Legis grinned.
“Don’t say a word,” Joshua warned.
“Me? I’m just drinking my beer, minding my business. But you’ve got it bad, boy.”
Joshua slid his wine glass back across the table, and took a hefty drink.
Selene.
Damn it all. Selene was here.
3
Selene
At around 11:30, the club was pretty full. Selene stood just inside the door, clutching at their little fake-leather bat purse, having left their usual heavy messenger bag in the trunk of the old Toyota parked two blocks away. If it weren’t for the platform boots they’d changed into, Selene could have walked from the studio, that was how close it was.
Come to think of it, the club was pretty close to the soup kitchen Aiden worked at, too. Maybe Selene could start volunteering there, now that school was off the schedule.
The smell of beer, wine, and amber oil touched to swan-like throats hovered in the air. It helped relax Selene. At least, one part of them relaxed. The familiarity of the music, the darkness, the swirl of colored lights, fake fog, and people helped calm down the animal part that always wanted to run.
Being an empath was a bitch. Despite years of training to ground and filter out other people’s emotions, when other people were in a group, it was too easy for things to leak through.
The room was filled mostly with the usual white Portland Goth and Industrial crew, sprinkled with a few Black, Asian, and Latinx faces. Oh, there was racism in the Goth scene, just like anywhere, but mostly, the freaks banded fiercely together, protecting their own.
The main fights Goths had were with each other, over sex, broken hearts, or sometimes, on rare occasions, drugs.
So yeah, Talisman felt good to Selene’s soul. It felt like a place they could be, as they were. A six-foot-tall-in-heels, non-binary, Goth, femme witch.
Selene reached for their spiritual practices, slowing their breathing and wiggling toes encased in the stompy platform boots.
Looking at the black-painted wood planks beneath their boots, Selene exhaled, imagining the breath flowing all the way to the edges of their skin. It helped. They relaxed a little more, then sent a second slow breath out toward the shining edge of their aura, reinforcing their personal boundary. Better. Should’ve remembered to do that before entering the club.
And, finally, they looked up.
There he was, staring with a look they couldn’t quite place. A good look? A bad look? Joshua seemed a bit flustered, which seemed unlike him. His hair was even slightly dented from where his top hat had rested. The hat was now on the table beside him.
He flashed a small half-smile, quickly gone.
Then the person with him turned. Legis. Selene relaxed a bit more. They liked the big magician. He was good people. Made them feel safe, actually.
And Joshua? Selene liked him, but he always left them feeling a bit unsettled. Wanting to move forward and backward simultaneously. Like right now. Something in him pulled at Selene like the moon.
Selene didn’t trust that attraction for a minute. They never did.
But frankly, Legis and Joshua were the two people in the club that Selene was closest to, so they pointed their boots toward the booth where the two men were now quietly drinking and talking, hunched toward each other.
That in itself was a little weird. Usually one of them would have waved Selene over. Oh well, any port in a storm, right?
They wove through clusters of two and three, skirting the edges of the teeming dance floor. They would hit the bar first.
“Hey Selene!” Janice teetered on blood red heels, already half-drunk. Seal-brown hair fell in thick waves to her creamy bare shoulders. Sweat marred her perfectly made-up face.
That was strange, considering they were standing beneath a huge whirring fan blasting air toward the dance floor.
“Hey Janice. You doing all right?”
“Right as rain,” the woman said, before staggering off, tugging at her black dress, adjusting it around her hips. Selene looked after her, brow creasing in concern. Janice wasn’t usually a heavy drinker. Selene wondered what was wrong.
Space cleared up at the small bar. It reminded Selene of a bar in someone’s basement. No stools, just a countertop long enough for four people to stand and order, and then move out of the way. This was a transactional space, not a place to stay and drink.
