By Wind

by T Thorn Coyle

  There was no way she could refuse the paper without giving offense, so she took it. She was going to have to train herself to not care about offending people, Caroline supposed. But perhaps today was not that day.

  “Thanks.”

  The flier looked as off as the woman who had it made. “The winds of change will blow your house down!” it read in large bold letters across the longer side. “The halls of justice are the halls of shame,” the next line read. Then the type grew smaller. Caroline skimmed it. It looked like some treatise on the incompetence of the local police and court systems. Caroline had no idea why the woman thought she would be interested.

  She noticed that her pendant had grown warm against her chest again. She grasped it between her thumb two fingers.

  Michael? she thought. What’s going on?

  She realize the woman was still talking to her, voice pitched low.

  “…and if you’re interested, I’ve been doing magic about this. The cops, the courts, none of them were any help in my daughter’s case. So I’ve been taking justice into my own hands.”

  “How are you doing that?” The words were out of Caroline’s mouth before she could call them back. Great, Caroline, now you have this unhinged woman talking to you about magic. This is the last thing you need.

  The woman leaned in closer. Carolyn caught an old cigarette scent from her red–and-black sweater coat. That was funny, who even smoked anymore? Sharon smelled of menthol, like the stuff your mother rubbed on your chest when you had a cough. The combination of that with the stale cigarette smell was making Caroline feel queasy. All of a sudden, she was back in the car with Rafe pinning her to the seat, breathing into her mouth.

  Her heartbeat increased its tempo. She was starting to sweat.

  And she really didn’t want to be here anymore.

  “So I’ve been haunting them.”

  Haunting them? What the hell did that mean?

  The woman’s eyes really looked wild now. They sparked and flashed. Her tongue darted out, just for an instance, then was gone again. “I sent voices into their heads. You can help me. I know you can. You have him, he’s very strong. He can help us too.”

  Caroline realized the woman was pointing to her Archangel Michael medal. No, she thought. Not him. You can’t have him.

  Clutching the flyer in her hand, Caroline gathered up her own slim black bag, grabbed her coat from the back of the hard plastic chair, and stood.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t feel very well all of a sudden. I think I need to leave.” Caroline fled through the church doors, back out into the lightly falling rain.

  She needed to see Brenda. She needed to see her now.

  25

  Brenda

  Brenda was closing up the shop. Tempest was already gone—she’d had a lot of massage clients booked for the afternoon.

  Brenda was fortunate that her coven mate was able to staff the Inner Eye at all, and that it worked with her schedule. Brenda didn’t mind being alone in the shop. She actually liked it.

  Except on weekends, the shop was generally just busy enough to keep the business in the black, but not so busy that one person couldn’t handle things on their own. She kept hoping to be able to hire someone else, but it hadn’t worked out so far.

  She was re-shelving some books, and the shop was actually empty for the first time all day. Her thoughts were on the judge. And the police chief. And the random customer, weeping in the book section, wanting to kill herself.

  All of them hearing voices, telling them seriously bad things.

  Brenda barely noticed the violin piping through the shop, except that she was glad for the music. Lindsay Sterling, Tempest had said it was. The bells over the door chimed, and then clanged as the door shut again. Damn. She’d hoped to get out of here before seeing anyone else. After dealing with that judge, she needed time to think. And maybe consult with Raquel.

  Brenda set her stack of books back onto the low table between the two comfortable reading chairs. It was the young man, the one who would come in asking about Palo Santo and then run off. The one the Voice had told her carried light, and needed protection.

  His windbreaker had given way to an army duffle coat, with a fake-fur-lined hood. The Chuck Taylors were replaced by purple Doc Marten boots.

  “Welcome back,” she said. He looked a little sheepish at that, but smiled.

  “Yeah,” he drawled out, “think I got a little spooked. But something told me I needed to talk to you.”

  “Come have a seat while I re-shelve these books.”

  “I can help if you like,” the young man said

  There was a tingling around Brenda’s head, and a flash of light. Whether it was the young man or the angel, she had a good feeling about this one. There was something about him. Whether he was a psychic like her, or an empath, or just had a propensity toward magic, she was glad he had returned.

  She caught a wave of relief, mingled with worry. Empath, then. He likely caught as well as projected emotions. He definitely needed to work on that if he was going to survive in this world.

  He took off his jacket and draped it over one of the chairs, careful to keep the rainy side off the upholstery. A green cardigan with leather elbow patches topped today’s T-shirt. Unlocking the Truth, the shirt said. If that was a band, Brenda had never heard of them, but she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the name.

  “It should be pretty self-explanatory, but if you run into trouble, just ask me where they go.” Brenda put a small stack of books into his waiting arms. “So, what brings you here on this drizzly night?”

  “After I left the other day,” he said, “what you said stayed with me. But more than that, it was the feeling I got when I was here.”

  They shelved books in silence for a moment, accompanied by the sound the rain, the violin, and cars shushing by. Two women’s voices laughing together, rose and fell as they headed down the sidewalk, likely headed towards dinner.

  “Those voices,” he said.

  Brenda paused for a moment. Waiting. He hadn’t mentioned voices the last time he was here. What in the world was going on?

