She heard shots strike the dry soil and smelled the acrid tang of pepper. On a burst of speed, Lucy rounded the corner and began zigzagging behind warehouses, alternately heading away from and back toward her truck. Keeping her hands up threw off her balance, but she did not dare to put them down.
Her feet smacked on the narrow roads, running past delivery trucks and cyclone fences. After a moment, panting, she slowed slightly, listening.
She couldn’t hear their boots in pursuit anymore.
“Thank you, Mother.”
Stitch in her side, she lowered her arms, and slowly jogged the rest of the way to her truck.
She was safe. For now.
14
Jack
Jack really needed to get some work done, to try to settle himself down into routine. Besides which, bills still needed to be paid. He couldn’t waste his day away, thinking of spears and phantom battles. And he sure couldn’t moon about over Lucy, appealing as that was.
Before he started coding, though, he flipped open the big coffee table book and stared again at that luminous piece of art. The shades of red. The flowing patterns. The strange border. He reached his fingers out and lightly touched the glossy pages, as if he could decode the painting’s secrets through his fingertips. As if the painting had something to tell him that was more than just the likelihood that Jack was going off the deep end. That he had finally turned the corner and become one of those mystic coders people used to talk about.
He remembered this old guy he met on the MAX train when he was a teenager, just learning how to code. It was a bearded white guy that everyone called the wizard. The dude’s business cards even used Wizard as his job title. Oh, it was all a great lighthearted joke, until you actually sat and talked with the man. Then you realized he was serious. And that he attributed all of his coding success to some weird kind of magic flowing through the pixels across the screen.
Well, Jack wasn’t so sure that was a lie anymore.
He snapped back to himself shut the book with a thud, then walked to his desk to wake up his computer. As his trusty tower began to hum and the monitors flickered to life, he took a breath and tried to prepare for whatever it was that was coming.
“Just work, man,” he said to himself. “Stop wool-gathering.”
He climbed up onto his high stool with a groan. God he was sore. And if he was this sore already, he hated to think what tomorrow would bring. Maybe he’d actually take a bath tonight.
Switching over to his music program, he put a song on loop. Black Violin’s “Opus.” As the dueling violins swirled their way through the room, dipping and rising like swallows flying through the air, he set his fingers to the keys and began to code.
It was just the little income-producing game that had just been boring him shitless, but today, that didn’t seem to matter. It was actually weird. As soon as he began tapping the numbers and symbols out, and they flowed onto the screens, it was as if something else took over. The symbols flew faster and faster, until Jack barely had to pay attention anymore. It felt as if his brain, his heart, his fingertips, and the computer were all one. As if someone had put a port into Jack’s skull and out poured the code.
On and on it went, following the sound of the violins, following the pattern still lodged in the back of Jack’s mind, that painting. The sugar on the table. And the spatter of pattern across Lucy’s beautiful cheekbones.
The coder and the pattern. The pattern and the coder. Jack felt like a God raising up new worlds and sending them crashing back down. Building mountains, forging rivers. Whole towns rose and fell beneath his hands. He was building something…. More than just the game. Fairies and dragons. Ogres and knights. Winged creatures with no name. And in the distance, great krakens and leviathans swam in vast waters. And all of them were forming something new, something not quite of his design.
The story was writing itself.
And through it all, a mighty man strode across the land, thousand-league boots booming across the landscape, hair like jagged lightning. Tall, lean, muscular. Shining. And in his long right arm, he held a mighty spear.
The code crashed through Jack’s body onto the keys, faster and faster and faster. The man faced a great wall. A wall of darkness, teaming and writhing, spewing and belching noxious sounds and scents that could choke a man. And in the midst of it all, Jack heard wailing. Wailing voices, screaming, crying. And the tall man faced it all. Behind Jack’s left shoulder blade he felt pressure. He gasped, but kept on typing.
