By Wind

by T Thorn Coyle

  Because she did. She finally did. She understood exactly what was going on.

  She felt him relax and move away. She waited until she heard his footsteps walking down the hall. She waited until she heard the clink of ice cubes in a whiskey glass. She waited until she heard the television click on and the sound of football from the den.

  Caroline uncurled her fingers from the handle of the rolling case and went to the kitchen to get the broom.

  She had been able to save only one amethyst tip from what had been a massive piece. One of her tasks at the Vegas Gem Show was to have her favorite jewelry worker turn it into a pendant for her. The purple crystal rested just beneath her collarbone now, pointing down toward her heart.

  There would be some new punishment waiting for her when she got back home to Palo Alto, she felt that for the truth it was.

  Caroline didn’t know exactly what she was going to do about it. She didn’t know where she was going, or how the hell she was going to get out of that marriage intact.

  She just knew it wasn’t home anymore. That it never had been. Maybe she would move here, or to some other desert place.

  Her cell phone rang from her purse on the car seat next to her. She fumbled into her bag, and checked the number.

  It was Rafe. He’d want to know exactly where she was, so he could time her arrival. If anything happened, she would be expected to check and update him.

  She clicked “answer” and held the phone up to her ear. The highway was deserted, no cops to give her a talking-while-driving ticket.

  “Hey,” she said. “The show was great. Yeah. But I set up some meetings with a few shops and vendors that need to happen after the show closes….”

  The desert sped by the car windows. The sun was warm on her thighs. The crystal on her breastbone felt solid and good.

  “No. I know I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know until…no. They only got back to me today. Yes, it’s important. I’ll be here at least another couple of days.”

  Yeah. He was angry. She could hear it in his voice, though he pretended he was being reasonable. She tried to keep her own voice loose, light. If she grew impatient, or pleaded too much, he would know something was up.

  Habit. When did that all become a habit?

  “I’ll call you when it’s all set up. I bet I’ll be home on Thursday. Friday at the latest.”

  It was Monday. That would give Caroline enough time to figure out what the hell she was going to do.

  3

  Brenda

  Loreena McKennitt had been replaced by the warm voice of Sharon Knight, singing about selkies and sirens, accompanied by guitar, mandolin, and drums.

  Brenda’s headache was not receding, and now she had to deal with a customer crying on one of the reading chairs in the book section. She sighed, and hoped no one noticed.

  Days in the shop sometimes ran toward the strange, and she rolled with it like the professional she was. But today? Brenda just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over her head.

  :There is nothing for her anymore. That’s what she thinks, that’s what she feels. That is what she is making real.:

  It was the Voice again. Brenda tried to keep her hands from shaking, but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. What in Diana’s name was going on? She spared a thought to her matron Goddess, the matron of Arrow and Crescent coven, but got no clear response, just a sense of “This one’s on you.”

  Great. She knew the Gods had their own agendas and weren’t at her beck and call, but sometimes, dammit, Brenda wanted guidance.

  And occasionally? She had to admit she didn’t want the burden of figuring things out on her own. Most times she was good at claiming her own autonomy. It was a big part of her philosophy, and the core of what she tried to pass on to others, both in her classes and in the psychic readings she offered to the community. As a matter of fact, Brenda would have told anyone who walked through Inner Eye’s door that she had clawed her way into a sense of sovereignty, bit by bit, and was proud of it. Brenda was unshakeable in her sense of self.

  At least, she’d thought she was.

  She took in a breath, making sure to fill up from the bottom of her lungs to the top. Then she checked her energy fields. Was anything awry? Her aura seemed cohesive, the the ætheric body closest to her skin seemed a bit jumpy. Agitated.

  Brenda imagined her exhalation sending golden yellow light throughout her energy fields. She would need to do some serious work tonight if this kept up, but for now, she would rely on the tried and true practices she did every single day.

  Thank the Gods for her spiritual practice. At least that was still a solid thing.

  She crouched next to the woman’s chair, then reached for the box of tissues Tempest had set out on the low, round table where the woman had stacked entirely too many books.

  Tempest always knew when and where something was going to be needed. That was likely why she hadn’t put the Palo Santo jar away.

  Brenda held out the tissue box, waiting for the woman to take a few, then asked, “Why do you need help? Are you dealing with grief? Are you in trouble? What’s going on?”

  Brenda knew in a flash that grief was not this woman’s problem, but she had to cover all the bases. Running a successful metaphysical shop seemed to require one-third business, one-third magic, and one-third therapy.

  The woman blew her nose until it was red, but the tears stopped, at least.

  “They keep telling me to kill myself.”

  “Who keeps telling you?”

  The woman shrugged, and her eyes filled up again. Damn it.

  “I’m not sure. So I was looking…” She gestured to the piles of books. Brenda looked at the covers. There were several books on psychic phenomena. Ghosts. Hauntings. And two books on Goetia, which Brenda kept thinking she needed to put in a locked cabinet behind the counter, so only those who were ready, or already knew what they were doing, could get at them.

  Strangely, at the top of the stack, was a book on angels. Maybe the woman’s subconscious was seeking out her own helpers. The thought of angels was a big comfort to some people.

