By Flame

by T Thorn Coyle

  The sun was out, though the cold rains would be back soon, Brenda was sure. But today was one of those perfect April days when people pretended it was warm enough to leave their heavy coats at home and venture out only in a sweater or light jacket.

  She should have felt awesome. Instead, it took everything she had to pay attention to the customers, and to keep her psychic shields up and at the ready. The headache made both almost impossible.

  The Inner Eye was busy for a Wednesday, late morning. Not jammed, but there were several people browsing the books, gems, divination tools, and herbs.

  Lead crystals in the windows caught the sunlight and refracted it into tiny rainbows that danced throughout the store. Brenda tried to soothe her jangled nerves and increasing pain by humming along to Loreena McKennitt’s voice and harp.

  Tempest, her part-time worker and full-time coven sister, walked toward the back room, with a box of books UPS had just delivered. They would need pricing. This month, the back and sides of Tempest’s head were shaved, and a straight fall of teal hair fell down around her delicate face.

  “Can’t we listen to something other than this caterwauling?”

  Tempest was a gifted massage therapist and also a young smart-ass.

  “No. The customers like it.” Brenda had loved this album since it was new. She didn’t care how many years ago that was. It made her feel like her best, most witchy self, even on days like today, when she really wanted to crawl back into bed with an old favorite book, like one of Charles de Lint’s.

  It was weird that she felt in such need of comfort. She wondered what was coming. What was wrong.

  The bells over the door rang, and young Black man, dressed neatly in a red windbreaker, a retro Run-DMC T-shirt and skinny jeans over Chuck Taylor sneakers looked around, and approached the counter.

  “Um…do you have any Palo Santo?” he asked.

  Brenda smiled. “I do. Just got some in, as a matter of fact.”

  She scanned the shelves on the wall, behind the counter, eyes searching the large glass jars. “I put it on this shelf just yesterday…” she muttered. “Tempest? Did you move the Palo Santo?”

  Tempest came back, sans box of books. “Yes! Sorry! I took it down for another customer this morning, got busy, and forgot to put it back. It’s here.”

  The jar was down at the end of the long glass display counter, tucked behind some other jars that also needed re-shelving. She held it out to Brenda.

  :The wood reveals the seeker’s heart. The young man needs not only cleansing, but protection. Care for him well, before the light around him dims.:

  Brenda almost dropped the jar. That was not her intuition, her inner psychic voice. That wasn’t even one of her usual spirit guides. It was an actual, practically physically audible, voice inside her head. What the…?

  “Whoa!” Tempest said, catching hold of the jar again. “I didn’t realize you didn’t have it yet before I let go. Sorry about that!”

  Brenda shook her head. “It’s fine. My fault.”

  Tempest gave her a look, but didn’t say a word, just turned to show some Tarot decks to a couple of Goth teens, their already white skin made paler by black lipstick and layers of black eye makeup.

  Brenda took a breath, trying to quiet the sudden inner turmoil, and turned to the young man. “Do you know what size stick you need? I can pour some out for you, so you can choose.”

  He looked slightly uncomfortable. “Um…I’m not sure. I’ve never bought any before. Someone just told me it was good….”

  His voice trailed off, as if he was embarrassed to be talking about it.

  Brenda opened the jar and shook out several pieces of the fragrant wood, inhaling the scent. It was one of her favorites. Palo Santo wood was slightly sweet, smelling of frankincense and copal.

  “It’s good for cleansing,” she said, briskly. She found that if customers were ill at ease, it was best to act as though every single thing in the shop was ordinary, as though it could be found anywhere. She dropped her voice then, fingers playing over the pale, jagged sticks, careful to not look at the young man’s face. “Some people also use it for various types of healing work. They say it’s good for easing certain types of depression and anxiety.”

  She looked up again, brightening her expression. “So, do any of these sticks appeal?”

  He turned each one over, carefully, fingers sliding across the wood. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  He finally looked up at her, and she could see the fear and confusion in his eyes.

  “It only matters to you,” she said, putting a slight push of power behind her words. “Everything you choose should be because you want it.”

  He breathed in sharply. Then shook his head. “If only.”

  “Don’t let them do that to you.”

  “What?” He backed away from the counter.

  Damn. She shouldn’t have said that. Don’t scare the customers, Brenda. She could feel Tempest staring at her, likely wondering what the heck was up. Non-consensual psychic reading. Rookie mistake.

  She held her hands up, palms out, in a placating gesture.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t fishing around in your brain, I promise. It’s just that sometimes I get hits. Psychic information.” She’d already messed up by saying something, so might as well say some more. “And it feels like someone is trying to make you feel like nothing you do will help. I don’t know who those people are, but I don’t think that’s true. I think you have a lot to offer. It’s all around you. In your aura.”

