By Sun

by T Thorn Coyle

  Shit.

  “And?”

  “And…I think you’re in way over your head. And if I’m going to help you, you’re going to need to spill it all.”

  Okay. Great.

  “Look man,” Alejandro said, “you ask a witch for help, you deal with the consequences. You’re a friend of the coven, and a fellow coder who isn’t a dick, so I’m willing to help you. You just have to decide if you really want the help.”

  “And if I do?”

  “You have to ask for it. And tell me as much as you can.” He lowered his voice. “It’s got to do with illegal code, right? That’s why you asked me to look at the painting.”

  Jack swallowed, and nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

  The old Jack would never get in over his head. And if he felt like he was coming close, he would just dive into a video game until the feeling passed.

  Jack couldn’t do that anymore. Not since he figured out that having a purpose felt good.

  “So, you think I’m at risk?” he asked.

  “There’s always a risk, man. That’s one thing every magic worker knows. Whether you act or don’t act, there’s risk either way. Which is more worth it to you?”

  Alejandro held out two closed fists. Opening one palm, he asked, “Action?” then opened the other. “Or inaction?”

  Jack just nodded. He understood the Matrix shit, but that didn’t mean he was going to tap a witch’s hand in the middle of a neighborhood bar.

  “Can you come back to my place? I can tell you more when we’re not in public.”

  Alejandro smiled. “You sound like Olivia.” Then he checked his watch and shook his head. “I’ve got a coven meeting at Raquel’s right now. Can I come over after?”

  Alejandro knew Olivia? Jack shook his head.

  “Please. Yeah. Come on by. I’ll be there.”

  He’d be there. Trying to figure out what the hell he thought he was getting himself into.

  7

  Lucy

  Raquel’s back garden was an oasis.

  The coven gathered beneath the towering, green maple tree, around a slightly peeling white wicker table, with vegetable beds and flowers wilting all around them. The only things still holding up were a riot of spiderweb-strewn golden cherry tomatoes and a pumpkin patch that looked as if it was going to eat the whole back corner of the garden.

  Moss barreled through the back gate, his black fauxhawk slightly disheveled, huge grin on his face. He wore one of Lucy’s favorite T-shirts today—the “Not Your Asian Sidekick” one—and a pair of old gray shorts that had started their life as black.

  He carried a white bakery box.

  “I come bearing scones from No Wheat, No Worry.”

  He set them down with a flourish next to a cutting board covered with chunks of manchego and sharp cheddar, some grapes and figs.

  Lucy was new to the whole gluten-free thing, but NWNW not only had a clever acronym but had baked goods that were actually tasty and didn’t make you feel as if you were chewing rocks.

  “Thanks, Moss,” Brenda replied. She’d only recently discovered she had celiac disease, and the coven was trying to adjust. Lucy half-wondered whether clearing up that issue was going to increase Brenda’s already formidable psychic skills. It had to help, right?

  Now that most of the wildfire smoke had cleared—there was just a slight acrid tinge in the air—it was nice to be outside, drinking Raquel’s signature lavender-infused lemonade, and thinking about eating a scone.

  The remainder of Lucy’s fruit paletas rested in a metal bowl of ice next to a small rosemary plant at the center of the table.

  Lucy scratched at her right hand.

  “That still bothering you?” Raquel raised an eyebrow. Her heavy fall of dreadlocks were tied back in a bright turquoise scarf, piled up on her head today. Her hair mirrored Brenda’s, who had also pulled her wavy dark hair up into a messy bun.

  Lucy wished she’d done that, too. Her own hair stuck to the back of her neck with sweat.

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell us?” Brenda asked, glass lemonade pitcher in hand, stopping mid-pour to pierce Lucy with those intense blue eyes that Lucy swore saw everything. “After all we went through with that man?”

  Brenda and Raquel were two formidable witches. It was why they led the coven.

  Lucy just shrugged, hoping they’d leave it be. They were supposed to be talking about this weekend’s Lammas ritual, not fussing over her, or bringing up the Goddess-damned Alchemist.

