By Wind

by T Thorn Coyle

  Brenda breathed in herself. She felt her own connection to her inner divinity. It was still there, despite everything. She give thanks to Diana and to Lucifer—the Moon and Sun—and to her ancestors, and to those who were yet to come. She gave thanks for her daily practice. And for magic. She still had some anxiety, it was true, but Raquel’s words reminded her of who she was.

  She felt the globe of light surrounding her head. She felt her aura, shimmering, moving, brighter than before. Despite the absence of the Voice, she knew that she was home. That magic was her life. That she was dedicated to the mystery of it all.

  “I am,” Lawrence said.

  “I am,” Brenda, Raquel, and Louis responded.

  “I am,” Lawrence said, and the other three said it with him. Three times, they uttered the sacred phrase. The phrase that acknowledged they were whole, and aware, and part of the cosmos itself.

  Raquel nodded at Brenda to take over.

  “Feel the breath moving through your body, all the way from the souls of your feet to the crown of your head. Now tilt your head back, and send a breath upward, blessing your crown.”

  He did so, and all of his energy centers snapped into place. Even the cords still snaking outward couldn’t stop the force of alignment.

  “And when you feel ready,” Brenda said, “open your eyes.”

  After a long, shuddering breath, he rotated his head on his neck, and opened his eyes.

  Those eyes shone with excitement, but he was trying to act all cool, picking up his coffee again and sipping at it like it was no big deal.

  Brenda wished they had six months to train him for this. But if they had six months, he likely wouldn’t have shown up at her door.

  “How do you feel?” Raquel asked.

  “Ready.”

  He was so brave. He probably was ready. But that was mostly because he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. She remembered being that way. Once upon a time.

  She would get herself ready too. She was a professional. A psychic, a priestess, and a witch. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  She just wanted all of this over. She just wanted to take Caroline on a proper date, get to know her, see what life was like when the coven wasn’t running from crisis to crisis.

  32

  Caroline

  Caroline was propped on a padded stool behind the counter of the Inner Eye. It had been an exhausting day, after an exhausting week.

  Caroline had decided against going to the police to file a report, but Sydney recommended that she write everything down, just in case.

  She had spent most of the day writing down everything she could remember about the abduction. Then she wrote down everything she remembered about Rafe coming at her in Salem. And then, once she finished recording that incident, she had started documenting every single other incident for the past several years. Anything that came into her head, she wrote it down. It didn’t matter if it was in order. She just needed a record. Her hand was cramping up, and she was still writing.

  There was too much. Some things she had barely remembered, until she started this whole process. Then the words came pouring out.

  This was your marriage, she thought. It made her stomach clench. She didn’t know whether she wanted to punch something or cry.

  Caroline didn’t know if this twisted record was helping her or hurting her. She figured it was cleansing, at the very least.

  “Get the poison out,” she murmured.

  She and Joshua held down the fort at the Inner Eye while the coven prepared for the ritual. His shop closed earlier than Brenda’s, and he had offered to do this rather than joining the coven and Frater Louis.

  “They’ve got enough people,” he had said. “I’m happy to help Brenda out this way.”

  Caroline looked up from her notebook. She probably should’ve just been typing this all into a computer—it would have to be transferred later—but it felt more cathartic to write it all out. She liked the pressure of the pen digging into the paper, loops forming words, forming sentences. Maybe that was its own form of magic.

  She set the pen down and shook out her hands, then began massaging her right hand. She’d been writing for what felt like hours.

  Rubbing her eyes and forehead, she thought about going into the back room to make a cup of tea.

  “There’s something I still don’t understand,” she said, turning to Joshua. He was at the other end of the glass display counter, reading some thick tome about angels or demons or who knew what.

  “What’s that?” Joshua said. He put his thumb on the page to mark his place. “What don’t you understand?”

  “I don’t understand, if the coven bound him, how did Rafe still find me?”

  Joshua took an Inner Eye business card and slipped it into the book before closing with a thump.

  “That’s a good question. I think the coven figured Rafe had just been tracking you via your phone. They didn’t know he was corded into you. You said Shani mentioned how the cords looked like your energy? My theory is that he’d been cording into you for so long, your own energy likely wrapped itself around his. It happens a lot with longtime couples who aren’t careful to keep their autonomy. That thing they’re doing with Lawrence tonight? At the end, if all goes well, the ritual will un-cord him from Sharon.”

  “The way Shani did to me.”

  “Right. From what you described, I think Rafe is bound up tight, and I think it’s probably freaking him out. He couldn’t hurt you right? In Salem?”

  Caroline shook her head. Joshua was right about that. Like she’d told Brenda, Rafe hadn’t gotten near her. And when she thought about it further, he couldn’t even get near her before Michael had appeared. And wow, wasn’t that bad ass? An actual archangel, coming to her rescue.

  “See? So the binding itself worked, but he still feels compelled—or felt compelled—to track you down. Once a pattern is set, it takes a lot to break it. But hopefully he’ll leave you alone from now on.”

  Caroline sighed and walked around the shop. She needed a break from writing. It was kind of strange that no customers were in the store. She figured evenings would be busy.

