By Dark

by T Thorn Coyle

  “I don’t know what I know right now,” he said.

  Brenda stopped in front of the Inner Eye. Crystals winked behind her, catching the sun.

  “I know,” she replied. “But you will.”

  She took both of his hands in hers and pierced him with those damn psychic blue eyes that saw way too much of everything. He couldn’t escape those eyes, or Raquel’s either. And that’s why they were still his teachers.

  “Keep going with your practice, and you’ll be fine. You’ll see. And listen to your ancestors. They’re not done with you, yet. These visions of yours and Tish’s aren’t done.”

  That was exactly what he was afraid of. It was also one of the reasons he had become a witch.

  To listen. To see visions. To help do something on this earth besides work for a living and make other people rich.

  22

  Shekinah

  The sidewalk was crammed with angry people, spilling out onto the street next to a small, hedge-bordered open parking lot. Shekinah supposed it was a small crowd, as crowds went, maybe fifty people all told, but for a weekday morning impromptu gathering, that seemed like a lot.

  She’d never been to a gathering like this, so had no real gauge for protest crowds. She never participated when Alejandro went out, figuring everyone had their work to do in this world, and being out in the streets just wasn't hers. Protests weren’t really her thing. Activism was for other people, she thought. Her work was to donate money to various causes when she had it, and to try to raise her own vibration, to cause less harm in this pain-filled world.

  And to take care of Alejandro when and if he needed it, during the times when things got intense.

  The crowd was comprised of a lot of young people—Black, brown, and white—with some middle-aged white activist types that ringed the edges, and a few Black elders in a clump near the hedge, supporting a weeping man. Dispersed throughout the group were people with handmade cardboard signs they held aloft, reading Justice for Jeremy and PPB is Guilty

  “They killed my son!” a Black woman with long, carefully styled hair hiccuped into a small square mic held by a tall, thin young Black man that Shekinah swore she’d met somewhere before. Maybe one of Moss’s friends? The young man held a bullhorn in his other hand, connected to the square mic box by a long black coil. “The Portland Police shot Jeremy Landis down in cold blood!”

  Shekinah didn’t know how to feel. She stood, one arm tucked into Tish’s, staring at the scene unfolding through her sunglasses, wishing she’d worn boots with flatter heels. The tarmac was hard after standing still on it for half an hour. She really should be working, with three projects in various stages of completion sitting on her light box at home.

  But when she’d gotten done with yoga class that morning, Tish was waiting for her with the news that Portland police had shot a young man late the night before. There was a gathering downtown, on the spot of his murder, and Tish really wanted to go.

  But she hadn’t wanted to go alone. So of course Shekinah had said they’d go together, and had driven them across the Willamette to a parking garage two blocks from where they currently stood.

  Standing now in front of this weeping parent and the angry, grieving group, she felt in her soul that she’d been naive. Naive, and complacent, and maybe a little bit smug in her privilege. Middle-class white women didn’t usually have to concern themselves with friends and family being gunned down in the streets. Oh, there was always the threat of harassment and rape, that was real, but this?

  Shekinah felt a little ashamed.

  Then she noticed Tish’s arm shook beneath hers.

  “You okay?” she asked Tish. “Need to go?”

  “No. I’m not okay, but I don’t want to go, either.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  Tish looked up at her, dark eyes rimmed with red. “Nothing.”

  And that was the real issue, wasn’t it? There was nothing Shekinah could do but stand here. Nothing anyone could do. Oh, Alejandro talked sometimes about lobbying the mayor or city council to clean up the police bureau, and she was sympathetic, but again, she never really thought it was her issue.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Tish.

  “Sorry for what?” Her friend stared at the mother, who had handed the mic back to the tall young man and stood now, tears rolling down her cheeks, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue that did not look substantial enough for the job.

  “Sorry for…everything.” The inadequate words only served to highlight her own inadequate actions. “This must be so hard for you. After the visions.”