  “Give me your hand.” Raquel flicked her fingers, motioning Lucy closer. Her face had that “don’t even think about it” look. Lucy sighed, and held out her hand.

  Raquel closed her eyes. Lucy felt her mentor searching, sending her psychic senses out toward Lucy’s aura, then deeper, into the ætheric body just around Lucy’s skin. That tingled almost worse that whatever the residue was.

  There was a slight push, as though two forces met inside Lucy’s hand. Raquel grimaced.

  Lucy’s right foot tapped out Morse code on the grass. Dammit. She willed herself to sit still. To slow her breathing down. To let Raquel do her job.

  But that didn’t mean Lucy didn’t still feel invaded. Funny, she didn’t used to be such a private person. Oh, she had decent boundaries. That was basic psychic hygiene that everyone in the coven worked on. But lately? She’d become more private. Guarded, even.

  All of that came after the attack that had left her far too vulnerable to that pendejo Alchemist.

  May he rot on the astral plane, she thought.

  She couldn’t blame Raquel and Brenda for being pissed off and worried, but it bugged her all the same. Lucy just wanted things to feel normal again. Or as normal as they got for her. Maybe she could take up a hobby. Get a boyfriend.

  As if. The thing with Jack had soured her on relationships, too. Oh, she’d had her share of dates and sex since then, but being around him lately made her realized how much she still carried a damn torch. Well, if he couldn’t see what he’d lost, piss on him, too. It didn’t matter how cute he was in his nerdy way, Jack could go pound salt.

  The rest of the coven just waited as Raquel worked. Lucy was barely aware they were there. Raquel pushed deeper. Flashing images raced through Lucy’s head, sending her surface thoughts skittering.

  The Alchemist. And his servitor: the tobacco spirit he’d roped into unwilling service to act as both a physical poison and a magical battery.

  The itching in her hands flared. The taste of tobacco on the back of her throat returned. With a mighty tug, Lucy was pulled out of herself and into a second world. A corrupt world. The world of the Alchemist’s mind.

  And then, with a great, shuddering breath, Lucy called upon the power of her will and snapped the connection. The tobacco taste cleared, and Lucy floated in a clear blue sky, hair whipping out behind her.

  She saw the whole city. The two mighty, sacred rivers. The ring of cinder-cones and volcanoes. The buildings and the trees.

  Lucy clapped her hands together three times and the scene changed, showing her the underside of all of that.

  She gasped and began to fall.

  “Lucy!” Raquel’s voice.

  Someone else’s hands on her shoulders. Warm. Soothing.

  “Get some lemonade!” Brenda.

  “Lucy!” Raquel again. “Open your eyes!”

  Air rasped into her throat. She coughed. Her eyes fluttered. Green leaves. Blink. Raquel’s concerned face. Blink. A glass of lemonade, in front of her. Blink.

  Lucy shuddered, feeling it through her whole body, all the way down to her toes. She coughed again, then forced her eyes all the way open.

  Selene held out a glass of lemonade, their brow furrowed, white shirt floating like a specter, contrasting with the black lipstick and eyeliner that etched their sharp, pale face.

  Lucy reached out with her left hand. Raquel still clutched at her right. Selene made sure the cold, sweating glass was securely in Lucy�
�s hand before letting go.

  The lemonade was tart and cold, with the slightest hints of lavender-infused syrup. An ice cube clicked against her teeth.

  “Thanks,” she said, handing the glass back to Selene. Lucy didn’t trust herself to hold on to it.

  She straightened in the chair, and tugged her hand from Raquel’s.

  “Okay.” Lucy cleared her throat. “Enough of that. What are we doing for Lammas this year?”

  She felt shaky inside and really really just wanted to move on. Damn her magic for betraying her. And damn the Alchemist for still affecting her this way.

  “Nope,” Tempest’s voice came from behind her. It was the healer’s hands she felt on her shoulders. “I want to know what the heck just happened. I also want you to open to this Reiki, okay? Stop fighting me.”