It felt as if his brain was crackling with the power of the code. The pressure beneath his shoulder blade increased. It felt as if someone pressed a spear point there, or a shaft of lightning, and the pressure grew and grew and a roaring began inside his head, and soon Jack—still coding, still typing, fingers still flying across the keys—began to roar and scream himself. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop the sound that rolled over and through him.
The pressure increased, growing sharper and more painful until the spear or whatever it was pierced all the way through his heart. His monitors blew in a flash of white and green.
Jack fainted, stretched across the keyboard.
15
Lucy
“Oh my Goddess, Lucy!”
Brenda rushed around the counter, bypassing Tarot cards and crystals and all the other goods that made up a metaphysical shop. Lucy barely registered the store. She stood just inside the glass door, panting, as if, instead of driving her truck, she had run all the way here. Then Brenda was in front of her, dark wavy hair coiled up on her head, normally serene face creased with concern. As her mentor enfolded Lucy in her firm embrace, she felt the other woman’s strength and softness surround her. Lucy began to shake.
Brenda leaned back, searching Lucy’s face, but Lucy couldn’t hold her penetrating gaze. Most of the witches Lucy knew had eyes that could see right through you. Brenda and Raquel certainly did. Lucy’s muscles screamed from the tension, and the taste of bile and blood still filled her mouth.
“Did someone hurt you?” Brenda’s voice was gentle, as if Lucy were a wild animal she didn’t want to spook.
Lucy shook her head no and winced. Damn, that was painful. Just because no one in particular had hurt her didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. The combination of magical overload and adrenaline spike were as painful as a punch sometimes.
“Let’s get you into the back,” Brenda said, ushering her toward the purple Celtic-knot-patterned curtain that separated the main shop from the classroom and break room behind. Brenda gently pushed her through the curtain, Lucy felt her hold back, heard her voice again, “Tempest? You got the shop?”
Lucy was so out of it, she hadn’t even seen Tempest in the shop, and didn’t wait to hear the younger witch’s reply. She just crossed the room and sank into one of the few padded chairs set in groups around the otherwise spare space, hands resting palm up on her thighs. The chair sat directly beneath a big quilted blue and green banner representing water, and the direction of West, where the Willamette flowed, and a couple hours drive further, the Pacific Ocean gleamed.
Lucy needed some metaphysical water to quench the fire still burning in her veins. She blinked. The lights seemed too bright. Traces of sunspots from her vision of Tonantzin flashed with every blink, which increased the dull ache in her head.
Also, her hands hurt like anything, but she was too wrung out to deal with them, either, so tried to sit quietly, eyes closed.
Focus on your breathing, she thought. You’re safe now.
She heard Brenda come back into the space and squinted her eyes open. Brenda bustled with the kettle in the tiny pocket kitchen off to the side, also set on the western wall. That was Brenda’s antidote for every thing, no matter the weather. Tea.
Brenda glanced over her shoulder, crease of worry still marring her brow, joining the crow’s feet and smile lines on her beautiful, creamy face. Several coils of her dark wavy hair escaped their loose bun and cascaded past her cheeks. She wor
e a flowing, floating peach sundress and sandals that snaked their way up her calves. Always a stunner, that Brenda.
Lucy realized her thoughts were doing their own internal form of babbling and she took a shuddering breath. Leaning forward, elbows on her knees, she tried to call on her witch’s training to calm down and breathe more normally again. She needed to slow everything down. She felt Brenda next to her, heard her set two mugs down on the small table to Lucy’s right, and smelled the familiar fragrance of lavender and mint.
Then she felt Brenda’s hand on her back warm, reassuring.
“Do you need me to get Tempest in here? Her healing skills are better than mine.”
“No,” Lucy croaked out. “I’ll be good in a minute. You got any aspirin? Ibuprofen?”
Brenda rose to get a bottle and a cup of water from the tap, setting them on the table before floating into her own chair.
“Are you going to tell me what happened? And what’s that smell?”