  “This is hell,” Tish replied. “It’s absolute hell. And it feels this way every single time. That’s why the visions are so terrifying. And it’s why I’m going to need you, Shekinah. I’m going to need you by my side.”

  Shekinah felt the words for what they were: an injunction. A charge. A demand that she do better by her friend.

  Because if she couldn’t, what was all the breathing, prayer, and meditation for?

  “I’ll be here, Tish.”

  Tish nodded, but didn’t reply. Shekinah’s thoughts swirled inside her head, disjointed and jumbled, as if she hadn’t practiced earlier that morning at all. As if she had no connection to anything other than human confusion and fear.

  A line from the Rig Veda flowed through her head. She whispered the words, barely audible above the shouting voices and honking of car horns.

  “Formed with twelve spokes, by length of time, unweakened, rolls round the heaven this wheel…”

  The wheel of time was inevitable. It rolled on, changing seasons, giving and taking lives. And her life? What was she living it for? What was her contribution to the wheel of time?

  She had thought she knew. But standing on this street, in this small corner of downtown Portland, with cars honking at the disturbance to their once open pathway, she wondered if she knew anything. If she’d been wrong this whole time, to not look further past her own window and into the lives of other people.

  Oh sure, she worked with the Yoga Center on the quarterly langar, or community meal, in which they fed homeless people, but who was feeding these people, here? Who was feeding them anything but sorrow and body-wracking grief and a terror she could barely begin to imagine?

  She breathed in the exhaust-perfumed morning air and straightened her spine. No matter what happened, and no matter what lessons she still had to learn or whether she would teach, or lead, or not, she was a yogi, a practitioner.

  And she could practice anywhere. Standing on the edge of the crowd, Shekinah began to breathe, cycling the air through her body, in, and out again.

  It wasn’t enough, but in that moment, all she could offer was to just be. As she breathed, she felt Tish relaxing next to her, then heard her friend exhale, matching Shekinah’s pattern.

  Good. That was good. Affect yourself. Affect one other person. That was a place to begin.

  The cars, the honking, the shouted jeers, the sound of approaching motorcycles…none of it mattered. What mattered was breath. Presence. Being.

  “Cops!” A voice cracked through the air, and Tish stiffened up again at her side.

  “Damn it,” Tish said. “They just can’t leave us alone.”

  Shekinah whipped her head around, and sure enough, a row of Portland police on motorcycles had arrived.

  23

  Alejandro

  “Hey, Tempest! Good to see you.” He greeted his coven mate who stood behind the counter, lock of platinum blond hair brushing her forehead, stringing satin cords through some of the less expensive medallions the shop sold. He wasn’t ready to head home just yet, and had decided to look through some books, see if there was any information on symbols or sigils that would help him tune into whatever it was the ancestors were trying to convey.

  “Hey there, Alejandro.” She looked up from her work and gave him a slight smile. Purple shadows ringed her eyes, and they weren’t smudges from last night’s makeup, though he’d see
n that on her in the past. These were from stress, or lack of sleep. Her skin was always pale, but she didn’t usually look this…haunted.

  “You doing all right?” he asked.

  She shrugged one of her sharp shoulders. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m always around to talk, if you need it.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted again, then bent her head back to her work.

  Now it was Alejandro’s turn to shrug. You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped. That was something Raquel had told him before, and usually he had no trouble abiding by that maxim. But all the changes he was going through seemed to make him softer hearted. More vulnerable to other people’s pain. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing, but it sure as hell wasn’t comfortable.

  Brenda had slipped into the back room behind the purple, Celtic knot work patterned curtain, and only a few other customers browsed the aisles, picking up crystals or flipping through Tarot decks. The book aisles were empty, which was good. He wasn’t in the mood for smiles and politeness with strangers right now. He didn’t have the bandwidth for it.

