By Moon

by T Thorn Coyle

  Tell me… they asked her sleeping form.

  And felt a shiver in response. Felt a tugging at their own aura. So slight, they would have missed it if they hadn’t been paying full attention.

  “We’re connected, aren’t we?” they whispered into the sshhing, beeping room.

  But was the connection from their friendship, or because of him?

  Selene tried to scan their own aura, something they had learned how to do when they first joined Arrow and Crescent coven. Today it felt hard. They were too tired. Shouldn’t even be attempting this.

  To Dare.

  :Selene?:

  Tabitha? Selene set their tablet aside and reached for Tabitha’s closest hand, avoiding the pulse oximeter on her finger. Are you there?

  Was that a squeeze? Yes. Selene thought it was.

  Hang on, Tabitha. We’re trying to help you! Your parents are here and…

  :So far away…scared. He’s bleeding me. Us.:

  Selene knew that, but feeling the information from Tabitha somehow made it worse. The bed railing dug into their arm. They didn’t care.

  Do you know why? Probably too much to ask, but it was one of the most important questions Selene had.

  :Taking…trying…to prove…:

  Selene could feel Tabitha straining. Trying to form concepts into words. They looked for the cord that tethered Tabitha to her body. It had grown even thinner. This was so messed up.

  And Selene didn’t have any juice to give her.

  “We’re back,” a soft voice said from the door. Selene kept hold of Tabitha’s hand and turned their head.

  “Hey,” Selene said.

  The parents looked slightly better. Their faces were still creased with worry, but the food and air must have done them some good.

  Maybe Tabitha’s parents had some life force to give.

  “Um…I think she squeezed my hand,” Selene said.

  Tabitha’s father stepped closer. “Really? That’s good. I mean, right?”

  Selene nodded. Then they squeezed Tabitha’s hand and sent out another thought.

  I’m going to try to help you. Your parents are back now. Hang on, okay?

  Selene stood.

  “I read a study that said talking to your loved ones and holding their hands can sometimes bring people out of comas.”

  Selene didn’t know if that was true but figured there must have been a study like that, somewhere.

  They cleared their throat and shuffled their feet back and forth before forcing themself to stop again.

  “The article said that they can feel the presence of family and friends. So I was holding Tabitha’s hand, talking, and trying to send her love, you know?”

  Tabitha’s mother nodded. Her father wiped his eyes with a white handkerchief.

  “Then that’s just what we’ll do,” he said, folding the handkerchief back into a square and replacing it in his rear jeans pocket. “We’ll take turns holding her hand, and sending love.”

  “May as well try,” her mother said. “Nothing the hospital is doing seems to work.”

  Selene gathered up their tablet, making room near the bed. Shoving their things back into the messenger bag, they headed for the door.

  “It was really nice meeting you. I’ll be back. And if you need anything, please call.”

  “Thank you so much for everything,” Tabitha’s mother said, then turned toward her daughter again.

  Selene just hoped whatever love they sent her would be enough to keep Tabitha’s spirit anchored here.

  The coven still needed more time to figure this out.

  Selene hoped Tabitha would make it.

  24

  Joshua

  Joshua was on the 14 bus heading to the Mercado to meet Legis and Frater Louis for dinner.

  The shop had done pretty good business after the little breakfast-and-magical-theory session he’d had with Quanice.

  Joshua insisted that Quanice take his regular breaks, but Joshua barely had time to use the toilet and drink more water and coffee.

  He really hoped the shop’s luck was turning around. But at any rate, Quanice said he already had some ideas. Joshua asked him to type them up and include any resources Quanice thought he should look at. Joshua would pay for his time.

  Now that he thought of it, having a resource actively working for him was already a sign that things were shifting for the better.

  With your magical hat back on, you can start looking at what’s actually happening instead of just what you think should happen. Or wish could happen.

  He’d still have to learn the marketing stuff himself eventually, but having guidance under his roof? That was a pretty big boon.

