9
Selene
A breeze swept up off the Willamette, smelling of river and night. The full moon hung above the span of the Hawthorne Bridge, luminous, so bright. Standing in the middle of the bridge, gazing up, Selene felt dazzled. Humbled. And, even in the middle of whatever shit storm was currently brewing, in this moment? Selene felt grateful.
Lately, life around Selene felt a bit like the seven of cups from the Tarot. Stacked chalices filling up with poisonous delusion, spilling over onto everything.
If the card held any hope at all, it was in the move to the eight, where the dark night of the soul became a harbinger of dawn.
Selene really needed a sense of light. And to get clean.
“Mother Moon, lend me vision and clarify my mind. Fill me with your light. Illuminate me. Mark my path.” They paused, arms upraised, barely hearing the cars passing by. “Mother Moon, guide my coven, Arrow and Crescent, so we can open the way for those in need. Help us clear any poisons running through our magic, so we can become the beacon that you are.”
The wind ruffled Selene’s long hair and caressed their face. It felt like a blessing. A temporary reprieve.
The whole evening felt that way. At Cassiel’s insistence, Selene had texted the rest of the coven. Half of them couldn’t meet tonight, and since they already had plans to get together at Raquel’s tomorrow, word had come down from Raquel and Brenda that they should just wait.
So here Selene was, on the night of the full moon before the Summer Solstice, heading to a pop-up art event under the Hawthorne Bridge. Another tricky situation for an empath to navigate, Selene had begged off, but their friend Tabitha kept at them until finally, Selene relented.
So here they were, headed to a place they both would and would not belong, as usual.
They didn’t let that thought enter too deeply; instead, Selene blew a kiss skyward, then turned and walked toward Tom McCall park, the small strip of grass and walkways that skirted the river between the Hawthorne and Morrison Bridges.
Their boots sturdy and satisfying beneath them, Selene walked, a long, open-front snow-white tunic belling around the long, slim black skirt they’d donned before heading out. They’d taken extra care with their makeup and jewelry tonight, as well, and felt about as good as circumstances would allow.
Sometimes the glamor of clothing and makeup changed a person enough that they could forget just how bad things were.
Selene was banking on that. It would be great if they could enjoy the art show organized by a crew of friends from school.
Tabitha was the main instigator and had asked if Selene wanted to take part, but Selene was sick of their thesis art, and hadn’t finished anything that felt satisfying yet. The occult still life was only three quarters finished. Not ready to show.
The bridge rounded toward the right, forming an offramp that led to downtown. Just at the head of the offramp, stairs beckoned Selene down. They could see the lights of the park as well as colored shadows beaming up toward the concrete overpass.
The art show must be just below, exactly as Tabitha said it would be. They braced themselves, making sure they were centered and grounded and shoring up their aura with a breath.
The wall of sound hit Selene as they stomped and jingled down the stairwell. Some pop music they barely recognized, high and bright and loud. Too loud. Connected to center, they took another breath, and got ready for the onslaught of people and noise.
So much for the pop-up gallery being stealthy. Selene grinned. Tabitha never was one for hiding in the shadows.
“Selene!”
Speaking of…Tabitha bounded toward Selene, wearing a ridiculously bright yellow dress over red cowboy boots. A lesbian femme, her blond hair was up in some elaborate ’do and her lips were painted orange.
Goddess bless Tabitha. She would never go out of style because her style was all her own.
Tabitha crushed her arms around Selene’s waist, her head barely reaching Selene’s shoulder. Tabitha was one of the few people outside the coven from whom Selene tolerated casual physical affection. Mostly because Tabitha was so damn nice, but also because she pretty much insisted upon it, in the nicest possible way.
She gave Selene a tight squeeze before releasing them again.
“You’ll never guess what someone brought!” The words practically burst from Tabitha’s orange lips.
“What?”
Tabitha leaned back in, as if they were conspirators. In a loud, whiskey-scented stage whisper, she said, “Flying ointment! You’re a witch! I bet you know all about that, right?”
Tabitha tugged at Selene, drawing them deeper beneath the overpass, toward the colored lights, the kinetic sculptures that floated like metal buzzards overhead, and the paintings temporarily hung on concrete walls.
And the people. The crushing buzz of people.
Selene willed themself to breathe. To relax. To lighten up.
“Isn’t it great? Flying ointment on the full moon! Do you want to try some?”
Selene tried to disentangle from Tabitha’s grip, but once the woman took hold, it was hard to get her to let go.
“Um…not really. Thanks, though.”
The lights painted Tabitha’s face with blue, then red, then gold as she dragged them further in.
“Tabitha.” Selene tugged her to a stop.
“What?” Tabitha’s bright mouth turned down at the corners, just a bit. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t think you should use flying ointment. Not that came from a ‘someone.’”
“Oh, come on! What kind of a witch are you? Besides, I already smeared some at the base of my throat a while ago! That’s one of the places they suggested. Right?”
Selene just shook their head, feeling horrified, but not knowing what to say.
“Well, all right then,” Tabitha remarked. “Get yourself a drink if you want one. Mark set up a bar under the second arch. I am going to fly!”