  He looked at her, then down at the books in his arms, and then across the shop floor.

  “What about the voices?” Brenda asked. “And what’s your name?” She needed to tread carefully here, but she also needed to know what the boy’s experience was and whether or not he knew anything.

  “Lawrence,” he said. “And I need help. They’re not going away, no matter what I do. I wanted the Palo Santo for cleansing. As a matter of fact, the voices seem to be getting worse. And they’re sounding kind of crazy.”

  “Crazy how? And my name’s Brenda, by the way.”

  “Crazy like…like they’re telling me to kill myself. They’re telling me I should be ashamed of myself. I should be punished. Those sorts of things.”

  “Goddess, that sounds terrible. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Looking at the young man’s aura, Brenda wouldn’t think he would be hearing things like that. Not that you ever knew what was going on inside of people, but Lawrence seemed clear. Clean. Stable.

  “Thing is, though, I feel like these voices aren’t meant for me. Like they’re not mine. You know what I mean?”

  Brenda slid a Lon Milo DuQuette book onto the Kabbalah shelf, just past Rabbi David Cooper.

  “You mean, as if someone else is sending them to you?” That sounded strange. Sendings like that were not unheard of, but not usual, either.

  “Yeah, it’s like…like someone’s trying to drive me crazy. I mean, I’ve never felt like I wanted to kill myself. Sure, I’m upset or disappointed sometimes. Even pissed off at myself. But this?” He knelt down and pushed two books aside to insert another into its rightful place. The violin crescendoed, then fell silent for a moment, before new tune began.

  “Let’s sit for a while,” Brenda said. There were only a few books left to shelve anyway, and Brenda needed to concentrate. Lawrence sat across from he
r and waited, hands on his thighs. She could smell damp denim and the sage Tempest had burned earlier in the day.

  “I’m going to tell you something that might sound a little strange,” Brenda said.

  Lawrence smiled and shook his head. “You mean, like I didn’t already come in here spouting some strange stuff?”

  “Point taken. You’re not the only one who’s coming here, saying that voices are telling them strange things. People have been having dreams lately. Disturbing dreams. And voices accusing them of all sorts of things.”

  “You mean, you think someone’s doing something to more than just me?”

  “I have no idea yet,” Brenda said. “All I know is that it’s starting to look an awful lot like a pattern. And I aim to get to the bottom of it.”

  Lawrence stood, picked up another book, looked at the cover, slid it into place on the ceremonial magic shelf.

  “Can you teach me?” he said, his back to her, his shoulders very still. She knew it was an important question. She could feel his emotions, longing, hopeful, waiting.

  “Teach you what?” He had to ask. He had to be specific.

  He turned back toward her. “Teach me how to protect myself. Teach me how to do what you do. I want to learn. I’ve gotta protect my mind.”

  He sat back down again and leaned towards her, eyes intent. “You see, I got stuff I want to do with my life. Life is hard enough right now without someone sending voices into my head, telling me to kill myself. I want them gone. Can you help me?”

  There it was again, that flickering inside of him. His magic. Brenda felt something like it every time someone came to her who was meant to be her student, her apprentice. She thought the coven was enough, that she wouldn’t have to train anyone for a while

  She guessed the Goddess had other ideas.

  Okay Diana, she said. Orders received.

  “If I take you on, it’ll be a lot of work. You’ll have to meditate every day, you’ll have to learn to still your mind. You’ll have to do a lot of things before we even get to some of the protections you’re going to want or need. But meantime, if you agree, I’ll give you some things to do to quiet the voices down.”

  Lawrence looked relieved. “Thank you.”

  “But I’ll tell you one thing: along with learning to protect your mind, you’re going to have to learn to be careful with that heart of yours.”

  He looked puzzled and tilted his head to the side. “What you mean?”

  “You’re an empath,” Brenda said. “And you are telegraphing all over the place.”

  Brenda heard her phone ringing from the office. Damn. She stood again.

  “Okay then,” Lawrence said. “What do I have to do?”

  “First thing is to take that Palo Santo you refused when you are in here the other day. Burn it around your bedroom to clear the space, and then draw a circle with it around your bed. Then before you go to sleep, and when you wake up in the morning, I want you to learn to count your breath. That’s the first step toward calming your mind.”

  “I’ll do whatever you need.”

  She knew she had to get to the phone. It had already stopped ringing, but it had pinged inside her aura. She didn’t have time to start this young man’s training right now.

  She looked down at the table, at the one remaining book. It was a book on basic magical practice, and it would do.

  Picking it up, she handed it to him. “Start with this. And come back in tomorrow.”

  A vision filled her head. She knew what to do then, about tracking down the source of the voices, but didn’t want to. I can’t put him at risk! she argued.

  :Give him the choice and his own destiny will unfold.:

  Damn it.

  The young man was putting his jacket back on, tugging at the sleeves.

  “Lawrence?”

  He paused. “Yeah?”

  “Would you be willing to be a guinea pig? Magically?”

  “Whoa,” he said, then fell silent. Brenda didn’t say anything more. His choice.

  “You gonna give me any more information than that?”