  Looking out the window at the semi-industrial Foster Road, Joshua wondered how much longer it would be before the small pockets of shops, bars, and the occasional café or restaurant turned into long stretches of the same, the way his NE neighborhood was now pretty thoroughly gentrified. Of course, he was part of that process, he supposed. He was just a white guy from Oregon City. Northeast Portland had been a different—Blacker—world when he was born.

  A lot of people were moving out this way now, some of them heading even further east, out to the neighborhoods that long-time locals called “the numbers.”

  The Mercado wasn’t that far out, ensconced just west of 205, in the still-kind-of-working-class-for-the-moment neighborhood of Foster-Powell. It was comprised of a building with a market, a butcher, and a small café inside and a collection of food trucks actually owned by Latin American cooks and businesspeople on the outside. The Mercado was sure to be jammed on a sunny weekday evening.

  Frater Louis said he would arrive early and try to snag a table in the little wine and beer garden situated on the outer edge of the building, skirting the food cart area. He’d already texted Legis his food order, he said, which prompted Joshua to do the same.

  Apparently, the Gods had decreed today “educate Joshua day.” He wasn’t going to fight it anymore. The Universe wanted him to get his shit together, and then started throwing both major challenges and major help his way? He was going to pay attention.

  Even if he felt a little stupid. The should know better and wasted years and yadda yadda, all that self-loathing self-talk.

  He was sure the deprecation would surprise the people who bought into his dandy cock-of-the-walk persona, complete with the “I’m a capable magician” glamour. Hell, he’d even believed it himself, for awhile.

  The bus ssshhdd to a stop in front of the bright Mercado courtyard. Sure enough, the tables beneath the long sun shelter were pretty full.

  He walked past the multicolored food trucks toward the building on the back end of the property. Frater Louis waved a skinny arm his way. Legis sat across from him. Looked as though they already had food.

  “Good timing!” Frater Louis said. “Legis just arrived with our orders.”

  “Hey, man. Good to see you. Grab a beer and sit,” Legis said.

  Joshua entered the small, inside bar area. A Japanese American man was behind the wooden bar, pulling pints and pouring wine. Joshua scanned the chalkboard, settling on a Willamette Pinot Gris. Cold white wine on a hot day sounded great, even though Legis would give him shit for not ordering beer.

  It was just the way he showed love.

  Wine in hand, he headed back to the table. Dazzled by the sun, he almost tripped. Damn. Yeah. He was still a little out of it from the night before.

  “You okay?” Legis asked, as Joshua slid onto the bench.

  “Just…things have been more than a little bit intense.” He took a sip of wine. Crisp, clear, and cold, with just a hint of grapefruit at the finish. “Thanks so much for meeting me.”

  “Of course, brother,” Frater Louis said.

  “About that,” Joshua said. “Can I come in sometime and talk about what all initiation requires?”

  Legis set down his pint and shoved a plate of tacos Joshua’s way. “You know I’ll sponsor you, man. I’ve been
waiting to for years.”

  Joshua felt the prick of tears and took another drink of wine. “Thanks, man. I had no idea.”

  “I try not to push my religion on other people,” Legis said with a grin. “Eat your tacos, and drink your wine, asshole.”

  Joshua did. Carne asada, moist, with cabbage on top and radish on the side. There was also what looked like a very good summer veggie taco.

  Once the men had made a dent in their food, Frater Louis wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and cleared his throat.

  “You said you wanted to talk to us? About some magic? Legis told me about what happened with the servitor. What do you need to know?”

  Joshua chewed and swallowed, then dabbed at his own mouth. “Well, I know more about them now than I did this morning. I remembered my employee is a Chaote and he gave me some information in between customers today.”

  “Well, chaos magicians are definitely the ones to ask,” Legis commented, before shoving another half a taco in his maw. “They deal with servitors more than any other magic workers I know.” The guy was so big, Joshua sometimes wondered how many calories he needed just to get through the day.