  He headed to the grouping of bookshelves and the two comfy reading chairs in the center, with a small table set between them. Reaching the chairs, Alejandro looked around. Everyone was still engrossed in their own projects. Good. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing down, and imagined the energy centers in the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands opened on his next exhalation. His body responded with slight tingling warmth where he imagined the energy centers to be.

  He sent a quick thought to his ancestors, Help me find what I am looking for, then held his left hand out, waiting for a pull in the correct direction. He felt a tugging at his solar plexus first. Toward the right. Okay. Left hand extended, he felt the skin on his palms grow warmer as he skimmed the shelves. There. A book with a bright red spine tucked between two others. He had just slipped it from the shelf when a second, sharper, tug whipped him around to the opposite shelving unit. His hand homed right in on a slender, golden-yellow book. Sigil Magic, the cover read. He looked down at the other, heavier book and saw that he was holding Mesoamerican Magic, Rituals, and Religion.

  Okay, then. Clearly these were the books he needed. Thank you, he thought. He couldn’t wait to get home, make a quick lunch, and settle into his reading nook with the books. Not a bad plan for the day.

  “I’ll take these two,” he said to Tempest. She rang him up with none of her usual chatter, which worried him, but he decided if she didn’t want to spill, he had enough on his plate right now. Poking his head through the purple curtain, he said goodbye to Brenda, and was soon back on the street.

  He was walking down Hawthorne, dodging dogs and sidewalk jewelry hawkers, wondering if he should eat something here before heading back home, when his phone buzzed. A text from Shekinah.

  The cops are here.

  What? he texted back. Where are you?

  Downtown with Tish. A young man killed last night. PPB. They’re…

  Sweat broke out on his forehead. Damn it. Shekinah was always safe. He always knew she was safe. She never went out in the streets like this. She never…

  Surrounded. SW 4th & Harvey Milk.

  I’ll be there.

  But first he had to alert Brenda. She could tell the rest of the coven. Those who could come, would. He just wished he knew what was happening. Why was Shekinah out there in the first place?

  Fingers fumbling, he fired out a text to his mentor, then half walked, half jogged toward his car. His phone buzzed in his hand. He spared it a glance. Brenda.

  Wait. Let me gather some things. I’ll come with you.

  He slowed just enough to text back. No time! I’ll check back when I know more.

  A sense of panic rose inside him. He had to get to Shekinah, and he had to get there right away.

  24

  Shekinah

  The police lined up behind them, and a mechanical voice began to bellow orders into the air. Something about dispersing.

  “Tish! What should we do?”

  The noise was intense. People shouting, chanting, the mechanical voice repeating its garbled phrase again and again… Shekinah felt out of her element.

  “We have to move! Walk calmly. Whatever you do, don’t run. Let’s get to the sidewalk and try to… Shit.”

  “What?”

  “They just blocked off the other intersection.”

  “But how do they expect us to disperse?” Shekinah was trying her best to remain calm, to remain in touch with her body and her breath, just like Yogi Basu taught. But her hands were clammy, her heart raced, and she tasted the bile of fear on the back of her tongue.

  Tish rolled her eyes. “They don’t. Let’s see if there’s a break in the hedge here. Get to the parking lot.”

  Tish pressed her hands against her temples and her face turned a grayish cast.

  “Tish? What’s happening? Are you sick?”

  Tish shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just…let’s get out of here.”

  They wound their way through angry, panicking people, trying to get to the sidewalk. A teenager tripped, then caught herself, stumbling into her friends who pulled her away, Shekinah hoped toward someplace safe.

  Shekinah saw a break in the hedge. It looked narrow but…

  “There,” she said, pointing.

  With a shrug of her shoulders, Tish grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the sidewalk. Her friend’s hand was clammy, cold with greasy sweat. “Might be our best shot. Don’t let go.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t seem well.”

