By Sea, page 14
part #4 of The Witches of Portland Series
“Are they going to want to work with a bunch of witches?” one of the other Wyrd Sisters asked, looking up from her knitting.
“They’ve worked with us before,” Moss replied.
“And they’ll do so again,” Raquel answered.
The feeling of strength inside her increased at the thought. That was good.
But she couldn’t completely shake the unease. Not yet. There were too many variables. Too many moving parts.
Too many things that could go wrong.
30
Charlie
Charlie sat on the sofa in his dark living room, staring out the windows at the play of light and shadow outside. Staring at nothing, really, a local IPA in one hand, forgotten. Books of runes on the side table. Forgotten.
His mind replayed the skirmish in the park. And the meeting at Brenda’s shop. And Zion’s battered face. And the way Raquel felt in his arms.
What the hell had brought him here? To this place? Fighting fucking Nazis, for God’s sake.
People like his father, it turned out. All of the little hints and comments over the years, the boxes full of who knows what in a house he needed to deal with as soon as things calmed down. If things calmed down.
They had to, right? No one could stay at war forever, not and live a life.
He shook his head. Of course people lived in war forever. There were children around the world who had never known a life outside of war. But Charlie could only barely imagine it. The thought was too terrible to bear.
“Dad, what the hell were you about? And who the hell are your cronies?”
And how had Charlie avoided thinking about it, all these years? He was sure Raquel would say that was his white privilege kicking in. Swaddled in that, a person didn’t have to think about what built their actual circumstances. Racism? Eh, sure, Grandma Jane made some comments, but she was still a good person. She didn’t actually hate anyone. Right?
Charlie was catching a glimpse of just how much love and caring and hatred had been intertwined in his family. Coming face to face with over-the-top racists like the HackMaster Nazis and their friends? It highlighted just how much he’d always ignored. Even when Hai would tell him about some microagressions he got in the comic book community, Charlie still didn’t get it.
Well, he was going to have to step up and start getting it now. Especially if he wanted Owlbear to remain a haven for every geeky child, teen, and adult who walked through its door. And especially if he wanted Zion and Raquel in his life. And he did.
Charlie wondered just how many friends he’d failed over the years, by not paying close enough attention.
His buzzer rang. Charlie walked through the dark living room and opened one of the side wall windows, the ones closest to the door. Poking his head out, he saw the familiar shape of Raquel’s fall of dreads.
“Raquel!”
She looked up, face half in shadow, but all beautiful.
“I’ll buzz you up.”
What was she doing here? Charlie went to unlock and open the apartment door and switch on some lamps, throwing a warm glow around the bookshelves, wood floors, artwork, couch, and two chairs.
He heard her on the stairs, moving slowly, tread heavy. Damn. The woman must be exhausted. He turned just as she walked through the door and dropped her purse on the floor.
Charlie held out his arms. She walked straight into them. He held her lightly, breathing in the coffee scent of her, feeling her dreadlocks against his cheek and chin where she nestled her head.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
They stood like that for the space of several heartbeats, before Raquel turned her face upward for a kiss.
That kiss was magic. Soft and firm. Sweet and urgent. The hoppy aftertaste of his beer met the tang of salt. Had she been crying? He pulled away.
“Where’s Zion?”
“I called my mom to come sit with him. I left him alone too much today. Our neighbor, Jack, was looking in on him, but had to go out tonight.”
“Come on. Let’s sit.”
Gently, he steered her toward the couch, and put an arm around her. She snuggled in close, head resting in the crook of his shoulder.
“Want to talk about it?”
She nodded, and wiped at her face. Charlie looked down. Her cheeks were wet.
“I know we have to do this, but I just want to run away. I mean, I’m furious, right? I want to tear those bastards limb from limb. But I don’t trust that’ll keep Zion safe, either. So that makes me want to run away. Get him someplace where this won’t happen again.”
She shifted on the couch, fishing in the pocket of her leather jacket. Dragging out a handkerchief, she blew her nose.
“But I don’t know where would be any safer, you know?”
Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Not knowing the right words, but wanting to be there for her. He had so much to learn, and the revelations of the week had proven to him that love wasn’t enough.
Not to be with someone like Raquel. And fuck, not even to be a real friend to Hai or Sam. He felt irritated with himself. Where the hell had he been all these years?
“What do you need?” he finally asked.
She moved again, so she could look him in the eyes. God, she looked so sad…but intent, too. She placed on hand on his cheek. It was cold as the ocean floor.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“I want you to warm me up. It’s…it’s Beltane. It’s Beltane, and I’ve had the worst week of my life, Nazis ruined my favorite ritual of the year, and Goddess, I just want to feel alive.”
He bent his head toward hers. Raquel’s lips opened. With gentle fingers, he wiped away her tears. She crawled up on his lap; his arms wrapped around her. He wanted to kiss her forever. Or as long as she would let him.
She broke her lips from his, and, forehead to forehead, eyes closed, whispered, “I want you to make love to me, Charlie.”
“Are you sure?” he whispered back.
