By Moon

by T Thorn Coyle

  “Ninety-three,” Joshua replied. The standard, coded response for the Thelemic in-crowd.

  Then he raised his glass again. “To love.”

  As Joshua drank, he felt like maybe, just maybe, things would turn around for him again.

  15

  Selene

  “It’s all too much, isn’t it?” Selene said. “Though at least we got the ointment off Lucy in time.”

  Tobias matched their slow stride as the two of them walked along the Willamette. Selene felt too keyed up to do work for their clients but knew painting would feel soothing. They would try to squeeze it in between this meeting and heading to the hospital to see Tabitha. They should probably visit Lucy, too, though Lucy was at home and was likely already grumpy from being fussed over.

  Yeah. With everything going on, Selene really needed to do some art today.

  It turned out that the ointment had been dosed with nicotine. The urgent care people had tested it and sent the rest of the sample to the police. Hopefully that would help the city get on top of any other random cases that showed up.

  “Thank the Goddesses Lucy’s okay. But I want to kill that ‘alchemist’ or ‘shaman’ or whatever they’re calling themselves. Who does this to people?” Tobias said.

  Selene stopped to look out across the water, toward downtown. Kayakers and dragon boat teams competed for the early morning water, slicing through, barely leaving any ripples in their wake. The river smelled of silt and industry. It was cooler here than in Selene’s attic, which they appreciated. They really needed to get a second swamp cooler up there. The central air to the old converted building never quite seemed to make a dent in the aerie.

  “You and I both know people can be awful to other people. How many times have you been bashed?”

  Tobias took in a shuddering breath, standing by their side. Selene heard him hold it, then release the air in a loud gust.

  “Twice. You?”

  Selene shook their head, black hair swirling around their face, lifted by the slight breeze off the river. “Too many close calls to count. But actually getting the shit beaten out of me? Three times.”

  “Why don’t you train? I mean, look at you. You’re tall. You could probably put on a little muscle.”

  Selene turned to their coven brother. They didn’t blame him for the question. It was one they’d turned over in their own mind, many times.

  “Because I don’t want to,” Selene said. It really was that simple. Selene didn’t want to carry a gun in their purse. Didn’t want to learn how to break out of choke holds or bust someone’s nose with their elbow.

  The only offensive action they were willing to take was with their magic. And they’d done that plenty of times. But training in physical violence? No. For some reason, that felt too much like giving in. Don’t ask them why the magic was different. It just was.

  The magic…came out of will and air. From the power of nature and Selene’s own talents. And a person had to be doing something very, very harmful for Selene to let it loose.

  Of course, so far they hadn’t used that kind of magic for themself. Only for other people. Other people’s danger always felt so much worse than their own.

  Selene and Tobias fell back into step, heads turned toward the water, watching a green cargo vessel chug on by. Time to change the subject.

  “So. Tobacco. Did you figure that?” Selene.

  Tobias grimaced. “I should have known by the symptoms you described. They were pretty classic nicotine poisoning symptoms. The dilated pupils. Headaches. Nausea. Racing heart. Trouble is, I never in a million years would think some idiot would put a concentrated dose of liquid nicotine into fucking flying ointment!”

  Indignation radiated from Tobias’s skin. Selene could practically feel him vibrating.

  “Tell me more about it.”

  Tobias let out another gusty exhalation.

  “Do you want to sit down awhile?” Selene asked. They approached a little seating area near the water fire station.

  “No. Too keyed up. But let’s walk out to the railing.”

  They passed through a small concrete courtyard in front of the fire and rescue station. It jutted out onto the river just enough to provide a nice view.

  Leaning against the metal railing, they watched the boat traffic again, saw the cyclists across the river whirring by. Selene regretted not bringing coffee.

  “So,” Tobias began. “One of the reasons I’m so pissed off…”

  “Besides some psychopath poisoning people?”

  “Yeah. Besides that. The poisoning is heinous enough, and this person is perverting alchemy, for one thing. But worse than that?”

  He stared out over the water, jaw working as he ground his teeth. His usually beautiful face had a hard cast to it today. Selene didn’t blame him.

  “The dude—granted, we don’t know the person’s gender yet but—the dude is using sacred tobacco and calling what he’s doing shamanism.”

  “Insult to injury.”

  Tobias whipped toward Selene. “Hell yes, it’s adding insult to injury! Stealing spiritual practices from the First Nations, luring people in with false promises, and then using the plant to poison people?”

  They both turned back toward the river.

  “It’s unconscionable,” Tobias said.

  Selene tapped their rings against the hollow metal railing. Pursed their lips. “Do you get any sense that the person manipulating the plants is tied to me?”

  “What do you mean?” Tobias asked.

  “Well, those strange sensations I’ve been having, like someone’s walking on my grave. The weirdness in my aura. The vomiting…” Selene’s mouth twisted.

  Tobias held his hands out. “May I?”

  Selene nodded.

  He closed his eyes and began running his hands past Selene’s face, and down their arms, not touching skin. Touching only the ætheric body that surrounded their skin.