  Joshua sipped at his wine, then cleared his throat, wishing he had some ice water. Gods, even under the awning structure, the sun was hot today.

  “But we’re going to need to come at this from as many angles as possible,” he said. “So I wondered if you two could figure out how to get a magical being to change allegiance? Is that even possible?”

  Legis polished off his plate and glanced at his almost empty pint glass.

  “Before we get into this, you owe me a beer for getting online for our food.”

  “Fair enough,” Joshua said. “Frater Louis?”

  “I’m good,” the wiry man replied.

  Joshua wiped his hands again and headed back into the little bar. He stood behind a person ordering three different kinds of beer, waiting to place his order for Legis’s pint.

  His phone buzzed. It was Brenda, asking if he could bring some more of the flying ointment to the meeting the coven had planned for the next evening.

  He texted back a quick Sure! Then he thought for a moment and thumbed another message. With Legis and Fra Louis. Want them at the meeting, too? He paid for Legis’s beer, and a second glass of wine and asked for three cups of iced water.

  His phone buzzed again. If they’re available, that’d be great, the text read.

  He texted back a thumbs-up emoji and grabbed a tray.

  The two men had finished their food in his absence and looked ready to talk. Joshua passed the drinks around, picked up his remaining taco, and said “Servitors? Changing allegiance? Oh, and Brenda wants to know if you two are available for a meeting tomorrow evening.”

  “I should be able to shuffle some things around,” Legis said.

  “And I don’t have anything on for tomorrow night, although—” Frater Louis checked his wrist “—I do need to be at the lodge in an hour to start setting up for tonight’s class.”

  Frater Louis took a long swallow of ice water, set the sweating cup down on the wood table, steepled his fingers, and began speaking.

  “Servitors, in general, are designed by and powered by a magician’s intention, will, and life energy. The magician, in almost all cases, is the only one with the proper key, so to speak, to make the servitor work.”

  Legis set his beer down and chimed in. “There are a few notable exceptions to that, like Fotamecus, the time-shifting servitor, who works for anyone who knows its sigil.”

  Joshua frowned, and drank more wine, trying to thread together a bunch of associations flying through his head. The second glass of wine had likely been bad idea. He set the glass down with a sigh and held up a hand.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Does using a sigil make a servitor like an angel, or a goetic demon or something? Do they act the same way? And how about golems?”

  Frater Louis smiled. “Golems are servitors made of clay, so they are a pretty good example. The rabbi is the only one who knows the sacred word carved on the golem’s head to give it life. A golem is linked only to the rabbi’s will. Angels or demons, however, are their own creatures. They have a life outside their work with us.”

  Joshua sat back. Okay. This was making a strange sort of sense.

  “So breaking a link between a servitor and its creator? How do you do that?” he asked.

  “It’s almost impossible,” Legis replied, balling up his napkin.

  “Well shit,” Joshua replied. How the hell were they going to fight this arrogant toad of a man? He’d really thought Selene had an in with the servitor. “Even if the servitor seems unhappy?”

  “You can always trick the magician into giving the servitor a sock…” Legis quipped.

  Joshua balled up his own napkin and threw it at the big man.

  Frater Louis rapped on the table. “Legis said ‘almost impossible’.”

  A tiny flicker of hope flared in Joshua’s chest.

  “You mean?”

  “We’ll work on it.” Frater Legis rose from the table. “But I have to open up the lodge for tonight’s class. You should start showing up, Joshua.”

  Joshua nodded. “I will. Once all of this is over.”

  Frater Louis and Legis both shook their heads.

  “This stuff will never be over,” Legis replied. “There’s always going to be something. You, my man, just need to learn to commit.”

  Joshua nodded. He knew that. He did. And he was inching closer to it, bit by bit.

