By Wind

by T Thorn Coyle

  Give her some privacy, Brenda, she thought, and turned to warm the pot, swirling hot water around it before dumping it back out into the small sink. She took her time measuring the tea into the mesh strainer that fit snugly in the blue ceramic pot, put everything onto a tray, and carried it to the table.

  The ways of magic sometimes required charging in, working one’s will in one decisive moment. But getting to that point required training. And training required patience.

  Brenda had patience in spades.

  Caroline still hadn’t spoken. She clutched the gem, eyes open and staring at the quilted banner that represented Air on the east wall.

  Setting the tea things out on the table, Brenda swept her tunic and skirts beneath her thighs and sat. She was used to sitting quietly. That was often the best way to draw people out, she’d found. Some needed questions; some needed a distraction; others, though? Just needed space and time.

  She had a feeling Caroline didn’t have anyone who allowed her to come to things at her own pace. At least, not for a long time.

  When the tea had steeped long enough, she poured, and finally broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt,” she said.

  Caroline just nodded, finally releasing the gem. It was an amethyst point, very high quality, in a simple silver setting. Brenda could see why she’d been clutching it. One of the qualities of amethyst was to help with emotional states.

  “How did you know?”

  Brenda smiled, and handed her a cup of the fragrant tea. “I am a professional psychic,” she said gently. “But mostly? It’s all over your face.”

  :Tell her that if she stays with you, her life will feel safe again.:

  Brenda almost reeled with longing at the words. This voice, whatever it was, whomever it was, was either very wise, or a master manipulator.

  Or both, she thought. It knew just what Brenda wanted, which really bugged her. No way was she telling this woman that she was the answer to her problems. As if. Brenda couldn’t even keep herself safe these days. How was she going to protect this woman from whatever was dogging her heels?

  Oh, Brenda could see that well enough. A shadow trailed behind this woman’s aura, reaching for her like a malevolent fog.

  Caroline sipped at her tea, delicate fingers wrapped around the teacup, brow furrowed.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “My intention when I walked through the door wasn’t to lay my burdens on you. I really did just think I’d waltz in, introduce myself, make an appointment to show you some stock, and go get an early dinner.”

  Caroline met Brenda’s eyes then. “But it seems that meeting you has thrown me off a little. Or maybe its just the exhaustion from the drive.”

  :Tell her.:

  Brenda inhaled, willing air into her lungs, willing her muscles to relax again. What has happened to you?—she chastised herself—you’re supposed to be the mighty witch, the one people come to for help. And you’re acting like a teenager or something.

  But there was no helping it. Whatever strangeness had surrounded Brenda these past few days seemed to be deepening. And the stronger it got, the more her confusion grew. For the first time in over a decade, Brenda felt well and truly out of her element.

  :Tell her.:

  She drank some tea, took a breath, and spoke. “This is likely going to sound strange. But I’ve been told…”

  The air grew thick with expectation. Waiting. Caroline stared at her with those sad eyes, tea cup arrested in midair, eyes trained on Brenda’s face.

  “There’s no way to say this that will make it sound any better. So…the message is that if you stay here, in Portland, your life will start to feel safe again.”

  Cheater, she thought. But Goddess knew there was no way she was going to announce that this woman was going to find safety with her. That was what every charlatan and cult leader told prospective followers.

  Or that was what a romance-besotted, desperate person told the one they were desperate to hold on to.

  It’s also what abusers tell their victims, her own mind said. Right. And this woman had some of the hallmarks of that, didn’t she? Brenda could see them now.

  She risked sliding her hand across the table. Caroline, head down, saw the offer and slid her own hand across. She squeezed Brenda’s fingers, just for a moment, before picking up her tea again and clearing her throat.

  “Does this happen often?” the woman asked.

  Brenda coughed and drank more tea.

  “What do you mean?”

  Brenda hadn’t dated in four years, and hadn’t felt this level of attraction to anyone in even longer. She really didn’t want to blow it here. Not that she even knew who this woman was, or how long she was going to stay.