  Relief filled her. She could read the energy around him. Courage. And acceptance. If he was needed, he would help.

  :Guardian.:

  “You’re a guardian, did you know that?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. But it’s okay if you don’t want to admit it yet. But you’ve got that spirit about you. And my idea is only half-formed at this point, but if you are willing, I think you can act as a goad, or a lure, to whomever or whatever is haunting all these people.”

  He sat back down, heavily, onto one of the chairs. “You mean, all this shit is really real?”

  She didn’t answer, just sat down herself again. She really needed to see who had called her, but this was more important.

  “Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to believe. So yeah, if you’ll agree to train me, I’ll do whatever you need, as long as you promise me I’ll be safe.”

  Brenda shook her head, sadly. “When it comes to magic, we can never promise anyone safety, Lawrence, but I can promise that my coven and I will do our utmost best to keep you as safe as we can.”

  He shrugged. “Makes sense to me. What do I gotta do?”

  “Tell you what, let me talk with my coven, to see if my idea even has any merit, and then I’ll call you. Okay?”

  He held out his right hand. They shook.

  “Okay.”

  26

  Caroline

  Caroline pulled the door open and pushed her way past a heavy velvet curtain. Very nice. The Ruby Lounge was beautiful. Red-and-amber glass lampshades cast warm pools of light down the long, narrow room, spilling across dark wooden benches and floors. Murals painted on wood panels lined each wall, one of fish swimming in an elaborate pond, the other, cranes flying over hills. The paintings framed the smiling faces of people out enjoying a quick meal or drink.

  Under the murals, each wall had a long bench with small, two top tables in a row, each with a padded wooden chair on the other side. Some of the tables were shoved together for larger parties.

  The bar itself was a curl of walnut near the back of the room, near low leather couches arranged in small groupings.

  She didn’t recognize the music playing—something with a heavy bass, vocals, and electronics—but unlike in some bars and restaurants, it was turned low enough that people could hear each other’s conversations. Feeling a touch on her shoulder, she turned.

  “Caroline,” Brenda said, eyes sweeping over her face. She smelled of tuber roses and cold air. A new perfume.

  “Brenda,” Caroline replied. She found that she was smiling. Her joy at seeing Brenda standing there eclipsed the pain and trauma of the past few days. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice. I needed to talk with someone, and Sydney and Dan have had enough weirdness to deal with from me already. I figured they could use a night off.”

  Brenda gave her a quick hug, brushing a kiss lightly across her lips. It was too quick. Caroline pulled her in again, deepening the kiss. She felt Brenda relax, lips softening, before Caroline let go again.

  “I’m glad you called,” Brenda said, as a host approached them, menus in hand.

  “Table for two?” he asked. “Or would you rather sit at the bar?”

  “A table would be nice,” Brenda replied.

  Once they were settled, coats off, and drinks ordered, food menus in hand, Brenda turned her gaze on Caroline again. A small fluttering started up in Caroline’s stomach. Attraction. Lust. Maybe even the early stirrings of love.

  Had she ever felt this way with Rafe? She couldn’t recall.

  Brenda set down her menu just as the server, a petite Black woman with her hair in box braids, returned with their drinks. A martini for Caroline and a glass of Pinot Noir for Brenda. They placed their food orders and then Brenda raised her glass for a toast.

  “To all the gifts of life.”
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  Caroline gave a harsh laugh at that, but clinked her glass anyway. “To life.”

  The martini was good, with just a little bit of a bite. Caroline needed to calm down. Despite Brenda’s soothing presence, she still felt rattled by what it happened at the support group. In the space of a week, she’d gone from feeling strong—free, even—to terrified, then hopeful, then freaked out. It was an ongoing, neverending loop. A spiral of emotions.

  Brenda looked at her over the edge of her wine glass, light glinting off her jewelry and those all-knowing eyes that saw way too much.

  That’s what you get for hanging around with psychics, Caroline thought.

  A tendril of dark hair brushed past Brenda’s cheek and fell gently to her collarbone. The moonstone around her neck winked in the light of the votive candle in the center of their table. Caroline was stalling. She took another drink of her Sapphire martini. Sapphire martini in the Ruby Lounge, she thought. Yeah, definitely stalling.

  A small crease appeared between Brenda’s eyebrows. “Caroline, you sounded pretty desperate when you called, and not just for a date with me. Not that I don’t appreciate sitting here staring at your lovely face, but I think you needed to talk about something. Isn’t that right?”

  Caroline sighed and set down her martini glass. She toyed with the long toothpick sticking through two fat green olives and what looked like pickled okra.

  “You’re right. Though I also wanted a date with you. It’s really good to see you.” She gave Brenda a small smile, then exhaled in a sigh. “I went to that support group meeting this afternoon.”

  “Oh? How was it?”

  “I left before it started. There was a woman there…. Her name was Sharon. She was kind of crazy, although I’m not sure whether it was actual mental illness or…”

  How in the world was she supposed to talk about this?

  “Not sure whether it was actual mental illness, or what?”

  “She said she’d been doing some sort of strange magic. Trying to get revenge. She wanted me to join her.”