Laughter cracked across the room. Janice again, having shoved herself into a booth between two men. Damn it. Selene hoped the men wouldn’t take advantage of Janice. Currently, the two were looking on with amusement. Selene hoped things stayed that way.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?” Becca was running the bar tonight. A white woman whose curves were so extreme her tight jeans couldn’t encase them. Beneath her vintage Fields of the Nephilim tour T-shirt, a lush roll of fat hovered above the ’90s studded belt encircling Becca’s hips, tapering up toward a solid waist before curving back out to her breasts.
Becca’s body was a feat of natural engineering that Selene sometimes envied, their own slim, lanky form seeming pedestrian in comparison.
“Gin martini, please.” Selene leaned on the bar top, watching Becca measure out the gin and vermouth, ice the stemmed glass, dump ice into the metal shaker. One of the nice touches Talisman insisted on was still serving wine, cocktails, and beer in proper glasses. There was surprisingly little breakage, and it catered to the Gothic romance angle far better than plastic.
So, it was good for business, as well as the environment. The owner, Roderick, was nothing if not practical.
“Hey Becca, do you know what’s up with Janice?”
Becca strained the cold liquid into the chilled glass and shook her head.
“No clue. She only had one glass of merlot, as far as I can tell.”
That wasn’t good at all. If it wasn’t alcohol, it was drugs. Didn’t seem like Rohypnol to Selene, but they were no expert on that, either. Though they had been roofied once.
Becca slipped three green olives into the glass and set it on the bar just as Selene slid a card across.
Becca shook her head. “On the house tonight.”
“Really?”
“Got to keep the regular crew happy, right? Roderick wants to up the fancy quotient—too many dressed down folks these days—and you’re one of the fanciest people I know.”
Selene fished a few dollar bills from the little bat bag and smoothed them onto the bar top.
“Thanks,” they said, but Becca had already turned to the next patron.
Taking a sip of the too-full drink, Selene set her gaze on Joshua and Legis’s booth. Good, they were still there, and no one else had joined them.
Selene angled their tall body and skirted their way back through the crowd. The music shifted to Covenant, the bright electronic pulse underpinning Eskil’s soaring vocals. Selene smiled.
“Selene.” Joshua’s voice was sober.
“Please, join us. Help me tell this jackass he needs to up his game,” Legis said, scooting over.
Selene was relieved to sit next to Legis instead of Joshua. He was easygoing and never treated them like anything other than a respected sibling. Joshua, however? Gah.
Of course, sitting across from the man was barely any better.
There it was, nervous sweat under their arms. Hopefully it wouldn’t spread. Selene didn’t want to have to do makeup repair.
Keep breathing, Selene.
Joshua was no-go-land for Selene. A nice guy, and he’d helped out the coven in the past, but he was also a known player.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. Selene knew both committed polyamorous people and folks who just enjoyed sleeping around.
Selene had just never been a casual-sex sort of person. As a matter of fact, they vacillated between hot crushes and feeling completely shut down. They’d checked in with their coven mentors about it, and both Brenda and Raquel said that it was likely a side effect of their particular empathic psychi
c skills.
“Once you learn to trust the ways your spiritual practices work for you, hopefully you won’t feel the need to shut down like that.” Raquel had said that a year ago, and Selene was definitely getting more adept at managing emotionally charged situations. But clearly being around a hot guy still felt flustering.
They took another swallow of the perfect martini. It was crisp and cold, with just enough vermouth to temper the gin. Selene forced themself to slow down and sip the drink, the way it deserved. Drinking too fast. Another sign that Joshua was making them nervous. They set the stemmed glass back down on the table.
Like all the witches in Arrow and Crescent, Selene drank, sure, but never a lot. Red wine was usually their beverage of choice. Selene wasn’t sure what made them order a martini tonight.
And why did it even matter?
Maybe they didn’t want to be drinking the same thing Joshua was. Not raising the same burgundy liquid to stain their lips. As if his wine was their wine.
