the courtyard. But something here wasn’t natural, he thought. It wasn’t normal.

  He reflected on the way the animals made him feel. Was he overreacting? But how strange was it that a bird would bow? Maybe it wasn’t so strange for ravens. After all, he knew they were smart birds, but they didn’t usually wear hats and monocles and tweed vests. Would a pet raven let someone put those on them? Leo didn’t know, but it was one of the most peculiar things he’d ever seen. The cat seemed like it could see right through him. Then again, all cats had an attitude, especially in the French Quarter.

  It wasn’t the first time he noticed something strange in New Orleans and tried to play it off. When Leo was in college, he attended a music festival and received a tarot card reading that was so accurate it made him question whether the woman had secretly looked up his social media profile, or could somehow read his mind. How did she know he had a twin sister? How could she know he was a musician trying to lift his mediocre career off the ground before he graduated, and that his dad was trying to make him get a real job? The reading was unnerving, and he stayed far away from voodoo grifters ever since.

  Sometimes when the air was saturated with fog, the shadows seemed heavy in the alleyways. It looked like something was stalking about in the night. At first Leo thought they were people, but couldn’t quite make out the shapes. Then he would chastise himself for his imagination and avert his gaze. In truth, he didn’t want to know if he was crazy, or if there really was something strange out there. It was better if he didn’t know one way or the other.