Tabitha looked hectic all of a sudden, with spots of red on her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Her smile was too bright.
“Are you okay?” Selene said, risking a hand on Tabitha’s arm.
“Selene! I’m fine! I’ll be fine!” And with a whirl of yellow, Tabitha was moving through the crowd.
“Just great.” Selene shouldn’t have come. They didn’t know enough people here, and the ones they did know weren’t close at all. Just people they’d had classes with. It was hard enough for Selene to bond with anyone, but when everyone worked full-time jobs on top of school, it became easier and easier to say no to the gatherings that did happen.
Selene usually begged off by saying they had a project due to a client. Sometimes it was even true.
They looked around, the bewildered feeling they often got around crowds beginning to swirl around their head. Illusion. Delusion.
Fear. Throat closing, heart racing fear. Other people’s emotions.
“No,” they said out loud, and strengthened their aura yet again, this time imagining pale gray energy cycling around the outer edge. Down in front, up in back. That helped. The outside thoughts and emotions slid off the energy, giving Selene more personal space. Room to breathe.
“No what?” came a voice to their right. Fuck. Caught out.
“Nothing,” they said, turning toward the contralto voice. It belonged to a woman Selene knew slightly. Shaved head. Maroon Doc Martens. Jeans with holes in them and a white men’s button-down shirt. A sculptor. Worked in metal, if Selene recalled correctly. Selene gestured up toward the concrete sweep above their heads.
“Those yours?”
The woman smiled. What was her name? Jane.
“Yes, they are. Do you like them?”
Goddess, where did this woman get her confidence from? Selene would practically kill for a quarter of it. You never asked someone if they liked your work.
Unless you were Jane and knew for a fact that your work kicked ass and thought that anyone who didn’t like it was dim.
A scream cut through the music before Selene could answer.
“Shit!” Jane said. “What’s that?”
They both ran toward the spot the commotion was happening. People were milling around, some with arms raised, some with phones stuck to their ears. As they got closer, they could see a small space had been cleared and the people were clustered around it. Above the space was one of Jane’s vultures, one massive wing dipping downward, as if to point at the person on the ground.
The person in the yellow dress, convulsing on the concrete floor.
“Shit,” Selene said. “Get her on her side!”
As two people moved to comply, Selene rushed forward. Someone balled up a light sweater and shoved it under Tabitha’s head. The skin on her face was red all over now, and her body shook and shuddered. Selene placed two fingers on her throat.
“Pulse is racing and feels jumpy. Erratic.”
“Excuse me! Let me through!”
As stocky man shoved his way into the circle. Another person Selene vaguely recognized from school. “I’m a trained EMT.”
Once he saw what they’d done, though, he stopped. “Okay everyone, an ambulance is on its way. Just step back, okay?”
Someone turned off the music. Over the babble of voices, Selene heard a siren heading their way. Thank Goddess it sounded close.
“Mother, protect Tabitha. And please, protect us all.”
Holy Mother. How were things actually getting worse?
10
Joshua
It was Solstice, a bright, summery day with temperatures threatening to hit the low 90s.
Too hot for Joshua, who far preferred the Portland rain. He shuffled some paperwork into a drawer and tapped his fingers on the counter.
It was also one of those days where, if Joshua could have stayed home, he would have. But Quanice had called in sick with a bad summer cold, and the heat seemed to be bringing people out to shop. He really couldn’t complain about that last one. On sunny weekends, sometimes the shop was slow, what with people having picnics and barbecue, unless it was too hot even for that, then The Road Home got people before or after showings at the old, air conditioned, Moorish-style theater.
Today must have been one of those movie Sundays because the crowds came in waves. He’d already had to politely ask two people to not bring ice cream into the store.
Thank the Gods his air conditioning worked. Last year it was on the fritz and he’d had to bring in swamp coolers and fans.
At least the shoppers meant he couldn’t focus too long on the weird appearance last night. The Capricorn goat-fish or fish-goat, bringing a message of danger. The entity had also spoken a phrase Joshua recognized, and he was just waiting to have a conversation with Legis about it. The only sin is restriction was a phrase he knew from his readings on Crowley. Thing was, in this context, he had no idea what it meant.
Oh, it had something to do with the Devil card, that was for sure. Something about not bottling up too much life force. But if the message was for him, Joshua was damned if he knew what it meant. He was being asked to look at himself, at his patterns, and to get serious about magic again. Well, part of that seemed like tapering off from dating every random babe he came across.
And wasn’t discipline about curbing life force? Or was he missing something?
But the rest of the message was clearly about the weird things happening. Like Janice’s death. Protect those who do not know.
Joshua looked around the store, at the two teenagers browsing the Magic 101 section, the way he and Jessie used to. Or the tired-looking man hovering over the ring display, as if something in there would fulfill some void inside.
When he’d asked the man if he wanted to see anything, the look of longing in his eyes shot through Joshua like a dart.
The man had mumbled a “No thanks, just looking,” before wandering to the gemstones and crystals for awhile. But now he was back at the rings.
