“I love that shop! Joshua is a sweet, sweet man. Has a good business head, too.”
Caroline took her hands back and reached for the medal, tilting it towards Brenda so the other woman could see the raised image on the silver, sword crossing wing.
Caroline swore Brenda blanched two shades paler than usual. The cranberry lips and those blue, blue eyes stood out on the stark white face.
“Michael?” Brenda whispered, then looked into Caroline’s eyes. “Is that the Archangel Michael?”
“It is.” She wondered why Brenda was reacting that way. Almost as if she’d seen a ghost. That was a weird reaction for a woman who clearly had some sort of angelic presence around her.
A cheerful young Asian man with a shaved head and arms covered with tattoos set two heaping plates of delicious smelling food down on their table.
“Here’s your curried vegetables over yam noodles, and the cashew and squash enchiladas.”
“Thank you,” Caroline said. “It smells wonderful.”
“Bon appétit!” he said, and walked away, grabbing some empty dishes from the next table over.
Brenda was still staring at her, looking at the medal.
“Now it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay,” Caroline said.
Brenda shook herself, then picked up her fork. “I’m fine. I just…there seem to be a lot of angels around lately. And something weird happened in the park.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
“Angels are good, right?” Caroline finally said. “This one seemed to help me today. With talking to Rafe. Though I’m pretty pissed off he keeps calling. And you know, he put a tracker on my car. Did I tell you that?”
Brenda sipped her own drink, some fizzy, gingery concoction. She shook her dark hair.
“No. That’s not good. It sounds like the behavior of a pretty controlling person.” There was that gentle tone again. As if Brenda needed to tread carefully.
“You needn’t be so diplomatic. Just because it took me all these years to figure it out, doesn’t mean that I don’t see it now. Rafe is…not a very nice man. He’s actually an asshole.”
Brenda held her gaze.
“I feel lucky that I made it out alive.”
“Let’s keep you that way,” Brenda said, raising her glass.
Caroline raised her own, clinking the wineglass against Brenda’s glass.
“To life,” Brenda said.
“To life,” Caroline replied. “As a matter of fact, to a good life.”
“Yes. Now let’s figure out how we can help you establish that, shall we? We need to keep you safe and sound. And I think my coven might be able to help you with that. Alejandro is a whiz with electronics, and we have a lot of other talents in our group.”
Caroline had to admit, she was relieved to hear it. She hadn’t expected to come to Portland, Oregon. She hadn’t expected to meet Brenda.
And she hadn’t expected that a coven of witches and the medal of an archangel might just be the very things she needed.
“I’m really glad I met you,” Caroline said.
Then she leaned across the table and brushed a kiss across Brenda’s lips. Their fingers gripped each other, just for a moment.
Then they both sat back. Caroline smiled.
“Thank you for being here for me.”
15
Brenda
It was another Loreena McKennitt day.
The sun was still out, but clouds gathered once again, puffy white mixing with light gray, and more coming, just past the other side of Mount Hood.
Brenda bet there would be rain by the weekend. Strangely though, her head was better today, proving that her ailments were spiritual, not physical, despite manifesting in the body. Sometimes it worked one direction, sometimes the other. Each system influenced every other.
“Body, mind, and soul are one,” she murmured, as her fingers separated out slim silver chains from silk cords.
She hoped the man from the park was okay. Neither she nor Raquel were exactly sure what to do with him, but Brenda had given him her card. Told him to call.
How can I help these people? She thought. Then she remembered Raquel telling her she needed to un-banish the angel. She dreaded it. Every cell in her body rejected the feel of it, the taste of it, and the unfamiliar Voice inside her head.
Why do you reject this? Brenda had to ask herself that question. Every witch did.
Her soul had no answers that day. All she knew was that she was worried. Worried about Caroline, about the people who kept crawling out of the woodwork, all hearing their own voices. Twisted voices. Voices that wished them ill.
She worked at the long glass counter, the only person working the shop today, though Tempest would be in soon. Brenda rolled her neck and shrugged her shoulders. Maybe she needed to book a massage with Tempest. The headache was better, but the tension in her body hadn’t quite gone away.
Brenda realized she hadn’t done even the most basic yoga practices in a week. That was always the way, wasn’t it? The worse you felt, the less you wanted to do the very things that might help.
Once Tempest took over, maybe she’d take a walk. Get some air. Walking helped her think, and Brenda had time before the three readings she had scheduled for the afternoon. Speaking of clients, Brenda hoped she had the wherewithal to tune in properly, or if not, that the cards would carry her through. That was how it was at times. Some days the visions were so clear they practically crackled in the air. Other days were murky. Those were the days the witch relied upon her tools.
Brenda looked around, making sure the few customers were happy. No one seemed to need any help today, which was good. She needed a break from helping people.
She went back to sorting the jewelry shipment, getting some of the pieces ready for display. This was one of her favorite parts of the job, she had to admit. Brenda was part magpie, and loved her shiny objects.