  “I’m not going to get any better in police custody!” Tish snapped, then turned her shoulders and started pushing her body through the sturdy hedge. Then Shekinah was in, surrounded by the sharp pressure of the manicured bushes, shoving against the green, trying to avoid getting scratched. The noise from the crowd increased, people were screaming now, and shouting at the cops. The mechanical voice droned on. It was all so loud. She fought down the rising panic. Just keep breathing. Just keep pushing through.

  She was halfway through the hedge when Tish went limp and slumped, the stiff bushes half propping her up as she tripped toward the parking lot.

  “Tish! Are you okay? Tish!” Damn it. Shekinah was trapped now. Enclosed. Nowhere to go, forward or back. Bushes scraping at her cheeks and hands, she frantically scrabbled forward, trying to get her arms around Tish’s waist. Maybe she could hoist her up, get her all the way through. Get them both out of this enclosure.

  Tish groaned as Shekinah grabbed her, shoving her arms between the spiny bushes and Tish’s red coat. One arm around the waist, the other snaking beneath Tish’s armpit, across her chest above her breasts. Bending her knees, Shekinah tried to get leverage in the narrow space. She needed to lever Tish up and see if she could walk them both out. Bracing Tish against her own chest, she barked into her friend’s ear.

  “Tish! If you can, I need you to help me. We need to walk forward. Get you out of here.”

  Tish groaned again, but when Shekinah pushed one half step forward, Tish stepped, too. Good. Another half step. Then another. Shekinah was sweating underneath her coat. Good thing Tish was light, or she’d never…and then Tish stumbled again, and fell forward, half dragging Shekinah with her. Shekinah tumbled forward out of the sharp green embrace. Onto asphalt. Grabbing Tish’s head before it hit a gray concrete bumper. Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She ignored it.

  Back aching, she eased Tish down onto the ground, cradling her head with her arms until, with a yank, she got Tish’s bag beneath her head. Not the best pillow, but it would have to do. Panting, she carefully eased her spine into a standing position and stretched. Tish still looked slightly grayish, which wasn’t good, and her eyelids fluttered as if someone were projecting a movie inside her head.

  A buzzing from her pocket again. Shekinah pulled her phone out. It was Alejandro.

  Just arrived downtown. Parked two blocks from Harvey Milk. Where are
you? You okay?

  She sighed with relief. No way could she move Tish by herself, not when she was collapsed like this. Dialing, she glanced around the parking lot, which was full. Tish was well hidden between cars and the hedge. The noises behind the hedge continued. Shekinah hoped everyone was okay.

  And then Alejandro’s voice was in her ear. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear it. “I’m at the small street parking lot next to where all the cops are. Behind the hedge. Tish collapsed. We have to get her out of here.”

  And then the sound of running feet, and there he was, weaving through the cars, brow furrowed, barely looking where he was going, eyes trained on her face. He was beautiful, glasses glinting in the autumn sun. Shekinah sagged with relief and slid her phone back into her pocket.

  He gave her a quick hug. “You okay?”

  She just nodded, and pointed down at Tish, whose hands now covered her face. She groaned again, then rolled toward the hedge and puked.

  “Shit!” Shekinah bent and tried to support Tish until finally, the heaving was done. Looking up at Alejandro she said, “Can you carry her out of here?”

  “Of course.” He bent and started to gather Tish into his arms.

  “How far is your car? Mine is in a garage a few blocks away.”

  “I’m two blocks back, found a spot on the street.”

  “Let’s go there. We have to get her someplace safe. Head to my house?”

  He nodded, hoisted Tish up, and staggered into a stand, then headed back the way he came. Shekinah followed, heart still pounding, trying to calm herself.

  You’re okay now. Alejandro is here. You’re safe.

  The thought startled her. She hadn’t realized how much their recent distance had affected her. Despite Maureen, her housemate, Patrick, and friends like Tish, Shekinah had felt alone. Bereft. Alejandro was the one her subconscious wanted. The one she was always reaching for. The one who lately? Just hadn’t been there.