Excerpt

1

TOBIAS

T

obias had been fighting his demons since childhood. Fighting the voices that told him he wasn't good enough, and would never fit in. That he was stupid. Lacked ambition. Cried like a girl. And then, as he grew older, fighting the opinions that he was wasting his life.

The demons sounded an awful lot like his father.

Tobias stared out the window, past the shaking needles of the towering pine, at the rain-slicked street and cars shushing by. The morning's soft rainfall had increased, smacking harder on the window of the office space he rented in a large, three-story Craftsman. He turned from the window.

The office was small, but suited his needs. Tobias had settled in here six months ago, and it was finally starting to feel like home. He looked around his cozy space, at his favorite chair, dark brown, stuffed just right, and comfortable. A client chair, a wingback in deep blue and chocolate stripes, faced it across a small coffee table. The desk where he wrote up his notes and worked with his herbs was a long slab, a heavy oak door that he'd rescued from a sidewalk and propped up on two old filing cabinets. There were plants and jars of herbs on shelves everywhere, and seedlings under a grow lamp.

Between the herbs and the incense he burned at the office altar, the room always smelled good. Rosemary and thyme, verbena and datura, and the sharp undercut of vervain and some of the other nightshades, the herbs that grew in darkness under the light of the moon.

Usually just the scent of herbs made him want to work, but not today. Today, he felt restless, fractious. Brittle. He'd barely gotten through his meditation practice this morning, and had finally given up, deciding to just head to work, hoping that the change of scene would help.

Always awkward, often angry, Tobias stuffed his emotions down, deep inside himself, and simply got on with his life as best he could. But the emotions didn't go away. They just remained in hiding. And they still had way more control of Tobias's life than he wanted, even after an aborted attempt at therapy and after working with his coven for years.

It was getting ridiculous, and he knew it. Anyone else would say his life was perfect now. Perfect coven. Perfect home, with perfect housemates. Perfectly good herbalism practice.

"Go back to therapy, Tobias," Selene, one of his favorite coven mates, would say. "You were barely scratching the surface when you quit with Dr. Greene."

Selene was probably right. But still, Tobias didn't go. He was frightened of what he might find if he poked the shadows too often, or too hard. He had worked with Dr. Greene two years ago, when anger at his father started choking off his ability to tune into the herbs. It had helped. His healing ability had returned, at least.

But now? The demons seemed to be dancing around him again, and he wasn't even sure why.

That's a lie, he thought.

He fingered a small sunwheel made of woven straw. A Brigid's cross. He'd been making them all week, in honor of the Goddess he was dedicated to. It was her time of year.

The little solar cross was a distraction, but no comfort. Tobias was angry again; it simmered on a low flame, deep inside his stomach. All because his father had called, all politeness and judgment. Battering him down. Subtly sneering at his life. At the fact that he had housemates, instead of a down payment on a Pearl District condo.