Bells over the door chimed, and in walked the chief of police, of all people. That was strange. In all her years of business, Brenda had never seen him cross the threshold. She went on high alert. It didn’t seem like this was just a shopping expedition. If it had been, he wouldn’t be in uniform, if he was caught dead in the Inner Eye at all.
Sure enough, he glanced around and headed straight for her. She set aside the jewelry she was sorting and waited. When he got close enough to the long glass counter, she spoke.
“Welcome. Chief Reynolds isn’t it?”
She was shocked he would come into the shop. Some members of Arrow and Crescent weren’t exactly favorites of the law. She wondered if he’d made the connection yet.
He took his hat off and tucked it underneath his arm. “That’s right, ma’am. You Brenda MacMillan?”
He had a strange energy about him. Not just the usual combination of wariness, anger, and protection that so many police had about them. This energy was something…darker wasn’t the right word. What was it? She softened her eyes and looked just around his shoulders and head. There it was, a swirling, red-tinged mist. It tasted of anger, sorrow, and some measure of fear.
It reminded her of the energy around the man on Mount Tabor.
The strange thing was, it didn’t feel as though the mist was emanating from him. It was as though some other entity or thought form had entered his field, and made a home there. No wonder he looked so cranky.
“What can I do for you, Chief?”
“You’re a psychic, huh?”
Brenda arched an eyebrow at that. She didn’t mind answering people’s questions, but she learned to tread carefully when they sounded belligerent or defensive. This man sounded like both.
Luckily, she was used to choosing her words. Clarity of speech was another of the witch’s tools.
“Well, everyone has some psychic ability. I’m sure you have to use intuition all the time in your job, don’t you? You couldn’t function otherwise, and probably wouldn’t have been promoted all the way to chief.”
The man
said nothing, but his mouth twisted, as though he’d just bitten down on something bitter. Some people didn’t like hearing they were anything “woo-woo” or strange. Intuition was as common a talent as the power of speech, but people still liked to pretend it wasn’t real.
“The only difference is that some of us train ourselves. It’s just like any other skill; we can get better at it over time. I’ve been doing it for years, so yes, you could say that I’m a psychic.” She smiled. “At least, that’s part of what people pay me for.”
He grunted at that, clearly unimpressed. Brenda wondered where in the world he was heading with this line of questioning. Out of all the strangeness of the week, including the Goddess-damned shaft of light or angel or whatever it was, this was edging up on the strangest.
He looked away from her, eyes not quite taking in the display of tarot cards, or the crystals, or the low cases filled with books across the room. “You know Tobias? He’s a friend of yours, right?”
Oh no. Brenda didn’t like the way this was heading at all. She turned and busied herself at the small altar set behind the counter. Picking up a lighter, she thumbed the wheel, until a flame snicked into life. She carefully set the flame against the edge of a charcoal round, holding it against the black disk until the edge began to glow. Then she placed it into the thurible, and dropped some amber chunks of frankincense and myrrh onto the charcoal. They began to melt, sending a plume of sweet smoke into the air.
“I do know Tobias, he’s a friend of mine. What did you need to know?” He’s also in my coven, as you know, but I’m not giving you any more information than I have to.
This situation needed more than frankincense and myrrh.
Brenda could practically feel the red mist bunching and coiling around the chief. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. For good measure, she reached down a jar of lavender and threw a few of the dried florets over the melting resins. The combination should serve to calm and clear the air.
“And he’s what—dating?—that Aiden person from De Porres House?”
Right. Really not good. Aiden had been one of the main instigators in stopping the police sweeps of the houseless camps in February. The chief and the mayor had not been pleased. The sweeps had stopped, anyway, and some reforms were said to be on their way.
People didn’t like it when you shifted the balance of power and they were one of the power holders. Aiden had certainly worked hard to shift the way things were going in Portland, and Tobias and the coven had been part of that. The chief of police didn’t need to know just how much a part.
“You curse people?”
Well, that came out of nowhere! Brenda coughed.
“Excuse me?”
He waved a hand around. “You know. Curses. Bad juju.”
Brenda glanced through the shop, making sure her customers still seemed content and that no one was close enough to overhear the bizarre turn the conversation had taken.
“I truly have no idea what you are talking about, Chief. I’m not in the habit of cursing people.” Though sometimes, yes, she and the coven gave people who needed it an energetic shove. But there was no way she was getting into the finer points of magical operations with the Chief of Portland Police. Not when he was questioning her.
“So you’re not actively working against the PPD?”
That stopped her in her tracks. She heard the pang of fear in his voice. Something was wrong. She made sure her voice was pitched low, so it wouldn’t carry.
“Why do you think I’m working against the police department? What exactly is going on?”
He looked around this time. Two of the customers waved and walked out the door, leaving only one person in the shop. The woman was now ensconced in one of the two comfortable reading chairs in the book area. She seemed engrossed and unlikely to eavesdrop.
“Chief?”
He wiped one of his large, wind- and sun-reddened hands across his mouth.
“I’ve been…” He shook his head, and put his cap on the counter, then leaned in close, dropping his voice so low that Brenda had to lean in, too. She smelled cinnamon on his breath, and dried sweat.