Oh, cut it out. Selene gave themself an internal eyeroll and a small shake. Their hand shot out, and the martini tipped. Legis grabbed at it, but too late. Cold gin spilled across the table, cascading in a rush over the side, straight onto Joshua’s trousers.
He leapt up, batting at the liquid with a tiny cocktail napkin.
Damn it, Selene. You big dork.
Then he started to laugh. Legis joined in. Selene rose, humiliated, cheeks burning.
“I’m so sorry!” they said. “Let me…”
Face still burning, Selene turned and shoved their way toward the bar, Joshua’s voice trailing after them over the thump and surge of the music.
“Selene! It’s okay…”
It wasn’t okay. It was never okay. The body betrayed them, every damn time.
Anything Selene wanted badly, their body acted this way. It was as if their subconscious was trying to bust through the wall of protection, reaching for the desired object. It was this way with everything except painting, whether pixels or oil. And coven. Thank Goddess for the coven.
They stopped stock still at the far edge of the bar. Becca looked up. “Everything okay?”
“I’m a dork and spilled my drink. Glass didn’t break, though.”
“No problem,” Becca said, grabbing a white bar rag from beneath the counter. “Here. Make you another?”
Selene shook their head. “No. Thanks. A glass of pinot noir, maybe?”
As if wine would be any better. Nothing was going to make Selene sophisticated around Joshua, that was for sure. Except maybe a personality transplant. Their body was a traitor to their emotions. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Someone crashed into Selene from behind, shoving them into the bar. Selene’s hand smacked out to catch themself, barely missing the glass of wine Becca had just set down.
“Hey!” Becca shouted. “Watch out, dickhead!”
Selene pushed back from the bar and slowly turned.
“Sorry, man. I mean, lady. I’m…”
The man was small and thin. He was starting to shake. Selene grabbed his shoulders. His arms trembled and vibrated under their hands. He felt warm.
“My heart…” he slurred out. “I’m flying, man. Flying.”
Then he dropped to the ground and began to seize.
“Becca?” Selene whirled toward the bartender.
“On it!” Becca already had a phone to her ear, calling 911. Then Legis was at Selene’s side, shouting into their ear. They sensed Joshua somewhere just behind him.
“We need to get this guy rolled onto his side!”
Becca thrust some bar towels at Selene, who stared at them for a moment, not understanding. Then motion clicked in again.
They shoved the folded towels between Legis’s big hand, which cradled the man’s head, and the hard floor.
What in Goddess’s name was going on?
4
Joshua
Finally home from the club, having helped get the seizing man safely into an ambulance, Joshua felt hyped up and exhausted all at once. Too keyed up to sleep, too tired to read, he wasn’t in the mood for a movie or television.
He looked around his tidy living room, past the long, green velvet couch and the two comfy damask-covered chairs. His eyes raked over the gold-framed print of poisonous herbs hanging on the wall, flanked by old woodcuts in simple burgundy rectangles. Scanned the low bookcases the bordered two walls. Books, of course. Mostly on magic, but two of the cases held some favorite fiction. On top were candlesticks stuffed with beeswax tapers. A ceramic human skull, with a jade plant growing out of the crown.
Two metal, art deco lamps with jadeite rings and green lampshades, coupled with a brass floor lamp, cast a warm light over it all.
“Goth as fuck,” he commented, suddenly tired of himself. Of his life.
The night’s events had him shaken. First of all, there was Selene. No one affected him the way she did. They did. He had trouble remembering the correct pronoun. Selene was so femme, it was hard sometimes to remember they were non-binary. It was their femme qualities that hit him so hard. Coupled with the wicked-interesting thoughts he could see flashing behind their eyes, right before they froze and clammed up.
Figured. The one person he was interested in for more than a night or three didn’t like him and Joshua couldn’t figure out why.
But that was the least of it. Then that guy collapsed on the ground and started seizing. Joshua was one of five people who called for an ambulance. Legis, Becca, and Selene got the guy rolled onto his side with folded-up bar towels beneath his head.