  “People coming through your door, needing help. Do you give everyone a cup of tea, sit them down, and tell them the truth about themselves?”

  “Only sometimes.” Brenda smiled. “Only the ones that want to hear it.”

  Then why have you lied to her already?

  Because she was afraid. Because, out of all the strangeness, the throwing up, the voices, the light…seeing Caroline walk through that curtain felt like the most significant thing of all. And it felt personal.

  Too personal.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. No one owes a relative stranger their story. But I can also tell you that if you want to talk about it to anyone, I’m happy to be the person you tell it to.”

  “I have a confession to make….”

  Brenda felt a flutter beneath her breastbone. Her moonstone pendant felt warm above her tunic.

  “When I first came through the door, I thought you were an angel.”

  That shocked a laugh from Brenda’s throat. “A what?” She practically shrieked the words.

  “An angel. I’m serious. You still look like one to me. It flickers in and out.” She looked thoughtful. “Like an old film reel, or a double negative photograph.”

  “That’s…very nice of you to say, since I happen to know I look sick as a dog.”

  Caroline frowned and shook her head. “Really? No. Oh, that’s right, your co-worker said something about you being in quarantine. I forgot. But you don’t. Not at all.”

  Brenda knew what she’d seen in the mirror that morning. A woman who had just heaved her guts into the toilet, and still looked touched by the Gods.

  What in all the worlds is happening to me?

  And what had brought this woman here?

  “But to me?” Caroline shook her head again, rippling her dark hair over her shoulders. “You still look like an angel.”

  8

  Caroline

  Caroline stood on the porch of a pale linden-green foursquare farmhouse. The broad porch planks were painted brick red to match the door. The porch support beams were a lovely shade of creamy white.

  She exhaled. The air in Portland was soft against her skin. It felt good here, as though maybe, just maybe, she could relax.

  Pressing the brass doorbell, she waited.

  An insistent, muffled buzzing came from her purse, snapping all of her tension back into place, hunching up her shoulders, and bringing back the queasy feeling in her stomach that had become too much a part of her life in the past few years.

  Caroline had needed the GPS to find Sydney’s home, but was regretting turning the phone back on already.

  She ignored the buzzing. If it was a client, she could call them back. If it was Rafe? He could go to hell.

  Or he could find you and kill you.

  She shoved that thought down, deep into the depths of herself, and clutched at the amethyst tip resting on her breastbone. A shard of the good part of her life that Rafe hadn’t managed to break.

  “Caroline!” The four-panel door swung open, revealing a lanky white woman in faded jeans, with red wool socks on her feet. A shock of prematurely gray, short hair crowned her narrow face. Sydney’s bright green eyes were framed by huge green-rimmed
glasses and she wore a loose purple sweater over a white shirt. Always colorful, Sydney was.

  Caroline had forgotten how much she missed her friend.

  Sydney swept her into a huge hug. It felt like being surrounded by sunshine and warm flannel, and always had. Some of the tension receded.

  “Where’s your suitcase?”

  Caroline pointed behind her on the broad porch, and Sydney grabbed the small roller bag and gestured her through the door.

  So many doorways today. So many kinds of welcome…

  “Wow. This place is amazing.”

  And it was. Polished, dark wood staircase. Polished wood floors. Eggshell-blue walls above dark wood wainscoting. Oil paintings. Carvings. Stained glass lampshades.

  “Come on through.”

  Sydney led her through a wood framed doorway into a double parlor with burgundy walls and a box beam ceiling. A fireplace in the living room portion was flanked by two large windows, currently covered with royal blue drapes.

  The second parlor was being used as a dining room. There was wood everywhere. Books. Art. Flowers. Rugs.

  “Dan! Come on out and meet Caroline!”

  Dan was huge. Taller than Sydney, with large shoulders encased by an untucked, unbuttoned, plaid flannel shirt over jeans. A white T-shirt showed that he also had a substantial belly. He was handsome and carried himself with ease. Brown hair trailed down to graze his collar, and a neat beard graced his pale brown face.