  “It’s hard to tell, but it does feel as if there’s a connection.” He opened his eyes again. “I think the flier, the ointment, and whatever’s going on with you are all connected. But what I want to know is how in the world this person got hooked into you.”

  “Trust me, I’d like to know that, too.”

  Selene tapped the railing again, three times. Getting restless with all the talking.

  “So, what do we do?” they said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Was up half the night, trying to figure it out.”

  “And?”

  He swallowed, hard. As if the words were hard to say.

  “I’m going to use my relationship with the plants to track this fucker down. And then you?”

  He turned, dark eyes boring into Selene’s own. “You’re going to take this asshole down.”

  Selene nodded. If they were built for anything, it was this sort of dark magic, it seemed. The Gods returned them to it, again and again. The bindings. The curses. The twisting of evil back upon itself.

  Maybe Selene was just designed for darkness. Built for it. Standing here, on this beautiful river, on this gorgeous summer day, it sure seemed like it.

  Goddess, what else do you want from me?

  Nobody replied.

  Maybe it was just too bright out for any answers to be revealed.

  16

  Joshua

  Joshua hurried off the bus, so intent on getting to the Inner Eye right after opening that he almost barreled into a houseless man fishing for recyclables in the trash can.

  “Sorry, man. Really sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” the man said in a solemn tone. “The Gods move not for those who rush, but reward those who walk carefully. I always walk carefully.”

  “What?” Joshua’s head whipped back around, mouth open.

  “Watch your step,” the man replied. Then winked.

  Joshua stumbled off the curb, barely catching himself and his insulated coffee mug. A car honked.

  Joshua hurried across the street as
fast as his new limp would allow. Safely on the opposite sidewalk, he turned back to wave at the man. The man was already pushing his cart, on his way. And damned if he wasn’t walking carefully.

  Okay, Gods. I get it. Messages are everywhere.

  Joshua had spent half the night reading Crowley. The man brought through some real juice, tainted as it was by his rebellion against his mother and Victorian-era Christianity. Joshua felt like he wanted to study some more. To figure out whether or not he should take the plunge and get the Minerval initiation, Grade 0, which was kind of a pre-initiation rite, the first step toward actually joining a temple or lodge.

  As he walked past the shops opening up for the day, ankle aching, smelling those damn delicious bagels again, he could practically feel Legis shaking his head from afar.

  Legis had told him, point blank, “just choose.” Not ponder. Not consider. Just choose.

  But that was Joshua’s problem, wasn’t it? What if he chose wrong? Or what if he chose right and it was snatched away from him?

  Like Jessie.

  But Legis was right. Joshua knew it. He had to “frock up,” as writer S. Bear Bergman would say, and just take a step. Any step.

  Because he’d been taking the “no steps” for a while now, and worse than leading him nowhere, it was causing things to fall apart.

  Well, his current choice was to shove open the glass door to the Inner Eye, past the clanging bells, stop inside the door, and breathe. The incense today was rosemary and California sage. The music was Loreena McKennitt.

  And here came Brenda, quizzical smile on her face. Eyes creased at the corner from so many years of just that sort of smile. Moonstone shining at her collarbone.

  Moonstone. That felt like a message, too, but Joshua didn’t know exactly what it was.

  Just keep paying attention, he thought. Step carefully.

  Brenda’s smile turned to a slight frown. She glanced down at his shoes. “Are you all right?”

  Joshua followed her gaze. Damn it. Sure enough, he’d scuffed his right wingtip shoe when he stumbled off the curb. The burgundy leather was abraded. Unfixable. The wingtips would never hold a proper polish again.

  “Um. I tripped. I’m okay, but…no. I’m not all right.”

  Brenda looked around at the empty shop.

  “Let’s duck into the back for a moment. I’ll make us some tea.”

  “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just came in to show you something.”

  “Come back anyway. Tempest will be here in a few minutes. She can mind the store while we talk.”

  Brenda paused, hand on the purple Celtic knot design curtain. “Do you have time?”

  Joshua pulled his pocket watch out from his trouser pocket. “The store is closed Mondays so I’m good. There’s always work to do, as you know, but yes, I have time.”

  I have nothing but time, if I listen to Legis.

  “Until you choose, your time is not your own,” he’d said. “Notice how you spend it. Notice what a waste most of your efforts are.”

  Cheery, supportive friend, that Legis.

  So Joshua let Brenda make him tea, and helped her carry it to the little reading nook at the back of the shop. The reading nook wasn’t for reading books; Brenda had comfy chairs for that. It was a curtained alcove with a small table and two chairs. When a psychic reader was with a client, they pulled the curtains shut for privacy. Today, the floor-length curtains were tied back.

  As they sat down, the door chimes jangled.

  It was Tempest, coming in for her shift. The back and sides of her head were freshly shorn and fresh purple dye festooned the long fall at the top, which was tied into a high ponytail today. She was holding a box.

  “Hey Brenda, didn’t you see this package on the doorstep?”

  Brenda frowned. “There wasn’t any package when I came in. Joshua?”

  “I didn’t see anything, either. But I was slightly distracted.”

  “Take it in the back and see what it is.”