“Yes,” she said.
Charlie wrapped her closer with one arm, and rocked forward on the couch. Wrapping the other arm around the curves of her hips, he stood. She twined her legs tight around his waist.
He carried her into his bedroom, and laid her sweet, lush body down.
31
Raquel
Raquel was in her bright kitchen, making hot chocolate for Zion, at his request.
She had stayed home from the café, needing to be near her son. Raquel’s mother luckily could stay with Zion again in the evening, when Raquel needed to head to a planning meeting. It still felt strange, relying on her mother for help like this. In recent years, she’d grown used to not asking Mama for help. After Andy died, Raquel’s mother had been great, but after a while, help had turned into wanting to control Raquel and Zion’s life.
Mama meant well—it was all for love—but she could be a bit smothering. Raquel knew she would have swooped in and made it impossible for Raquel to do what she needed to do.
Raquel didn’t have to worry about Andy’s parents smothering anything. They saw Zion once a year, and Raquel still felt like, though they loved their grandson, he was also a painful reminder of what they had lost.
Even though Zion protested that he was fine, and didn’t need a babysitter, Raquel could tell he was relieved Grandma was coming. After the beating he’d taken, he needed way more mothering than usual.
She carefully stirred the milk and powdered chocolate, making sure it didn’t burn or develop the disgusting skin along the top.
Raquel was feeling a little better, at least. Sex with Charlie had not only been wonderful, but had been just the thing to help heal her, body and soul. Because of Zion, she hadn’t spent the night, but the two hours she’d spent away from home had felt luxurious. Her body still tingled from it.
Thank you, mother.
Yemọja liked her priestesses satisfied and happy. Because she can push us harder that way, Raquel thought, only half sarcastically.
She poured the chocolate into Zion’s Avengers mug and walked down the hallway to his room. The white door was ajar, but she gave a rap on the frame before entering.
Zion’s room smelled of boy and Tiger Balm. A cherrywood student desk sat against the wall, under shelves teeming with books and action figures. Avengers posters graced the walls. The curtains to the one window were open to let in the May sun.
Raquel dragged the desk chair over to the twin bed where Zion stretched out beneath the Straight Outta Wakanda comforter she’d surprised him with for his birthday the month before. He looked a little better, but Raquel still fretted over him. She knew he was worried about her, too.
It had been just the two of them since Zion was four, going on five. Even before then, they hadn’t seen much of Zion’s dad, Andy. Andy had spent way too much of his precious time in Afghanistan, before losing his life to that IED. Raquel loved Andy, but her thirty-five-year-old self didn’t have the same respect for the military that her twenty-something self had.
She’d never really had family with Andy. Not the “ride or die” relationship the songs talked about. But life with him had brought her Zion. She couldn’t really ask for anything more. Other than to get these assholes to leave her son the hell alone.
“Did you go see Charlie last night?”
Oh boy. “Yes. Is that okay?”
He nodded. “I like him. He’s always been cool to me, you know?”
Raquel did know, and it was one of the reasons she was letting herself fall for the tall blond man. She knew that, even before she’d ever even noticed him, he’d been kind to her son and his friends.
She just hoped…that it was all going to work out. Dating as a single parent was so tricky. You wanted your kid to like the people you dated, but also, you worried if they got too attached too soon. Zion already had a relationship with Charlie. That made some things easier, but she’d also need to keep an eye on things. Make sure the three of them didn’t start doing too much together.
She didn’t want Zion to start building a family with someone new until she was sure.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I keep feeling…” He screwed up his face, furrowing his brow. Thinking. “Like. You know how the coven talks sometimes about information ‘wanting to come through’?”
The air changed in the room and Raquel stilled herself inside, every bit of her paying attention.
“Yes? What about it?” she asked gently.
“I keep feeling like there’s pressure”—he gestured toward the center of his chest—“here.”
“Does it hurt? It’s not your ribs, is it?”
He shook his head, frustrated. “No. I mean, I think that’s why I didn’t notice it at first. Everything hurt too much. But now? It feels like something wants to talk to me or something. It’s in my chest, but also, sometimes the back of my head feels a little buzzy.”
“Where?”
He cupped a palm around the base of his skull, right where it met his spine. The classic entry point for spirits and the Powers. Shit.
“That definitely sounds like something’s trying to come through,” she said, carefully. “Do you want help closing it down? I can do that for you. It might help you rest.”
“No,” he said. “I want you to help me. Show me what you do when you need to listen.”
She knew exactly what he was asking her. Every witch would. She had also known—sensitive as her boy was?—that this would come someday. But now? He was too young!
:You don’t always get to choose when we arrive, daughter. I can help with this. Just ask.:
The taste of saltwater touched Raquel’s tongue. Yemọja was with her.
Okay. She was still a priestess. She could do this. They could do this.
“Slow down your breathing. Just the way you’ve practiced.”
Zion took in a long, slow breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. He closed his eyes, settling more deeply into his pillow. Raquel looked with her inner eye, and saw his aura settle, too, the field around him deepening just slightly. Raquel couldn’t “see” colors or anything, but she had the power to perceive shifts in energetic states. It came in useful.