  In his right hand was a wooden sauce spoon, with some sort of delicious-smelling tomato gravy around the rim. At his heels was a grinning yellow Labrador retriever.

  “I’d shake your hand, but I’m in the middle of cooking. Hope you like chicken cacciatore, ’cuz that’s what’s on the menu.”

  “It smells delicious.” She crouched down, dropping her purse from her shoulder and onto a dining room chair. “And who’s this?”

  “That’s Bella, bella, dressed in yella.”

  “Hi Bella. You’re a pretty girl.” The dog walked toward her outstretched hand, toenails clicking on the wood floor, tongue lolling happily from her mouth. Her fur was soft as corn silk. Caroline felt the sudden urge to curl up on the floor with the dog.

  “Well, welcome to our home, but I need to get back to cooking. Why don’t you two come keep me company? Open a bottle of wine, lover?”

  As soon as Dan walked back into the kitchen, Bella followed.

  “Do you need to wash up or anything?”

  “Just my hands. Should I put my suitcase somewhere?”

  Sydney shook her head. “Leave it for now. We’ll get you settled later. Come on through to the kitchen. You can wash your hands in the sink.”

  The kitchen was as beautiful as the rest of the house. Glass-front dark wood cabinets. A large island with a stove and chopping surface sat in the middle of the kitchen, with four padded stools at the counter portion opposite the stove.

  “This house is truly amazing. How in the world did you afford it?”

  Dan laughed. “That’s all Sydney. She’s the moneymaker of the family. I’m just the fix-it guy.”

  “He’s modest. This place was a wreck when we bought it, which is part of why it was cheap. Dan’s the one who turned it into a showcase. Plus, real estate up here is still half the cost of where you are.”

  “It’s rising, though,” Dan said, chopping bell peppers for salad. “A lot of people feeling the pinch right now.”

  “True enough. We’re very fortunate,” Sydney said, looking through a wine rack.

  By the time Caroline had washed and dried her hands, there was a glass of pinot noir for her, sitting in front of a stool at the island counter. She took a sip, rolled it across her tongue, and sighed.

  “Is that your phone?” Sydney asked.

  Sure enough, a muffled buzzing carried through from the sitting room. Damn it.

  “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “I’ll just let it go to voicemail.”

  “You sure about that?” Sydney raised an eyebrow. “Won’t your husband be worried? I always text Dan when I’m away on business, to let him know when I’ve arrived somewhere.”

  Caroline didn’t say anything. She just sat there at the counter, fingers wrapped around the bowl of her wineglass, jaw clenched.

  Damn it. One night. That was all she’d been hoping for. One night to get her mind clear. Of Rafe. Of their marriage, and whether or not she actually had the courage to leave.

  And if she did, what would her life become? Where would she live? What about her business?

  And frankly, she even needed to clear her head about that woman, Brenda. Meeting her had been uncanny. One part of Caroline wanted to spend as much time with the woman as she could, and the other part of her felt way too exposed.

  Plus, she found her really attractive. That kind of freaked Caroline out, too. Sure, she’d been attracted to women before, but only in passing. And she hadn’t kissed a girl since high school. Not since Jenny Lynn.

  Dan faced her across the kitchen island. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Caroline raked her fingers through her hair, sweeping the rubber band off and undoing the heavy ponytail in the process. She shoved the hair band into the pocket of her jeans.

  “What isn’t wrong?” She took a deep drink from her glass, and blinked away a sudden rush of moisture in her eyes. “I’m sorry. My life’s a mess and I think I’m only just now realizing it. I’m not sure how I got here, and have no freaking idea how to get out. Didn’t mean to show up on your doorstep and fall apart.”

  “But that’s why you came.” Sydney place a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve known things were wrong for a long time, girl. And while I’m sorry it’s taken you so long to figure it out, I’m glad you finally have.”

  “You have?”