  Something about the whole Rafe situation still didn’t sit right with her. What Joshua said made sense, and maybe Caroline just didn’t understand how magical bindings worked….

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still out there, waiting for her.

  Bound or unbound, she could feel his fixation on her like a knife.

  33

  Brenda

  Brenda sat, fully clothed, toilet lid down, in Raquel’s downstairs powder room, which was tucked beneath the stairs. Raquel had painted it bright turquoise and decorated it with mermaids. Raquel had an affinity for the ocean.

  She was avoiding going upstairs to the ritual room. She was avoiding starting this thing.

  Brenda could feel the coven waiting for her, and knew the space would be set up perfectly, and that their guests were likely wondering where the hell she was. Raquel, too. She could feel her friend broadcasting a Get up here, girl. Right now. She was doing her best to ignore all of it.

  Finally, she sighed, rose, and washed her hands. Leaning on the white pedestal sink, Brenda stared at herself in the orange-framed mirror. Brown hair in its usual messy bun. Eyes a bit more shadowed than she wanted. Lipstick eaten off hours ago.

  Tonight, she couldn’t see any halo, or aura of light, or avenging angel. All she could see was a woman in early middle age, who was pissed off and didn’t know what to do.

  Closing her eyes, she listened for a moment. Listening for the Guides who always showed up when she needed them. Listening for the Voice, too. Listening for anything at all that would help her navigate this convoluted mess that didn’t seem to have any possible outcome that would feel righteous, or good.

  If they helped Sharon get what she wanted, they would go against their tenets of not harming innocent people whenever possible. Sharon’s method involved
too much collateral damage. There were too many casualties en route to taking out the actual targets.

  If they didn’t help Sharon? Exactly the same. Innocent people would be harmed.

  There was no way through without causing major harm this time, to someone.

  “Diana? Lucifer? Any insight here? Any protection or liberation? Huh?”

  The Gods were silent, too.

  Her eyes snapped open, sparking. She felt a rush of rage. Oh yeah. Brenda was ready to go on a rampage. If only she thought it would do a damn bit of good.

  Slamming up on the faucet, Brenda stuck her hands into the icy flow of water.

  She was angry. Angry at the Voice for not warning her soon enough. Angry at Rafe, for harming Caroline, and returning to do so, again and again. Angry at the police and that judge, for doing Sharon and her daughter wrong.

  Cold water rushed over her hands until it felt almost painful. Brenda cupped her hands, bent, and splashed the water on her face. She needed to cool down.

  She was angry at Sharon’s lack of training, which was wreaking havoc on people who had nothing to do with the situation.

  Angry at herself. For all her training, for all the coven’s work, they shouldn’t have gotten so gobsmacked by all of this.

  And how, exactly, were you supposed to fix a thing you didn’t even know existed? Raquel had said that to her earlier.

  Brenda shut the water off. Tried to deepen her breathing. Tried to remember to open the soles of her feet and the crown of her head. She really needed to get ready for the ritual. Now.

  Water dripped down her face, mascara running in dark brown rivulets over her cheeks. She grabbed a dark blue hand towel off the rack and mopped at her face.

  They had known. She had known.

  Everyone knew that partners abused one another all the time, and that one would often trap the other in a game of cat and mouse, until the worst happened. Everyone knew that people in power abused people they saw as having no power.

  And the coven certainly knew there were issues with the Portland Police Department. That was clear enough. And oh boy, were they people in power.

  The Black female judge? Well, that still came as a surprise. But the systems around her didn’t.

  “So, what you’re going to do now, Brenda MacMillan, is get your shit together, act like the priestess you are, and go upstairs to do this thing.”

  34

  Caroline

  Caroline lightly ran her fingers over the display of crystals, noticing what stock was low, and what they had a lot of. There was some beautiful pyrite and labradorite. A lot of rose quartz and hematite, of course. Those were always popular. She should see if Brenda wanted any of the rarer gems, or if they just didn’t sell much here. Every shop was different.

  The bells on the door chimed. Caroline looked up, chilled to the core.

  “Why do you keep following me?” she asked. “And how did you find me this time?”

  It was Rafe, standing in the doorway, seeming spooked, and a little frightened. That was strange. Rafe never looked that way. Caroline had trouble feeling much sympathy for the man though. Her wrists and arms still ached from the handcuffs and where he had grabbed her. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she saw Rafe clearly for what he was.

  A scared, cowardly little man.

  “I saw the Jeep. Figured you’d be here.”

  “I would’ve thought you had learned your lesson by now,” she said, a flash of anger making her feel bold. Confident.

  He stepped further into the room, head swiveling as though looking for another exit. What in the hell was wrong with him?

  “If you need me to, I can kick him out.” That was Joshua, who moved around to the front of the counter. He stood, arms at his sides, but in a stance that telegraphed a readiness of move.

  “You?” Rafe said, sneering at Joshua as he took in his fancy waistcoat and well-groomed hair. Well, that was his old self, wasn’t it?

  Caroline kept her distance but moved into the space between the two men.

  “I don’t think you have much say in this matter, Rafe,” she said.