  :You, too.:

  Her too? Brenda was a witch. She didn’t mind that other people worked with angels, but they’d never really been her bag. Give her dark nights, a full moon, and a roaring fire, and Brenda was the happiest person on earth. Sure, spirits existed, that was obvious, and other beings, too, but despite being psychic, Brenda had always loved tangible things the most.

  Brenda stood and looked around the shop. Tempest helped a man in the back corner, measuring out some dried herbs. Another woman, middle-aged, with curly blond hair, ran her hands just over the small boxes of tumbled gemstones. She plucked one from a box with long, white fingers, and slipped it in the pocket of the red-and-black sweater coat that swung around her hips.

  “Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  Brenda swiftly crossed the store, skirts swirling around her ankles, until she was right behind the thief.

  “You should know better than to steal from witches,” she said.

  The woman jumped and turned. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Her lips were painted red, the lipstick bleeding into the fine cracks around her mouth. Her dark eyes darted from Brenda’s face to the door. They were ringed in brown liner and shadow. It just made Brenda feel sad all of a sudden. And a little bit tired.

  “You’d be a beautiful woman if you loved yourself more.”

  What was wrong with her today? That was just rude. All sorts of things were popping out of her mouth. If she were one of her students, she would give herself a time out from doing readings for a month.

  The woman’s face hardened. “You’d be a beautiful woman if you weren’t such a bitch.”

  Brenda just held out a hand.

  “What?”

  “I want the stone back.” She paused, and sent her awareness outward. “And the jet pendant. And the pendulum. And anything el
se you have in those pockets of yours.”

  The woman shoved past her. Brenda put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t.”

  “Or what?”

  She could smell the woman’s fear now. Acrid. Bitter.

  :Her daughter.: Brenda waited, but the Voice didn’t offer anything else. All the same, she gentled her voice. Called on some compassion.

  “Whatever you think you need, this isn’t it. And this shop has ways of protecting itself that you just don’t want to encounter once you’ve walked outside that door.”

  “And if I was stealing?”

  “Empty your pockets, and I’ll let you walk away.”

  The woman’s shoulders slumped. Her long white fingers dipped into her pockets, and one by one, she drew the small objects out.

  Brenda heard the bells over the door jangle, but didn’t turn to see who had come in. Tempest could deal with the new customer.

  “Is that it?”

  “You tell me.”

  It was. Well, with the exception of a small bead of hematite. The stone was cheap enough to let go of, and the woman could use the grounding. Speaking of…

  Brenda plucked a tumbled piece of rose quartz from one of the boxes and closed her palm around it, whispering a blessing.

  “Hold out your hand,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Hold your hand out.”

  The woman was so startled, she did. Brenda dropped the rosy-colored stone into her palm. “This might help with whatever heart-healing you’re seeking. It might help your daughter, too.”

  The woman gasped, and flung the stone back at her.

  “I don’t want it.”

  Brenda stood aside so the woman could pass her, and followed her to the door.

  “Well, I hope you find whatever it is you’re seeking, then,” she said. “And please never come back here again.”

  Shutting the door, she let the sound of the bells clear her aura, and went to the counter to re-ignite the stick of Palo Santo. Tempest and the young man had both been onto something; the sweet smoke from that wood was needed today.

  Shit. She’d forgotten about the crying woman. Maybe the woman could use some Palo Santo, too. Holding a lighter to the tapered end of the piece of wood, she waited until it glowed red and smoke began to curl up around her head in wisps.

  Finally, she looked over to the reading nook. The woman was gone. The piles of books had tipped over, and slid across the small table.

  Brenda walked over to look, and stifled a curse. One of the books had been left open, face down. A sure way to crack the spine.

  It was the book on Goetia.

  The woman had been reading about demons and likely scared herself.

  “Oh, you poor fool. I hope you find what you’re looking for, too. And I hope you come back and let us help you.”

  :Too late for that one, I’m afraid.: The Voice sounded sad. Regretful.

  “Why is it you didn’t tell me that before? And who are you, anyway?”

  The Voice was quiet.

  Brenda’s stomach muscles clenched and her skin felt a little clammy. A wave of nausea swept through her, and her skin flashed hot, then cold.

  She sat down, hard, in the abandoned damask chair, laid her head against the back, and closed her eyes.

  The shop bells rang again. She really should get up and help Tempest, but she couldn’t quite leave the chair to do it.

  Brenda felt someone sit in the chair across from her. Then smelled coconut oil. Tempest. She used the oil in her massage practice and the scent always permeated her skin.

  “Brenda? You okay?” The healer’s voice was tentative. Soft.

  “Are there customers?”

  “No. Everyone’s gone.”

  Brenda sighed. “I don’t feel very well. Maybe I’m getting sick?”

  “You look a little feverish and green. Would you like me to make you up a tisane?”

  Finally, Brenda opened her eyes. Tempest’s face was neutral, but Brenda could tell she was concerned all the same, just because she knew her so well.

  She blinked in the sunlight, which now felt too harsh, almost blinding.

  “I think I need to go home. Can you manage?”