Lucy sat up, confused for a moment, and then caught the acrid whiff of pepper spray.
“Pepper balls,” she said. “Less-than-lethals. They shot at me.”
“Oh Great Goddess Diana! Cops?”
“DHS. I was trying…” Lucy coughed, trying to clear some of the dust and capsaicin from her lungs. She gingerly picked up the cup of water, using only her fingers to avoid her scraped palms. The right one was really bad, but she didn’t feel like having Brenda clucking over her more than she already was, and was glad to be able to hide the scrapes for now.
She pried the ibuprofen bottle open, popped two of the pills, and drank.
Please work. She really needed a clear head to have this conversation. Maybe the tea would help. Trading out the cup of water for the mug of tea, she blew across the pale green surface. The mingled fragrances rose to meet her, sending out a wave of calm. That was one of Brenda’s lesser magics, the ability to heal through simple, homely things. Lucy took a sip. Then another. Better. Though she would have preferred the brewed infusion over ice.
“My hands keep itching, tingling, like we talked about,” she finally said. “They’ve led me back to the ICE building twice now. It’s so intense there. The land wants to talk to me. I finally got close enough to touch the building today before the DHS cops chased me away.”
Brenda, usually so completely calm, set her tea down on the floor with a loud thunk.
“Do we need to call the rest of the coven?” she asked.
Lucy had to give Brenda credit for asking only one basic question when she could feel the other woman’s brain tumbling and teeming with a million thoughts. But Brenda’s training held true. The witch had discipline, and only asked what was necessary in a crisis.
“Probably,” Lucy said. “But meanwhile, I just need your help. I’m…I’m confused, and frankly a little overwhelmed.”
“I can only imagine,” Brenda said, then picked up her tea.
Both the women sipped the slowly cooling infusion for a moment. Lucy gazed at the fire banner, tracing the shapes, taking in the shades of orange and yellow and red. Despite the soothing tea, that was what she felt like inside right now: a great conflagration lit by the fire of the sun that surrounded Tonantzin.
The Earth Mother lit by a combusting star that could deal out either life or death to everything on the planet.
She turned towards Brenda, finally seeking out the eyes of her mentor.
“Tonantzin has set me on a quest.” Then she shook her head. “No, not a quest. She’s laid a charge upon me. What’s that thing, that Irish…?”
“A geas,” Brenda replied. “A sacred charge, or a binding. An obligation, or sometimes a prohibition.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, taking another sip of tea. The tea made her sweat a bit, but it was comforting nonetheless. Thankfully the Inner Eye was air-conditioned. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”
“What is the geas?”
“I have to fight to protect the children. And show others the way to freedom.”
From the front of the store, Lucy heard the bells announcing someone had entered. She heard Tempest, talking low. She waited, feeling Brenda listening to see if Tempest needed help. The curtain rattled open and there was Tempest, a startling vision because she had cut off her usual long fall of bright color. Her hair was short today. White-blond.
“Jack is here,” Tempest said. “And it really sounds as if he needs to talk to you. Both of you.”
16
Jack
Despite having known the witches for a few years, Jack had managed to avoid Brenda’s store until now. He was struck by the smells—some kind of incense, he guessed—and all the weird stuff crowding shelves and counters. Sparkling chunks of rock and crystal. What must be Tarot cards. Statuary of figures he couldn’t identify, except a couple of Greek Gods he recognized from grade school mythology and gaming, of course. Gamers loved Greek and Roman Gods. Some of the Celtic ones, too, but only if they could be drawn as sexy warrior women.
Despite the strangeness of it, the store felt peaceful. Soothing almost, as if it wanted him to relax in its embrace.
But Jack couldn’t relax. When he’d come to, face planted on his keyboard, left shoulder blade on fire, he knew he needed help. He still felt slightly sick, and as though his skin was humming with electricity. He sniffed. Yep, that slight tang of ozone he’d smelled when he’d come back awake was still there.