  He kept backing up, slowing, almost crashing into a display of crystals and gemstones. Luckily, he caught himself and veered into the aisle.

  “I’m sorry,” Brenda said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She held up a stick of Palo Santo, the first one her hand touched. “Let me give this to you. Please.”

  He shook his head. “No. Thanks.” Then turned and left the store. The bells jingled him out the door. Brenda sighed, scooped the blond shards of wood back into the glass jar, and snapped the lid closed.

  Then she put it in its place back on the shelf where it belonged. Something buzzed at the back of her brain. That phrase, “Where it belonged.” There was something about the young man…as though he was out of place. No. As if part of his soul was out of place.

  Well, that happened sometimes. People gave parts of themselves away to others all the time, actually. It was why soul retrieval was necessary. She just didn’t like doing it. It made her sad to have to seek out lost shards of soul like that. Even though reunion should have been a happy thing, something was always different when the piece of a soul came home again.

  “It’s just change, Brenda. Everything goes through it,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Tempest said from right behind her.

  Brenda jumped a little. What was wrong with her today?

  “Sorry. Just talking to myself. Did those girls buy anything?”

  Tempest gave her another look. “Yeah. They wanted to look at the Thoth deck, but frankly, they’re not ready for the study it requires yet.”

  “Sometimes that’s how we learn, Tempest. You know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I sold them one anyway. But they also wanted Brian Froud’s Faerie Oracle. I figured that even though it’s not really Tarot, it’ll help teach them how to use the cards in general.”

  Brenda smiled. The Faerie Oracle was a strange deck, and seemed lighthearted at first, but wasn’t really, not when you got right down to it. Brian and Wendy Froud were amazing artists, and Brenda knew they had some real magic between them.

  “They also took a flier for the pendulum class. Did you miss this?” Tempest asked, holding up a piece of Palo Santo.

  “Damn. I guess I did.”

  Tempest reached for the jar. Brenda stopped her. “No. Clearly we need to burn it in the shop today. Our usual incense isn’t clearing the space well enough. The spirits seem to want something different today.”

 
She just hoped that wasn’t an omen. She really just wanted to enjoy this spring.

  But for now, there was work to do. She bustled over to a white woman wearing blue jeans and a long, burgundy sweater, who had been steadily taking book after book off the shelf, and was now plopped into one of the two damask reading chairs, looking thoroughly confused.

  “Were you looking for something in particular?” she asked.

  The woman looked up at her, brown eyes stricken, furrows running alongside her mouth and a crease between her eyebrows.

  “I need help,” she said. “But I just don’t know what kind.”

  And then she burst into tears.

  Acknowledgments

  I give thanks to the cafés of my new hometown, Portland, Oregon. All you baristas are fine human beings.

  Thanks also to Leslie Claire Walker, my intrepid first reader, to Dayle Dermatis, editor extraordinaire, to Lou Harper for my covers, and to my writing buddies for getting me out of the house.

  Speaking of house…thanks as always to Robert and Jonathan.

  Big, grateful shout out to the members of the Sorcery Collective for spreading the word!

  And last…

  Thanks to all the activists and witches working your magic in the world. This series is for you.

  About the Author

  T. Thorn Coyle has been arrested at least four times. Buy her a cup of tea or a good whisky and she'll tell you about it.

  Author of the The Witches of Portland, the alt-history urban fantasy series The Panther Chronicles, the novel Like Water, and two story collections, her multiple non-fiction books include Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives, and Evolutionary Witchcraft.

  Thorn's work appears in many anthologies, magazines, and collections. She has taught magical practice in nine countries, on four continents, and in twenty-five states.

  An interloper to the Pacific Northwest U.S., Thorn stalks city streets, writes in cafes, loves live music, and talks to crows, squirrels, and trees.

  Connect with Thorn:

  www.thorncoyle.com

  Also by T. Thorn Coyle

  Fiction Series

  The Panther Chronicles

  To Raise a Clenched Fist to the Sky

  To Wrest Our Bodies From the Fire

  To Drown This Fury in the Sea

  To Stand With Power on This Ground

  The Witches of Portland, a 9 Book Series

  By Earth

  By Flame

  By Wind

  By Sea…

  Single Novels and Story Collections

  Like Water

  Alighting on His Shoulders

  Break Apart the Stone

  Anthologies

  Fantasy in the City

  Haunted

  Witches Brew

  The Faerie Summer

  Stars in the Darkness

  Fiction River: Justice

  Fiction River: Feel the Fear

  Non-Fiction

  Evolutionary Witchcraft

  Kissing the Limitless

  Make Magic of Your Life

  Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives

  Crafting a Daily Practice