  Sydney nodded, and drank her wine. “You stopped calling me, Caroline. And the few times we did talk…you didn’t exactly sound like yourself anymore.”

  Well, damn.

  “What do I do?”

  “You stay here, drink wine, eat this amazingly delicious dinner I’ve prepared, and tell us your story,” Dan said.

  The phone buzzed again. Just once. He’d left a message.

  “So. What’s going on with the phone?” Sydney asked.

  “Rafe. He’s been calling ever since I left Reno. Mostly, I’ve left the phone off.”

  “Reno? I thought you drove up from the gem show in Vegas.”

  Caroline looked into the purple-tinged liquid in her glass, as though something was going to reveal itself there.

  “I was. But I told Rafe I had more meetings in Vegas. I was going to spend the night in Reno,” she whispered. “But he tracked me there.”

  “What do you mean?” Dan’s voice was quiet, hard.

  She looked up. Looked from Sydney’s green eyes behind those ridiculously bright green frames, and into Dan’s golden brown, suddenly serious eyes.

  “There was a tracker on my Jeep. He put it in the spare tire. I found it. Smashed it. Then I called you.” She looked at Sydney, whose mouth wasn’t smiling anymore. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this to your door.”

  “The hell you shouldn’t have,” Dan replied.

  Sydney pulled her in for another hug. “You did the right thing, coming here. That husband of yours sounds like a controlling bastard. And if I find out he ever hit you, he’s dead.”

  For some reason, that made Caroline feel a lot better.

  “Thanks, you two. It means a lot. I mean, I’ve been a crappy friend all these years, and then just show up here…”

  Dan poured more wine into all three glasses on the counter. “We have a huge home just for this reason. Well, that, and it’s a kick-ass house. But you stay here as long as you want or need to. And if your husband comes around, I won’t keep Sydney from ripping out his throat.”

  Caroline laughed. “That sounds good.”

  The phone started buzzing again. It hadn’t even been thirty minutes since the last ca
ll. Sydney jumped up and brought the buzzing purse into the kitchen, holding it out to Caroline.

  “Answer it, turn it off, or smash it into bits. Your choice. But it can’t be buzzing here all night long. Dan hates anything that interrupts dinner.”

  Caroline pulled the phone off and powered it all the way down.

  “That was my second choice,” Sydney said. “But I guess it’ll do for now. Dinner ready, lover?”

  “Grab the plates.”

  Caroline exhaled, and threw the phone back in her bag.

  Please, she thought, let everything be okay. Please. Let everything be okay.

  Nothing felt okay.

  9

  Brenda

  Brenda was ensconced on the red sofa in Raquel’s living room. Next to her own place, this was Brenda’s favorite place to sit and relax. There wasn’t a fire in the grate tonight, because the week had been so warm, but the space was homey and smelled good all the same.

  Other coven members were scattered on the couch, and in Raquel’s matching cozy arm chairs. Alejandro, the coven sigil and numbers guy, sat in a heavy rocking chair, dressed sharply as always.

  Brenda liked Alejandro. She liked everyone in the coven, but Raquel was her best friend. They’d founded Arrow and Crescent together. She was a gorgeous Black woman with dreadlocks that flowed down her back, a warm voice, high cheekbones, and a ready smile. She was tucked up on the other side of the red couch, jeans-clad legs crossed beneath her, saying goodnight to her son.

  Raquel knew Brenda more deeply than anyone, and loved her all the same.

  “Give me a kiss, baby,” Raquel said to Zion. “And don’t stay up too late reading or watching videos. Ten o’clock, okay?”

  “Yeah, Momma. No problem.”

  Zion was a sweet kid, thirteen years old, smart, sensitive, and growing more handsome every day. He was already worlds apart from the young boy portrayed in the oil painting that hung above the fireplace. In the painting, he was around five years old, running, arms outstretched, mouth open in a laugh, with the orange and golden yellow rays of the sun behind him. A more fitting image of The Sun Tarot card, Brenda hadn’t seen.