By Dusk

by T Thorn Coyle

  Gentrification, Moss would say. Alejandro didn’t mind it as much as some of his more radical coven mates. Alejandro was a fan of nice restaurants and bourgeois bars, though he’d been known to set foot inside the occasional dive. He just wished gentrification didn’t come at such a high cost.

  What the city needed was rezoning…

  Earbuds in, phone in hand, he barely heard the voice squawking in his ear. “I understand,” he murmured. Polite noise to keep the person on the line at bay. He watched his nephews[ change to nephews from niece and nephews throughout.] appear and disappear in between the window displays packed with board games, toys, and action figures. Deeper inside the store, he knew, were the coveted Magic cards and painted role playing miniatures locked inside a clear glass case. He was supposed to be enjoying their excitement. Buying them an add on pack for their decks, or whatever it was they wanted this week.

  Instead, here he was, dealing with this person––rapidly becoming an asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer––on the phone.

  “As I stated in my email, I am currently closed to new clients.” He was currently closed to all clients, but this jerk didn’t need that information.

  Taking a break. Getting his head together. Or whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing.

  Maybe he was depressed. Was he depressed? He didn’t feel like it. He just felt…alternately numb and frustrated.

  Alejandro looked across the street to the low slung building that housed Sub Rosa, the Mexican American food place. They served up a decent margarita. Maybe he’d take the kids for tacos. The food carts down the street were more auténtico, but it was a little too chilly to eat outside today and he just didn’t feel like crowding into the brightly lit, boisterous indoor eating space.

  Then he remembered. The offrendas should be up. Maybe he’d take the kiddos there after all.

  “I have another call coming in. I’m sorry. I need to go. But if you want a referral…”

  The guy actually hung up. Good thing, because no way was Alejandro referring this asshole to anyone he trusted anyway. He had to stop with the polite noises.

  “Fucking Spic!” a voice yelled out from a car speeding past. Alejandro flipped a middle finger at the receding bumper.

  “Pendejo,” he said, without too much heat in it. The coven and the rest of the community had dealt a big blow to the white supremacists, but that didn’t mean the assholes weren’t still around.

  He shoved his phone into his jacket pocket, ran a hand across the stubble on his head, and sighed. He should get inside. Let the kids pull him into their excitement. But he just wasn’t ready. Couldn’t shake the sense of wrongness that had crept forward in his consciousness for the last six months, finally coming to a head around the equinox.

  It was guys like the jerk on the phone––and the asshole in the car–– who’d led to Alejandro’s current crisis. Right now? He questioned everything he’d worked so hard for. All the training. All the hours. All the money in his bank account. It all felt tainted now. Badly fought for, badly won.

  He watched people smoking outside one of the dive bars across the street. Sometimes he wished he smoked. Instead, he went to the gym four days a week.

  So now what? You’re a grown man…

  “Alejandro? You okay out here?” Charlie stood, half in and half out of the shop, blocking the glass doorway. Dude looked like comic book Thor and Alejandro felt the usual pang of half-interested lust at the sight of the man whom he was slowly starting to call a friend. Not that he would poach Raquel’s sweetheart. She’d rip off his heart and eat it for lunch. And besides, he didn’t think Charlie swung that way. Alejandro swung pretty much every way, though his sex drive wasn’t what it used to be, much to Shekinah’s dismay.

  “Alejandro?” The worry in Charlie’s voice increased, and he stepped all the way out onto the sidewalk, hands in pockets, Ms. Marvel T-shirt straining over his very impressive pecs. Alejandro only recognized the young Ms. Marvel in her lightning bolt tunic and flowing red scarf because the alter ego of Pakistani teen Kamala Khan was one of his niece’s favorites.

  “Sorry. Woolgathering. How are you?”

  Charlie stepped up beside Alejandro. He was of a similar height, but much broader. “I’m fine. Shop’s doing great. But I was trying to ask about you.”

  “I’m…fine.” Alejandro exhaled again. “That’s part of the problem. I can’t figure out anything that’s actually wrong. I mean, other than the usual state of the world stuff.”

  “And?”

  “And… taking a break from consulting feels too easy. And as if that’s not it. I don’t know what I need to be paying attention to, and whether it’s coming, or it’s already here.”

  Charlie crossed his arms over his chest. “I hate it when you witches talk like that.”

  That shocked a laugh out of Alejandro. “Why’s that?”

  Charlie looked at him, assessing him with steady eyes. “Because when you say things like ‘something’s coming’ it usually is. And that means my life’s about to get harder again.”

  “You’re right about that, hermano.”

  Charlie clapped him on the back. “Let’s go inside. Your nephews are building quite a stack on the counter. You may need to do triage.”

  Charlie pulled the glass door open again, a phaser sounded, and Alejandro followed him on through.

  Whatever may or may not be coming? It would have to wait. His sobrinos were the priority of the evening.

  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, to Lou Harper for my covers, 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 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

  * * *

  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

  * * *

  Single Novels and Story Collections

  Like Water

  Alighting on His Shoulders

  Break Apart the Stone

  * * *

  Anthologies

  Fantasy in the City

  Haunted

  Witches Brew

  The Faerie Summer

  Stars in the Darkness

  Fiction River: Justice

  Fiction River: Feel the Fear

>   * * *

  Non-Fiction

  Evolutionary Witchcraft

  Kissing the Limitless

  Make Magic of Your Life

  Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives

  Crafting a Daily Practice