He turned back to the ofrenda.
“Thank you,” he said out loud. The ancestors remained quiet.
But he swore the picture of Alejandro Juan winked.
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Look for the final book in series: By Witch’s Mark
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By Witch’s Mark
Tempest dug a sharp elbow into a dense knot in Harry’s trapezius. Not that the softly snoring man seemed to notice. As usual, Harry was tense and exhausted. The perils of running a small non-profit, she supposed.
A random, chill lounge mix played softly from a speaker in the corner of the dimly lit treatment room, competing with the soft tick of the radiant heater. It was damn cold outside—supposed to snow later in the week—but the room was toasty. Couldn’t have the clients getting cold. Tempest appreciated it, too. She was always freezing. She had pushed the long-sleeved black shirt up on her forearms, exposing the tattoos swirling down her right arm. She’d been itching to get more ink and almost had enough saved up. Maybe she’d make an appointment soon. Give herself a solstice gift.
She felt the knot give way. Harry’s shoulder finally relaxed, descending from its spot beneath his ear.
Used to be, Tempest envied Harry’s ability to sleep, but since her recent foray into using CBD oil, her own sleep seemed to improve. Other things were shifting, too. As the constant exhaustion decreased, she noticed more subtle changes, as if her health itself might just be improving. It was too early to tell—her chronic illness had too many wild variables—but for the first time in ages, she dared to hope.
May Artemis make it so, she thought.
One thing many people didn’t know was that Artemis the Hunter was also a healing Goddess, invoked to watch over a parent giving birth.
And she was the fierce protector of children. Tempest was down with that.
Artemis was also the matron Goddess of Arrow and Crescent Coven, and Arrow and Crescent had saved her life. Well, Brenda had, really. Tempest had stumbled into the Inner Eye five years ago now, during a terrible time. She’d just left yet another foster home—not a particularly bad place, but just a place she needed to be free of for… reasons—and was looking for work and a place to crash.
Brenda took one look at Tempest, clucked, and within moments had a cup of tea in her hands and had tucked her into the little Tarot nook at the back of the store with the admonition to not move.
Tempest smiled at the memory and laid a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Time to turn over.”
He snorted with a start. “Uh. Yeah.”
She lifted the sheet up a foot or so while Harry muscled himself onto his side, then flopped on his back, and scooched himself down on the sturdy table with a big sigh.
“Damn. I swear this is the only time I sleep.”
“Then you must need a massage every day.” Tempest pumped a shot of oil into her hands and slid her hands under his back to work his trapezius from a different angle.
Harry groaned. “If I could afford the time or money, believe me, I would.”
His breathing slowed again as he drifted off.
Tempest deepened her own breathing to match the movements of her hands. She spread her bare toes on the carpet beneath the table and imagined her center of gravity sinking toward the earth. The energy work she’d learned from the coven, coupled with her massage training, were sometimes the only things that allowed her to function at all.
Her health had gotten so bad the past year, her coven members were shooting her worried looks. It worried her, too. There were days when she could barely walk around and it felt as if she was half-drowning. Her brain didn’t track and her body didn’t want to move.
CBD oil or not, if Tempest couldn’t get out of bed, she couldn’t work. And that really wasn’t good. She’d saved up two months of basic expenses—at her covenmate Alejandro’s insistence and backed up by Brenda and Raquel, who wanted her to work on saving even more. Even so, she always knew how close she was to ending up on the streets.
She had been there before, too many times. Running from crappy foster parents after the first wonderful, family had moved out of state for work and couldn’t take care of her anymore.
For years, the goodbye tears in their eyes comforted her when it was nowhere else to be found. Someone valued her. That kept her going. And then she found Brenda, and by extension, the coven. So here she was, all these years later, taking care of herself and surrounded by a small group that genuinely seemed to care.
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled and started working on one of Harry’s arms. She focused on the scent of almond oil and sent healing energy as deep into Harry’s muscles as she could. Being here in this room, doing work she loved, soothed her worries.
But they never seemed to go away.
Acknowledgments
I give thanks to the cafés of my new hometown, Portland, Oregon. All you baristas are fine human beings.
Thanks also to Leslie Claire Walker, my intrepid first reader, to Dayle Dermatis, editor extraordinaire, and to Lou Harper for my covers. Gratitude to Mark Shekoyan for yoga consultation (any liberties taken are my own) and to my writing buddies for getting me out of the house.
Speaking of house…thanks as always to Robert and Jonathan.
Big, grateful shout out to the members of the Sorcery Collective for spreading the word and to Jack for typo catching.
And last…
Thanks to all the activists and witches working your magic in the world. This series is for you.
About the Author
T. Thorn Coyle has been arrested at least four times. Buy them a cup of tea or a good whisky and they’ll tell you about it.
Author of the The Witches of Portland, the alt-history urban fantasy series The Panther Chronicles, the novel Like Water, and two story collections, her multiple non-fiction books include Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives, and Evolutionary Witchcraft.
Thorn's work appears in many anthologies, magazines, and collections. They have taught magical practice in nine countries, on four continents, and in twenty-five states.
An interloper to the Pacific Northwest U.S., Thorn stalks city streets, writes in cafes, loves live music, and talks to crows, squirrels, and trees.
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Connect with Thorn:
www.thorncoyle.com
Also by T. Thorn Coyle
Fiction Series
The Panther Chronicles
To Raise a Clenched Fist to the Sky
To Wrest Our Bodies From the Fire
To Drown This Fury in the Sea
To Stand With Power on This Ground
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The Witches of Portland, a 9 Book Series
By Earth
By Flame
By Wind
By Sea
By Moon
By Sun
By Dusk
By Dark
By Witch’s Mark
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Single Novels and Story Collections
Like Water
Alighting on His Shoulders
Break Apart the Stone
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Anthologies
Fantasy in the City
Haunted
Witches Brew
The Faerie Summer
Stars in the Darkness
Fiction River: Justice
Fiction River: Feel the Fear
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Non-Fiction
Evolutionary Witchcraft
Kissing the Limitless
Make Magic of Your Life
Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives
Crafting a Daily Practic
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