  But Tempest kept walking toward them, sneakers silent as she crossed the floor.

  “Tempest?” Brenda asked.

  Tempest said nothing, just wove her way through the display cases and bookshelves, stopping in front of them, she plopped the small cardboard box on the table.

  “I’ll be damned,” Brenda said.

  The label read Alchemical Creations in bold, cursive script.

  “The bastard,” Joshua said.

  “Yep,” said Tempest. “So what do we do? Take it to the police? I know they’re not our biggest fans, and vice versa, but…”

  Arrow and Crescent had tangled with the cops a couple of times in the past year, all for good causes, but Tempest was right. The cops wouldn’t exactly see it that way.

  “I think we’re going to have to,” Joshua said. “And I should probably show them this, too.”

  He reached into his black leather purse and pulled out a note printed in the same damn cursive font.

  How did you like the flying ointment? It read.

  “That constitutes a clear threat,” Brenda said.

  “I thought so, too, but wanted confirmation.”

  The bells at the front set up clamoring again. A couple of women, chatting away.

  “I’ll get them,” Tempest said. “Just let me throw my bag in the back.”

  Brenda turned her attention back to the note. “Who is this person? And why in the world are they doing all of this?”

  She looked up at Joshua. “Do you know how expensive it is to make good flying ointment?”

  “Well, we don’t know that it’s good…” Half a joke. Not funny.

  Not funny at all.

  “Tobias seemed to think it had all the right ingredients in it, though he’d have to test it to be sure, and there’s no way for him to do that, of course. And he said it smelled like a high quality base, too. Besides all of that, I can’t imagine liquid nicotine comes cheap.”

  “Especially not in a concentration that would cause such massive reactions.”

  Joshua ran both hands over his head and leaned back. He tapped his pointer finger against his lips. Trying to think. He needed to trim his goatee.

  Focus, Joshua. Basics. Feet. Hands. Breath. His butt in the chair. Joshua sent his awareness to them all.

  His spine straightened, rising up from his pelvis. One rotation of his shoulders, a centering of his head. He flexed his fingers. Planted both feet on the floor and stood.

  Then he chose.

  “I’m going to find this person, Brenda. Or I’m going to make myself so damn appealing they’ll come back to find me. But either way? I’m going to do everything I can to bring them down.”

  Brenda stood, too. She touched his cheek with one cool hand.

  “I see that around you, Joshua. Welcome home.”

  Then Tempest was moving back toward them, raising her voice just loud enough to carry.

  “Boss? You need to come hear what these two women have to say.”

  Joshua looked up toward the front of the shop where the two white women stood, staring back at them. They weren’t chattering happily anymore.

  “What’s happening?” Brenda asked.

  “They wanted to know if we had any books on shamanism. When I asked them how they became interested, they said they had just signed up for a class.”

  “Shit,” Joshua said.

  “We’d better go talk to them,” Brenda said. “Joshua? You still have time?”

  “All the time in the world,” he said.

  17

  Selene

  Selene hated hospitals. There were doctors in hospitals. And machines. And psych wards.

  All of this reminded Selene too much of a childhood spent getting tests run. Getting poked and prodded. Strange people touching them. The incessant questioning. Trying to figure out if the panic attacks could be treated with drugs. Or if Selene’s insistence on wearing dresses instead of a baseball uniform could be cured. Or if their shyness
was just them, being stubborn.

  Thing after thing after thing about Selene that other people decided must be wrong.

  Becoming a teenage Goth only made everything worse.

  So, it wasn’t hospitals, per se, though the combined scent of bubble gum cleaning solution, rubbing alcohol, and piss and vomit with a pure oxygen chaser didn’t make Selene exactly comfortable. Too many of those scents had haunted their childhood.

  It all felt like one, big, never-ending punishment for just being who they were.

  Selene wore their boots today, heat be damned. They’d stopped in at the studio space after their river walk with Tobias and decided that painting was important enough that they could take an hour out for it. Then they texted Lucy, who was grumpy—just as Selene expected—but feeling okay. After cleaning up, the black canvas Chuck Taylors they’d begun the day with had been left in their studio locker, replaced by black leather Demonia buckle boots.

  The boots made Selene feel confident, better able to walk through these liminal spaces where death and life chased down a conversation with each other. If Selene was going to face the horror show, they were going to do so feeling as much themselves as possible.

  They’d never been allowed to do that as a child.

  Selene passed the nurses’ station and averted their eyes from someone crying in one of the rooms. The weird fluorescent white and medical-machine green were everywhere they turned. Selene focused on the small number plaques set to the right of every door. Steady as you go.

  Tabitha should be right up ahead. There it was. 1718. She’d been moved out of ICU last night. That was the only reason Selene was able to visit in the first place. But apparently, Tabitha still wasn’t doing well.

  Poking first their head, then dragging their long limbs into the room, Selene covered their mouth and nose. It didn’t smell any worse in here, but the enclosed space made all the concentrated hospitalness too much.

  There was a window in the room, at least, and the curtains were open, letting the bright, midday sun stream in. It washed the room in pale yellow, softening the harshness of the white and glowing green.