  Tempest helped her up out of the chair. “Of course I can, but you’re not driving yourself home. I’m calling a car for you.”

  Brenda didn’t even argue. She just walked slowly to the back to get her purse.

  So much for the beautiful spring day. She hated getting the flu.

  She also hoped that was all that was going on.

  4

  Caroline

  She pulled into Reno. It had been a long, seven-hour drive, but that had also been just the thing she needed.

  Caroline needed to be alone for awhile. To not have other people’s opinions crowding her. She needed to figure out what she wanted.

  Besides, she liked Reno, and some of her favorite shops were there. She planned to find a room for the night, take herself out for a good dinner, and visit shops in the morning. Shop visits were one thing Caroline wished she could do more of, but they only happened en route home from a gem show.

  Rafe didn’t like her out on the road too much. “You never know what might happen to you.”

  She could separate out some stock in her room that night, and hopefully leave Reno having made back some of what she spent in Vegas. If she picked just the right pieces, she might even make back most of it.

  A woman could dream, right?

  Her phone buzzed again. Rafe.

  “Shit.” She had really hoped he wouldn’t bug her for a day or two, but that had just been dreaming, too. Navigating herself into the hotel parking lot, she found a spot and parked, quickly answering the phone before it went to voicemail.

  Rafe hated it when she didn’t pick up.

  “Hi there! Yeah, I’m just heading out to dinner with some of the dealers. What’s up?”

  The lie came fairly easily.

  She looked across the parking lot at the Spanish-style building of her favorite boutique hotel. It was smaller and quieter than most of Reno’s places, a little out of the way, and on the expensive side. Caroline supposed she was going to have to start thinking about saving money soon, but tonight she wanted something nice. Comfortable. Familiar.

  Wanting nothing more than to walk past the fountain in the courtyard, ask for a bellhop with a luggage cart so she could empty out her car and get checked in, she forced herself back to the phone. And Rafe.

  She reached over to get her sunglasses case from her purse and froze.

  “What do you mean?” Slowly, she snapped the case open, put her glasses in the open case, and snapped it shut again. “Why would I lie to you?”

  Sweat popped up on her forehead. Caroline’s breath was coming faster. She fought to slow it down.

  “What do you mean you put a tracker on my fucking car?”

  Mistakemistakemistake.

  And Caroline separated into two people.

  Part of her was in a panic. She never cursed at her husband. She never did anything that might make him angry. Not on purpose.

  Nevernevernevernevernever.

  The other part of her looked on with a sense of detachment, incredulous at the stupid game. A game that was dangerous only to her. To her life. To her body. To her soul.

  That part of her slammed the Jeep’s door open and crouched down. Where would it be? Someplace not to hard to reach. Someplace you could slap it on quickly, and walk away.

  “I don’t think so,” she said as she stood and walked around the front of the car to crouch again. What exactly was she looking for? Something small. Something that looked like it didn’t belong.

  “What exactly do you think I’m doing? So what? So I decided to stop and spend a few days checking in on some of my best customers on the way home and didn’t want to freak you out. You know you never let me stay anywhere more than…”

  The panicking part had taken the back seat and all the years of anger had
moved to the front. Good.

  “No, Rafe.” She still hadn’t found it. Where the hell had he put it? “I have a business to run, and you don’t seem able to understand that. No, I’m not talking back to you. I’m just trying to get you to understand.”

  It didn’t seem to be around the front of the car. She headed towards the back, squeezing between a Range Rover and the Jeep. Squatting down again, her eyes scanned under the bumper. Not there. Still holding the phone up to her ear, she got down on her knees and craned her head and neck, trying to look under the car. She was going to have to get all the way down. She stifled a sigh, and half lay, half crouched, on the dirty tarmac. If she were Rafe, where would she have put…

  She raised herself back up into a squat. “Rafe, I really don’t want to have this conversation with you right now. You know what? I think I never want to have this conversation with you again.”

  She clicked her phone off, and put her head in her right hand, still leaning on her knees, squatting on the tarmac. A car slowed down behind her.

  “Your car okay, lady? You need some help?”

  Caroline half turned and waved her hand. “No, just dropped my keys. I’m fine. Thanks for stopping, though.”

  Rafe would make her pay for this. But she’d had enough.

  And she thought she knew just where he planted the device. The bastard had acted all concerned about her tires before she left. She’d thought that was strange, but just shrugged and kept packing the car. She’d wanted to get out of there, and never knew what the heck was going on in his mind anyway. He wanted to play the dutiful husband all of a sudden? Just let him. She couldn’t wait to kiss him goodbye and get the hell on the road.

  Caroline grabbed the keys from the ignition and jogged back around to the rear. Heart pounding, keys rattling in her shaking fingers, she undid the lock on the spare. Lifting the cover off, she swung it to one side and looked.

  “Damn you Rafe,” she said. Because there it was, a tiny black box, affixed to the hub of the wheel.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand. She ignored it, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. Well, so much for her plan. There was no checking in to her favorite hotel tonight, no nice dinner. She wasn’t even going to be able to see her customers tomorrow. That sucked.