He’d texted Alejandro but gotten no answer, and rather than wait, headed immediately to the Inner Eye.
A young woman with short, punky white hair looked at him, her black-rimmed eyes narrowing at the sight of him. Was that concern or mistrust?
“May I help you?” she asked, sounding friendly enough. Her voice was familiar.
Right, he’d met her before, but she looked different now. The few times he’d seen her, she had punky colored hair, not this short, face-baring platinum job.
“Hey, Tempest, right? Is ah…Brenda here?” His head swiveled around the shop, but he didn’t see the older witch anywhere.
“Oh! Hi Jack. Sorry, it’s been a while. Brenda’s in the back room with Lucy. Want me to get her?”
He nodded. Lucy was here too. Huh. That felt a little awkward. But at least he could get his story out without having to repeat it. And get help, though what exactly help looked like in this case, he had zero idea.
Tempest poked her head behind a long purple curtain with some knot work pattern all over it. Looked like some hippie Irish thing. He heard Brenda’s voice murmuring something.
Leaning back into the shop, Tempest turned to him. “Head on through.”
He walked back into a mostly bare room with chairs stacked to the sides, and a few comfortable chairs grouped against the walls. Brightly colored quilted banners hung from each wall. They looked significant, but Jack wasn’t sure what they meant.
Lucy and Brenda were both staring at him, their eyes making him feel uncomfortable. Something was definitely going on. Lucy looked like hell, but Brenda was serene and beautiful as usual.
As he walked toward them, he noticed Lucy cradling her right hand.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
Lucy looked down, startled, as if she’d forgotten her hand was messed up. As he got closer, he could see red scrapes and flecks of dirt embedded in her light brown skin.
“Oh my Goddess, Lucy,” Brenda said, “how did I not notice?”
Brenda leapt up, bracelets jangling, moved toward a cabinet on the far wall, and pulled out a small first-aid kit.
Lucy looked a bit sheepish. “I kind of tried to hide it from you.”
“Well, that wasn’t the best choice you’ve ever made. Along with tackling the DHS all on your own,” Brenda said, voice dry. “Come over to the sink and let me wash it for you.”
Lucy shook her head, face creased with tension. “Don’t bother, Brenda,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Jack replied.
Lucy huffed at that, b
ut finally assented, standing and walking over to the little kitchen area. She allowed Brenda to wash and dry both of her hands. Then Brenda spread some kind of goopy ointment all over the scrapes from a little jar that smelled fragrant, and nice, not like medicine at all.
“The kettle is still warm if you want tea,” Brenda said to Jack as she worked. “It won’t take too long to bring it back up to a boil.”
“I’m fine,” he replied. Once all three were settled in the cushioned chairs again, Lucy’s right palm wrapped up in a narrow band of white gauze, both the women fixed him with those with twin gazes, pinning him like a bug to a corkboard.
“You going to tell us what’s happening?” Lucy asked. “Why you look like you saw a ghost or something?”
She seemed brittle, as if she was still a little pissed off at him. He couldn’t blame her.
Jack cleared his throat, now wishing he had some of the tea both women sipped at. But he also just wanted to get this over with. He flexed his hands on his jeans, rocked forward slightly and began talking.
“I was coding, just a game I’ve been working on, nothing special, but I was finally back in the groove. And you know,” he looked at Lucy, “there’s that painting, right?”
Lucy nodded.
He licked his lips. “Well, I’d been staring at that painting again, before I started coding, and I swear…” Jack paused, staring at a banner that was quilted in shades of green, gold, and black, trying to figure out how to describe his experience to two civilians.
“It was as if the code took on a life of its own,” he said.
Brenda made a small noise at that, and Jack snapped his head back to look at her. Brenda’s face was still serene, waiting, one dark coil of shining hair falling passed her cheek. Jack wondered if it was age, experience, or temperament that contributed to her equilibrium. Maybe he would eventually learn how to do that.
By Sun Page 7