The door chimed, signaling more customers. Joshua glanced up at the mirror over the counter where he strung less expensive pendants and amulets from satin cords. An older woman with streaked champagne-blond hair. It looked as though she’d been crying.
Oh boy.
She headed straight for the shelves with the house-blended oils, as if she knew right what she was looking for. Yeah. Joshua recognized her. She liked his Rose Queen offering oil and had also bought Choose Love, which was one of Joshua’s favorite blends.
She opened a few of the testers, sniffing each in turn, occasionally pausing to sniff the little canister of coffee beans he kept on the shelf next to the oils. Just like some foods were palate cleansers, sniffing coffee beans cleared the nasal passages.
Joshua went back to stringing seven-pointed stars onto teal satin cords.
“I’d like to buy this.” It was the woman, holding out a vial of oil.
Protect Yourself, the label read.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
The woman jerked. Startled. “Yes! I mean…no. It’s my son…. You’ve met him before.”
Joshua nodded. Her son was a cute, athletic man just about twenty years old. Gay. At least that was the hit Joshua got from him.
“I think he’s gotten himself in some kind of magical trouble,” the woman continued. “There’s this teacher…an alchemist or something…”
Joshua waited.
The woman shook her head. “But that’s his business. I can’t really talk about it.”
Joshua nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
He rang her up, ran her debit card, and wrapped the vial in a piece of lavender tissue paper.
“Do you need a bag?”
“No. No thanks. My purse has a little pocket. I think it’ll fit.”
As he handed her the small packet, static electricity sparked. They both pulled back. The woman barely held onto the oil.
Those who do not know.
Damn it.
“Look, I know I just said I shouldn’t have pried, but if your son is really in trouble, I hope you let me know. We try to take care of people in the magical community.”
She swallowed and nodded, tucked the tissue-wrapped vial in her purse, and left.
He really hoped she’d be all right. And that her son wasn’t dabbling in something he shouldn’t be. That was one of the problems with running a shop like this. Most of the time people who said they were encountering some sort of metaphysical nastiness were puffing themselves up for drama’s sake.
But sometimes? The trouble was real. And she’d mentioned a teacher, which was extra worrying….
“Excuse me?”
It was the nervous man.
Joshua forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile onto his face. “Yes?”
“May I see this medal, please?”
Joshua pulled the little set of display case keys out of his pocket and approached.
“Which one?”
“That one,” the man pointed. “To the left.”
Joshua’s heart stopped in his chest. Just for one second. Then it started up again. The man pointed to the stylized medal of St. Michael. A crossed flame and sword.
Protection again. And the same medal Brenda’s girlfriend, Caroline, had chosen back when she was being stalked by her abusive ex-husband.
Hand shaking slightly, Joshua pulled the medal out and placed it into the man’s outstretched hand.
“Is everything all right?” It felt as if the words had pushed themselves from between his lips.
The man looked so damn defeated, and as if the space around him was a vacuum, ready to suck him in.
“I have no idea. But this feels like it might make things better.”
“That’s a pretty powerful piece there, so you’re probably right.”
Holy shit. Or he’d be dead within twenty-four hours from whatever the hell was trying to suck him dry.
They walked back toward the tablet Joshua used as a cash register.
The man
winced a bit when Joshua told him the price, but shoved his card at Joshua anyway. That wasn’t good. “Do you want a cord for this? Or I have a small gift bag I can put it in.”
“Are the cords expensive?”
“They’re free. What color?” Joshua gestured to the cords swimming like bright snakes on the wooden countertop.
“Red.”
Joshua strung the medal, sending out a prayer to Archangel Michael to please, oh please, protect this man.
Then, reluctantly, he sent the man back out into the hot, bright day.
Finally, the shop was empty. Must be movie time.
Joshua turned to the stack of mail from the day before. There was a folded and sealed flier from Faerie Fest Northwest, a big fantasy show that made up a good part of The Road Home’s revenue every year. He’d already paid for booth space and secured people to work both the shop and the show for the duration.
Slitting the round sticker holding the flier together, Joshua groaned.
After a decade of magic, we regret to inform you…
“No! Damn it!”
The flier fluttered to the countertop, resting on the tangle of cords.
Faerie Fest was cancelled. They would be refunding his fees within the week.
But he’d already ordered extra inventory for it. A lot of extra inventory. Thousands of dollar’s worth.
What the hell was he going to do? This was bad. Very, very bad.
“Okay. Gods and Goddesses? Capricorn fish-goat? I’m trying here. You said to get my shit together, and I started. You said to help the unknowing, and I asked. So what the fuck do I need to do to turn this around?”
His fists clenched on the counter. Joshua banged them on the hard wood. Once. Twice. Thrice.
He hit hard enough that he’d likely have bruises the next day.
The pain felt good. Righteous. It felt like something real. A fist on wood was tangible, unlike whatever specters haunted his poor customers, and whatever the hell it was that had killed Janice.
Was it despair? Or was something more sinister going on?
“Game. Fucking. On.” Joshua said. “But you want me to do this? Then you’re going to have to help.”
By Moon Page 5