“I’ve been hearing voices. I swear it’s like someone is standing next to me, talking in my ear.”
Oh no. Here we go.
“You aren’t the only one. There…seems to be a lot of that going around lately.”
He wiped his face again. “And you got nothing to do with it?”
“I swear. Whatever is happening right now? It isn’t coming from me, or my coven, or anyone else I know.”
But she was starting to suspect she did know the source. Damn it. She was so going to give Raquel an earful about this. The coven, too. “Just accept that it’s an angel, Brenda. Don’t be suspicious.”
Yeah, well. Brenda might look like a middle-aged light-worker, but she was still a witch, dedicated to the huntress, Diana. Priestess of the moon.
The chief looked a little disappointed. He’d really wanted her to be the culprit, and the answer to his problems.
“Well, all right then. But I’m not going far. And if I do hear you’re doing any…” He waved his right hand in a circle.
“Any what, Chief Reynolds?”
“You know.” He put his hat back on his head. “Have a good day, ma’am.”
“Chief Reynolds!”
He turned back.
She lowered her voice again. “What are the voices saying?”
He grimaced. “They’re talking about being raped.”
Then he turned and walked back out the door, bells clanging behind him.
And left Brenda, still standing behind the shop counter, wreathed with incense, wondering what in Diana’s name she was going to do.
Call back the damn shaft of light?
The thought still made her feel sick.
But she knew that sometimes that just meant she was on top of a task so big it terrified her.
And that terror often meant it was just the thing she needed to do.
16
Caroline
Caroline was still getting her bearings in the new city, and had decided to walk the neighborhood near the little shopping area that held the Inner Eye and The Road Home. The trees were spectacular. Maples. Ginkgos. Tulip trees.
She supposed she would need to branch out if she decided to stay. She’d need to see what else the city had to offer. But for now, it was pleasant to walk around this beautiful neighborhood, admiring the houses, imagining herself living in one of them someday.
Maybe. She still had no idea how all of this was going to work out. It was pretty clear she would need to deal with Rafe soon, and get divorce proceedings started. If she didn’t jump on it, she knew, he would make certain she ended up with nothing.
Any way that man could punish her, he would.
Caroline wrapped her jacket around herself, doing up the snaps down the front. She had just bought the quilted blue jacket, along with a green silk scarf, from a shop off of Hawthorne street. The coat stopped halfway to her knees, and brushed at her jeans as she walked, making a friendly swishing sound.
Caroline liked the warm comfort of it, and had been assured that it was water resistant. She’d been advised by the woman who sold it to her that she’d need an outer shell to get through sustained downpours, but Caroline figured she’d see whether or not she was going to stay.
She’d take her jacket purchases one step at a time, the way she was taking this whole journey she’d been plunged into. Purse slung across her body, hands tucked into the jacket pockets, she inhaled the scent of jasmine and laurel, and the hint of coming rain.
Her stomach growled. Wondering if Brenda was free for lunch, she headed back toward Hawthorne, figuring she’d stop into Inner Eye, just in case.
“Hey! Caroline!” She recognized the voice and began walking faster. How in the hell had he found her? She’d said nothing to Rafe about her location, just that she was spending some time with an old friend while she thought things over.
At least, she’d tried to say all of that, in between his shouting.
“My phone. He must have traced my phone somehow.” She should’ve thrown it in the garbage when she smashed the tracker. “Dammit.”
She kept her head down, steering her boots towards Hawthorne. It was only two more blocks and then she’d be safe. Surrounded by people.
Car door slamming. Feet rushing up behind her. Caroline ran.
Oof. Body slammed into brick. The wind knocked from her lungs. Arms wrapped around her. Clutching. Grabbing. She whipped her body side to side, struggling, fighting.
“Rafe! Let go of me!” She kicked and scratched and heard him curse.
“I just want to talk.” One arm wrapped around her torso she clawed and bit, and then, pressure against her windpipe. He held his arm in a bar across her throat and began dragging her backward.
Carolyn wished she had screamed when she had the chance. Now it was all she could do to fight for air. He dragged her out into the street. She flailed, still kicking, her boots scraping on the tarmac.
Then he was shoving her in his car. Locking the door. Smell of leather and sour sweat.
She saw spots, and shook her head to clear it. Breath heaving in and out of her chest, she reached scrabbled at the door handle, just as he swung into the car, and shoved her backwards, slamming her head against the glass.
The locks clicked.
She could’ve sworn she heard her name in the thirty seconds his door was open. A woman’s voice. Brenda?
Rafe put the car into drive, did a three-point turn, and raced off down the street.
She scrabbled at her door again and Rafe slammed on the brakes, flinging her forward. Caroline’s head snapped forward, then back. Shit. She didn’t want to seatbelt herself in, but he was going to make her pay if she didn’t. Horns blared behind them.
“Shut up,” Rafe muttered, then clicked a handcuff on her left hand, securing the other cuff to a special I-bolt attached to the cup holder.
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