  Coven members pretty much had permission to do what was necessary. It was a trust thing. A bond they held together. It was also a precaution they’d decided on a few years before, after Moss first joined the coven and got caught out on the astral. Brenda had dragged him back, but it would have been an easier process if he’d given more permissions beforehand.

  Lucy forced another breath in and out of her lungs. That was weird. Why this need to hold her breath all of a sudden? She imagined the edges of her aura softening, letting in the energy Tempest was pumping out.

  Yes. That felt better.

  She closed her eyes again and breathed for a few minutes more, listening to the familiar sounds of her coven. The clink of ice in glasses. The thunk of a small knife on the cutting board. The rustling of paper from the bakery box.

  “Moss, do you and Tobias have a plan for the Lammas ritual?” Raquel asked, giving Lucy a little more time.

  Lucy didn’t hear the answer, focused on the weight of Tempest’s hands and the feel of the energy moving through her body. The tingling in her hands, especially her right hand, slowly subsided.

  She shook both of her hands out, then rested them on top of Tempest’s. Leaning back, she tilted her head until she saw the purple fall of Tempest’s hair framing her peachy-skinned elfin face, covering the buzz cut that graced the rest of the younger woman’s head.

  “Thanks, sister.”

  “You better?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “You ready to talk?” Raquel asked. “Because that’s some powerful magic you’re wielding there, Lucy. You’ve been holding out on us, and you’ve put yourself in danger.”

  Lucy looked from Raquel to Brenda. Both women crossed their arms. Waiting.

  “I…I’m not sure what’s happening,” she said.

  “Lucy, I knew something was up with your magic,” Alejandro said, “but I was hoping you would either figure it out, or come to us for help.”

  Alejandro leaned forward, pale brown arms resting on his neat black slacks, glasses shining in the sunlight moving through the maple leaves. The stubble on his head was damp with sweat.

  “Are you still connected to that bastardo? Do we need to do something about it?”

  Lucy shook her head. “It’s not…. It’s not him. At least, I don’t think so. But the tobacco spirit and all the rest? Changed something in me. It’s affecting my psychometry, and I haven’t been able to figure out what it means yet.”

  Alejandro gave her a look, but sat back anyway, picking up a piece of cheese and popping it into his mouth.

  Raquel shrugged and looked at Brenda.

  Brenda pointed a beringed finger at Lucy. “This isn’t over. We have to discuss this. If you don’t want to do it right now, make an appointment with me or Raquel. We can’t have rogue magic taking over the coven.”

  Lucy snorted. “It’s not exactly taking over, but okay. I will.”

  “Stop hiding from us, girl,” Raquel said, giving Lucy’s leg a squeeze.

  Lucy nodded, and reached out toward Selene, who still clutched the glass of lemonade. Selene startled, then offered her the glass. Lucy took a deep drink. It felt so good going down.

  No matter what weird shit was going down, or what hell some people were living in, drinking lemonade in her friend’s garden reminded Lucy that she was alive.

  And for some reason, today? That felt really important.

  But the itching in her hand made her think the nice moment wouldn’t last. Something else was coming.

  Something big.

  8

  Jack

  Jack stepped out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel so threadbare even he had to admit it was time to turn it into rags. It was just the way Jack was. Sure, he liked nice things, and the once thick and fluffy teal towel had once been nice. But once he had a nice thing, it just became a thing that was useful.

  Until it wasn’t anymore.

  With a pang, he realized he was that way with people, too. It was no wonder he had no really close friends left. Or that he’d blown it with Lucy. Oh sure, he had friends to drink an occasional beer with, or to work on projects with, but he didn’t have anyone to actually share his shit with. And if it wasn’t for a couple of former MPORG bros who called him up for the latest blockbuster, he wouldn’t even have any go-to-the-movies friends.

  Maybe it was time for that to change.

  But how?

  Shaking his head, Jack threw the ratty towel into the corner of the white-tiled room. He swiped a hand across the half-fogged mirror and stared. The eyes looking back at him, ordinary light brown, set in an ordinary face, revealed nothing.