Something about the man seemed strange. Off. Joshua had seen people seizing before. This was something else. He, Legis, and Selene had stayed until the ambulance carted the poor guy away. Then they’d all begged off, and gone their separate ways.
For some reason, the whole thing felt too troubling to hash out over drinks and they all knew it. So here he was, alone in his tiny nineteenth-century pyramid-roofed bungalow bought a few years before during a real estate dip when The Road Home had been doing particularly well.
It was beautiful, his Goth-as-fuck home, and he couldn’t imagine living any other way. Joshua honored life by honoring death, but there was one death in particular that still haunted him.
It was just the sort of home he and Jessie had dreamed about. The one they were going to find, and refurbish, and paint, and then gather a gorgeous mix of medieval- and Victorian-looking objets d’art to fill it.
Before she was killed by some asshole drunk going too fast the wrong way down a one-way street. Once the drunk figured it out, he tried to course correct by pulling a U-turn onto the sidewalk. He had survived.
Jessie had lingered for six hours before succumbing to the sweet, dark kiss.
“Buck up,” he muttered to himself, before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. The kitchen was compact and efficient and Joshua’s one concession to the twenty-first century was seen here. A red SMEG refrigerator with classic lines and a human-sized scale. Red stove. Red microwave on the black granite countertop. Black, reflective cabinets. Concrete sink and polished, wide plank fir floors, stained as dark as they would go.
He pulled a vintage black drinking horn pedestal glass from a cabinet and ran the water until it was cold, gulping it down as if his life depended on it.
He supposed it did.
Setting the glass down with a clink, he leaned back against the counter and stared through the squared-off kitchen lintel, through the conjoined dining and living rooms. The kitchen was an addition, along with the bathroom. The original home was four rooms. Two small bedrooms, a living room, and the kitchen, with an outhouse in the back yard. Somewhere in the early 1920s or 1930s, someone had added the small addition to the back, extending the home out from its original square.
It suited Joshua. It would have suited Joshua and Jessie better. It worked fine to host the revolving parade of women that Joshua took home, treated with deep respect, and then let go.
But he was tired of that. Itching for something more.
So what’re you going to do now? He could feel the question, practically hanging in the air. The eternal question, it had cropped up a lot in recent days, and dovetailed right back into his conversation with Legis about magical practice. What was Joshua’s basic practice?
It used to be meditation and pendulum work. Breath work. These days? He did the occasional Tarot or astrology reading. He burned incense in the shop every day before opening.
But deeper magic? Other than some recent stuff with Arrow and Crescent Coven, he didn’t do it anymore. And solid daily practice had slipped away…when? Six months ago?
His subconscious must have been signaling his coming dissatisfaction.
“So do something about it,” he said, and walked back into the living room to the wooden cigar box that held his favorite Tarot deck.
Well, favorite was too strong a word, as there were decks whose images struck his eye as more beautiful. Preferred reading deck was more like it.
It was the Thoth deck, painted by Lady Frieda Harris based on the instructions of Aleister Crowley. Legis’s main man.
As he unwrapped the deck from the swathe of blue silk and began to shuffle the cards, Joshua wondered. Maybe he should go talk with Frater Louis, current head of Legis’s lodge. Take a Zero Degree, the first initiation required for membership. Start doing the basic rituals and practices. See what happened.
He respected Louis and Legis, but had always found the OTO a bit much. But he needed something, that was for sure, and ceremonial work resonated more clearly with him than witchcraft or anything else.
“Show me what I need to know. What do I need to pay attention to right now?”
The cards shushed between his hands, slipping through his fingers. He strolled back into the dining room, hooking a boot around one of the curved-back dining chairs and sitting down at the polished walnut table. The cards cracked and snapped against the wood. He shuffled them another six times, then stopped, took a breath, and cut the deck into three piles.
By Moon Page 2