  But for now? He was going to finish his glass of wine, enjoy the sun, and talk magic with his friend Legis, who still had half a pint left in front of him.

  If he couldn’t solve the world’s problems, he could at least enjoy the moment, right?

  That would have to be good enough for now.

  25

  Selene

  Selene was filled with an overwhelming sense of sorrow. No. Not sorrow. Grief. Heartrending, aching, grief.

  Tabitha’s spirit was being held captive. She had sounded so frightened and alone, and Selene truly had no idea how to help.

  The blazing sun bouncing off the sidewalk and buildings just made everything feel worse. There was no softening of reality. No avoidance of the pain. Just the unrelenting brightness that left them once again feeling overexposed and wishing they were numb.

  But they were going to work anyway. Because self-numbing was a thing of Selene’s past. A seductive, watery grave.

  Selene still held on to hope for the return of Tabitha’s spirit, but had to admit there was no certainty that her parents could give her enough juice to survive. No guarantee that the coven’s magic could reach Tabitha before her soul was completely drained away. And what happened to a person when someone else had siphoned off their soul? There was no metaphysical treatise on that, as far as Selene knew.

  Maybe that person just…ended. And for a spirit as bright and filled with creative spark as Tabitha? No. Selene couldn’t abide that. It would not stand. They had to find some way to fix the damned situation.

  Selene had also finally admitted that Janice’s death had rocked them harder than they admitted at first. But even touching that thought felt more painful than Selene could bear.

  The closest parking they found for the studio was four blocks away, so they were walking in the heat, long black summer skirt swirling around their Chuck Taylors, messenger bag with tablet and pencils inside slung across their chest. They hoped to find the wherewithal to do some more work for clients. Bills were coming due and there was wallowing to avoid. They also felt a need to look at the still life again. There was something in the painting that seemed significant in the face of recent events, but Selene wasn’t sure what, yet.

  All they were certain of today was that their body felt leaden and their heart was sore.

  Even the jangle from the stack of bangles on their right wrist and their favorite tuberose essential oil perfume weren’t lightening their mood.
Selene had hoped they might. A for effort, C for execution.

  In that moment, Selene wished they still smoked cigarettes.

  Getting yanked back into their body the night before had jostled their soul in a way that only seemed to highlight all their weaknesses. The places they kept patching over, because being a tall, non-binary femme trying to make their way in the world was difficult and dangerous enough that they just had to pretend everything was Goddess-damned just okay.

  And it wasn’t. It never was, and maybe it never would be. And the patches weren’t as strong as they had thought. But here they were, a person with a great coven who genuinely cared about them, and work that did pay the bills, actually, and only seemed to be increasing if the good word of mouth continued. It was all true. That which seemed bad and that which seemed good.

  Plus, there was the river, right? Selene sniffed and wiped their nose, deciding to walk a few blocks down a deserted, industrial side street toward the water. They just wanted a moment alone to stare at the watery ribbon of light that bordered the slice of neighborhood east of MLK.

  Selene turned, walking toward the tangle of freeway to get a better view of the river. Getting to the actual esplanade was too tricky on this stretch. Too much highway and major streets. But a closer look, Selene could manage.

  They walked in the temporary shade thrown by the tall self-storage building, next to the location where the Portland Night Market was held. They decided to stop there for a moment. Give themselves some respite from the sun.

  The sound of the highway was loud here, but they didn’t mind. Loving nature, Selene was also an urban creature. Humans had built the city, after all. It was one of the things their type of animal did.

  Selene stared and breathed, lifting their hair off their neck, trying to get some air onto damp skin. The view of the water and the breathing calmed them a little, but the grief remained.

  Selene breathed into their center and felt their feet, solid on the sidewalk in their canvas high-tops. They reached with their energy, attention, and imagination, from where they stood, past the freeway overpasses and the straight line of I-5. The energy of distant cars rushing by shook the edges of their aura, even here, on this semi-deserted, industrial street.