A Touch of Faery: Magical Short Stories, #2

By T. Thorn Coyle

Do you love magic?
Do you long for a world that is like ours, but...not quite? 

Welcome to A Touch of Faery. Five tales about faery crows, stalking cats, strange encounters... and second chances. 

 

Enter the glimmering spaces that exist around the edges of what we call real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. Thorn Coyle
• Release date: Apr 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393724186

T. Thorn Coyle

T. Thorn Coyle worked in many strange and diverse occupations before settling in to write novels. Buy them a cup of tea and perhaps they’ll tell you about it. Author of the Seashell Cove Paranormal Mystery series, The Steel Clan Saga, The Witches of Portland, and The Panther Chronicles, Thorn’s multiple non-fiction books include Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives, and Evolutionary Witchcraft. Thorn's work also appears in many anthologies, magazines, and collections.  An interloper to the Pacific Northwest U.S., Thorn pays proper tribute to all the neighborhood cats, and talks to crows, squirrels, and trees.

Book preview

A Brief Introduction from the Author

Human. Fae. Magical. Ordinary.

What is the difference?

I love stories that walk the spaces in between all of these. The stories that ask—and almost answer—the questions that dance on the tips of our tongues. The questions that only those brave or foolish enough to risk the in between ask.

Or the answers that only children are willing to hear.

Here’s a collection of five tales, all written with the support of my amazing Patreon friends. Some of these short stories have appeared in other collections, some not, but nonetheless these five stories all wanted to live together beneath one cover.

So here they are: faery crows, stalking cats, and second chances.

Crack open the door and enter…

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T. Thorn Coyle

Portland, Oregon

2020

1

May

book cover: mirrored California poppies lit from within.

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THE GRASS WAS DARK with dew. Sun not quite up over the buildings, though the sky was light already. The California poppies and oxalis still furled tightly, waiting for the sun to hit.

Talia stretched her back, swinging her arms gently. Breathed in. Morning. May first.

She looked around, wondering if the neighbors were watching. The drug addicts across the street were still asleep after a meth-fueled Walpurgisnacht. Talia had heard them as she closed last night’s ceremony. She was alone this year for the rites, no lover to ride her on the winds of change. No lover to gallop wildly with and bring sweetly, gently down to earth. This year, her visions were her own. She aimed to keep them.

She bent to touch her hands to the damp grass, a small city patch around a gingko tree, bordered by concrete and asphalt. She patted her face with the dew.

The rattling of a recycling cart came from down the road. But there was something… She shook the dreadlocks away from her eyes.

A crow. Hopping down a branch over her head. Staring at her with one black eye. Then another.

Hello, cousin. She straightened up, boots firm beneath her. What’s the word?

Craaahhk!

Her third eye tingled where the dew dried. She saw.

Visions of women in villages, weaving cloth. Visions of men in cities, walking into buildings made of glass. Visions of whales in deep water. Visions of a lone girl, walking a long road. Visions of beings of light. Visions of worms underground. Visions of cells dividing. Visions of plants unfurling. Visions of stars. Visions of babies being born. Visions of an old man falling down. Mathematical symbols. Planets turning. Notes played in thickening air. Fire burning. Blood pounding. Rainbow colors. Pure light. Pure light. A flash. Gray. Dark.

She felt her knees hit the concrete. Barely noticed pain. Heard wings fly past her head.

Damn her low blood pressure. She hadn’t eaten anything before her dew-gathering expedition. Who knew she’d need food this early? Who knew that after last night, there were more visions to be had? The flying ointment shouldn’t last this long. Usually she slept it off pretty quickly.

Talia kept her head down until she felt things clearing. Looked up. A dark-skinned woman with a fine-boned face was staring down at her. She’d never seen skin so dark, not in person. The woman wore a long white dress. Her head was wrapped in a white cloth, towering, clearly covering a long coil of braids. She held a wooden staff, top festooned with silver charms, colored beads, and feathers. Black feathers. Blacker than the woman’s skin. Black as crow.

Hello cousin. The woman’s voice was low. Will you take a walk with me?

Talia stood, ankles and knees protesting. The woman smelled like the whole city all at once. Like oil slicks in the rain. Like bread baking at the Subway sandwich shop. Like trees and smog. Like marijuana smoke. Like anise and incense. Like the fog in the morning. Like the smell of the ocean, washing the city clean as the evening wind blew through.

Talia bowed her head slightly. I’d be honored, ma’am. But I have to eat and get to work soon.

The woman looked around. Things are quiet for the moment. I will set you back in no time at all.

Things were quiet. The rattling cart was gone. She couldn’t hear the ubiquitous morning buses one block over. No cars. She looked around. People should have been heading in to work by now. Nothing. Then she noticed: the sun hadn’t crested yet. It should have been fully up by now, peeking around the buildings. Waking up the flowers.

Talia looked at the woman. Black eyes stared. Kind. Firm. Old. Really, really old.

Okay.

The woman’s staff tocked on the sidewalk, marking out some time-outside-of-time. Talia had no idea where they were going. Come to think of it, she had no idea where they were. Everything looked familiar, but just slightly…off. The capped sewer pipes painted to look like mushrooms? She’d always liked the whimsy of those. Today, they looked like actual mushrooms, sprouting