“Okay,” she said. “Now pay attention to your chest area, and the base of your skull. Feel whatever sensations are there. Take an even deeper breath, and as you exhale, imagine your energy fields softening. Ask ‘Who’s there?’”
His face intent, but more relaxed than it had been since the beating, Raquel felt him doing as she asked. It was palpable, a shift in pressure, similar to gently pressing at water in a pool with the palm of your hand, or the way wind resistance felt to a child doing hand dips and dives out a car window.
“Who’s there?” he asked, voice strong.
With her inner ear, Raquel heard distant drumming, just as she had in the park. She tensed, feeling the Powers draw near.
“Who is it, Zion?”
“Ṣàngó.”
:He will help Zion, just as I help you.:
Zion’s body gave a shudder as muscles contracted, then relaxed. The planes of his face adjusted, just slightly, round cheeks flattening, jaw growing more defined. He looked older than thirteen, especially to a mother’s eyes.
Then Zion spoke, in a voice that was his and not his. It was deeper. Stronger. Older. Yet still her little boy’s. The small hairs at the back of Raquel’s neck prickled. She stopped herself from grabbing his hand. A sudden touch right now could jerk him back from his altered state, too quickly and too soon.
“I am that which rolls across vast distances, bringing thunder, and lightning, illuminating evil deeds, striking fear into the oppressors, and bringing light to those who await justice.”
Zion’s hands struck the comforter three times.
“The future shall lead us, crushing the moldering past beneath its heel. From the corners of the earth they come, a mighty war band. To strike fear in the hearts of those who desecrate the ways of old and poison that which is to come. The Powers of the Mighty walk this earth again, and we shall triumph, but only if the people shall believe.”
The sense of ocean grew stronger in Raquel. It steadied her. Calmed her. The gibbering, angry, mother part of her, the part that only wanted her little boy to be happy, and safe, and protected from the evils of the world? It was still there, but it knew that to protect her son, Zion needed her to meet him as a witch.
“What else do you need to tell us, Mighty One?” she asked.
Zion’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head and stared at her. His dark eyes burned like fire.
“Do what is necessary, and no more. Stand firm. Gather your forces. Strike swift and strong.” Zion panted a little, as though holding the Power was growing to be too much effort. “And listen to my sister. She holds the other part.”
Zion’s face went slack, and a great, rattling, hissing breath expelled itself from his lungs. His cheeks grew round again, though his skin was tinged with gray. He blinked. Ran his hands across the comforter.
“Mom?”
She reached for him, gathering him into her arms, careful of his injured ribs, inhaling the scent of Tiger Balm and boy.
“Yes?”
“That was really weird.”
She patted his back and dragged some pillows up, helping him settle back into a half-seated position on the bed.
“It was weird. Powerful, too. Do you want to talk about it?”
He thought for a moment. “Not right now. I think…it needs to just be for a little bit. Does that make sense?”
She nodded. It did make sense. He needed to let the experience settle first. Get some distance. Turn it over in his mind. She was sure they had a lot of conversations in their future.
Looking down, she saw that skin had formed on the hot chocolate. Damn. He never got to drink it.
She kissed his forehead, then picked up the mug and stood. “I’m going to throw this out and make some more. Sound good?”
He nodded. She could tell he was exhausted. She paused at the doorway.
“Oh, baby. I feel like I should stay here with you.”
His grave eyes held steady on her own.
“You heard what Ṣàngó said, Mom. You need to let everyone know. Besides…” He forced out a little smile. Her brave and beautiful son, trying to reassure her. “Grandma will bring my favorite Thai soup and she promised me a new video game.”
“Okay, little man. I’m going to make this hot chocolate, then get changed. You need anything else?”
“I’ve got my comic books, Netflix, and don’t have to do homework,” he said. “I’m good.”
And he’d just had an ancient Power speak through him. Raquel shook her head. He was good, her bright and shining son. Too good for this world sometimes.
She wasn’t sure the world deserved him.
32
Charlie
Owlbear was full. Charlie and Sam had folded up the gaming tables to make more space, and Tempest had brought chairs over from the Inner Eye. Brenda was minding the shop, she had said. As a shop owner, Charlie understood for sure, but he would have liked Brenda’s calming presence all the same.
Charlie stood just behind the counter, making sure there wasn’t any trouble. Sam was near the door.
So far, it felt as though the protective runes were holding. Not that Charlie was an expert, or sanguine about anything right now, but it at least felt like the shop was being protected. That was all he could ask for right now. Just to not feel as if everything he cared about was under attack.
Speaking of a person he cared about… Raquel walked in, causing his breath to catch as he looked at her. Sam gave her a quick hug. Raquel looked worried and a little tired, but better than she had in a few days. That was good. Charlie rounded the counter and walked toward her as she moved into his arms for a quick hug. He brushed a kiss across her lips. Neither the hug or the kiss were enough. But considering they were heading into a war council, it would have to be enough.