  “And that’s the problem, dude. Isn’t it?” His friends always joked that he played his cards close to his vest. He replied that he’d never worn a vest in his life.

  Today? All of that just made him feel stupid and a little bit sad. It was a sign of his current state of discomfort that he had actually considered going for a jog. A strange influx of energy had been stopping and starting inside of him, leaving him agitated. He felt desperate enough for something—anything—to crack through his routine and disperse whatever the weird feeling was, he might just give it a try.

  Tomorrow. He’d get up super early, before the day heated up, and get some exercise. Maybe.

  Jack’s phone buzzed from the toilet tank. He glanced down at the text. Lucy. She was running late, but Suco would be on the job. That was good. He wasn’t prepared to deal with her anyway.

  Not after…everything. And not in the middle of whatever the hell soul searching he’d woken up determined to do and was now trying to avoid. Besides, he was still trying to parse the weird shit Alejandro had laid on him until late into the night over more beer.

  It was way more woo than Jack was prepared for, even though yes, he had asked for the witch’s help. Alejandro had gone into some mystic state and started waxing poetic about the patterns in the universe and every drop holding the whole ocean, and everything on earth being made of garbage and stars.

  If the glow in Alejandro’s eyes hadn’t been so damn spooky, Jack would have laughed. It was ridiculous, and he felt no closer to cracking the riddle he’d first seen splashed across Lucy’s face.

  He padded naked to his bedroom across the hall. He’d indulged in a king size contemporary walnut bed and matching dresser after he’d paid off his final debts. He’d also painted the walls a soothing pale blue that Lucy was still trying to talk him out of. Slamming drawers open and shut, he threw on clean underwear, jeans, and a faded Captain America T-shirt, then shoved his feet into his grey wool slippers and headed to his office.

  After Alejandro had left, he’d spent an hour scanning the image into his computer and then printing it out into ten sections, which he taped onto the whiteboard that took up one wall. The 8.5 x 11 pages didn’t form a seamless whole, but it was as good as he was going to get unless he decided to spring for a poster.

  Jack stared at the colored blocks of paper. In the morning light, it really wasn’t good enough. His printer had flattened the whole thing, making it even less a representation of the original painting than the glossy print in the book had.

  “Shit.”
Back to square one, then. Which was practically nothing.

  Nothing.

  Something Alejandro had said…

  “If there was a beginning, which we’re not sure of, everything would have started with zero.”

  “I thought everything started with Big Daddy One.”

  “Not if you were a smart Arab mathematician and invented the cipher to represent the void before differentiation. The zero is the circle. The egg. It is all possibility. The non-dual that existed before either one or two.”

  The night before, Jack had felt those words trip around the edges of his brain. They were tripping there still. Barely coherent thoughts, dancing in a wheel around his mind.

  “So, if zero exists before one or two, why is binary code made up of zeros and ones?” He’d asked Alejandro that the night before, too, and the answer still made no sense at all. Some stuff about math, and zero coming from the void, but in magic, dualism was born of zero, and annihilated into zero, so there was no one.

  “Whatever the fuck that means,” he muttered as he ripped the inadequate pieces of paper from the wall, picked up a red marker, and began to draw on the whiteboard in the corner of the room.

  Faster and faster, he drew. Zeros and ones, ones and zeros, dancing in rings around a vast, empty white orb. A circle of nothingness. A formless place that only other things gave form to.

  Dammit! There was something there. But it wasn’t there. It was nowhere.

  It was…

  His phone buzzed and he dropped the pen, hearing it roll slowly across the wooden floorboards until it hitched up against a wheel of the rolling tall stool.

  “What the hell is happening to me?”

  Looking down at his phone, he realized he was sweating. Damn air-conditioner… But he heard it. Felt it. The AC still whirred plenty of cold air into the room. It was him. It was just him.

  There was another text from Lucy. She’d be en route by lunchtime and planned to swing by Raquel’s café to pick up lunch for her and Suco. Did she want him to bring coffee? A pastry or panini?