  Rafe wasn’t acting like himself, not at all. He stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, hands at his sides. Not yelling. Not moving toward her.

  Maybe Selene’s binding was working after all.

  He turned back to her, eyes haunted. “What did you do to me?”

  “I might ask you the same. For the past several years. But right now? I woke up. And then I left.”

  “But I need you.”

  He sounded lost. She bet he was. She also didn’t care.

  “I’m not coming, Rafe.” The bells jangled over the door again. Rafe whirled around. Joshua stepped forward.

  And Sharon stumbled in, shrieking, clutching and tugging at her blond curly hair.

  “I’m on fire I’m on fire I’m on fire!” She jerked, spun, and flailed, crashing into Rafe. He tried to get his footing, but they tumbled together and crashed into a display of stained glass medallions, sending the whole thing tilting to the floor.

  They fell on top of the display, and rolled off the rack, still locked together. The sound of glass shattering cut through Rafe’s grunting and Sharon’s shrieking.

  Sharon’s voice sliced through the air. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God! Help me! Help me, please! Help me!”

  Sharon rolled around on top of Rafe, who struggled and squirmed, trying to get her off of him. Glass crunched beneath their bodies.

  Caroline rushed forward, unsure how to help, Joshua hot at her heels. Sharon’s shrieks were deafening.

  “What the hell?” Rafe bellowed.

  “Shhh…shush.” Joshua bent over Sharon, trying to soothe her. He reached a tentative hand toward her.

  “Don’t touch me! I need the angel! Angel!”

  Caroline crouched down, trying to avoid kneeling in the glass. It was everywhere, shards of color strewn across the floor. She got her arms under Sharon’s and helped to roll her off of Rafe. He lay flat on his back, panting, looking terrified. Good.

  “Sharon?”

  “I’m on fire,” the woman whimpered. Her hands and face were dotted with red where they’d ground into the glass. Tears ran down her cheeks. Colored shards littered her blond curls.

  “Let me help you up,” Caroline said.

  She looked at her husband then. Joshua had gotten him into a sitting position and was brushing the glass off of him with a towel he must have grabbed from the back room. Caroline had no idea when he could have gotten it.

  “Rafe?”

  He looked at her, face blank. It was funny—that was just how she felt looking at him. Blank. Just…done.

  “I think you should leave now.”

  Rafe nodded. Joshua helped him to stand up, and brushed more glass off Rafe’s clothing until Rafe waved him away. He walked toward the door, then turned, as though he were about to say something.

  She shook her head at him. “Just go. If you don’t, I’m filing a police report. That’s not going to look good for you during the divorce proceedings.”

  He looked as if he was about to speak again, then nodded one more time and pushed his way out the door, bells clanging overhead. Those bells were becoming jarring.

  But at least Rafe was gone. And it actually seemed as though he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  Sharon whimpered, snapping Caroline’s attention back. Gods, she was a mess. Glass everywhere. Blood. Plus, something bad was clearly going on inside her. Caroline felt it like a pressure on her skin.

  Sharon’s eyes darted back and forth, then rolled up in her head, as though she was about to faint, or go into a seizure.

  “Sharon? Joshua is going to have to help me get you up, so we can get you away from this glass, okay?”

  “Can’t.”

  Caroline looked up at Joshua.

  “Scoot her all the way out of the worst of the glass,” he said. “Then we should try to get her on her side for now. She looks
like she might seize.”

  Caroline did her best, bunching and scooting Sharon over into cleared space, while Joshua flipped the sign in the door to “closed” then locked it.

  He bent to help again.

  “No…” Sharon croaked out. Joshua sighed.

  “I’m going to get a broom,” he said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  35

  Brenda

  “By earth, by flame, by wind, by sea. By sun, by moon, by dusk, by dark, by witch’s mark!” Moss swept his arms up from quarter to quarter, then sliced them up to the ceiling, and back down to the floor, sealing the magical sphere.

  Brenda felt the etheric blue flame all around them creating a portal, carving out a place between the worlds. The place where magic stalked, and words held power. The place she knew she belonged.

  So stop feeling sorry for yourself, she thought. Get your yoga-toned ass in gear. She smiled; that last was something Raquel might say. That was what happened with best friend sometimes: their words became your words, their thoughts became your thoughts. Whenever you needed them most.

  And the words were right. She did need to get herself back in hand. The Voice had thrown her, showing up the way it did. It had thrown off her practice, which she had been diligently turning up the heat on for the past year. Plus, it had thrown her emotions into a tailspin.

  Brenda gazed at Raquel across the circle. She looked so strong, but Brenda knew this whole situation had to be ripping her apart. Dealing with domestic violence and rape situations was hard.

  The candles flickered and flared in the center, surrounding Lawrence, who lay face up on the floor of Raquel’s attic, resting on top of a doubled-over quilt. He looked nervous, and who could blame him? Frater Louis sat cross-legged at Lawrence’s head, hands just hovering around the young man’s temples, trying to calm him, soothe him. He was there as Lawrence’s guide. But he was also there to make sure that if anything went wrong, he got Lawrence out.