"Arrange the polished cottons, then straighten the remnants table," Gladys said.
        Kyra nodded and began hefting bolts of the new shipment of cloth on to the wooden rack.  She liked scut work.  It gave her time to day dream about wild gardens tangled with herbs and flowers.  Lush spots, the quiet disturbed only by the industry of  bees and the frolic of butterflies.  Working with customers meant listening to their requests, sometimes their complaints.  It meant looking at a pattern, sometimes placing it on fabric to determine if it would fit.  It also meant curbing a desire to roll her eyes or offer a sarcastic remark when a customer had less expertise than their grand ideas.  Halloween costumes and bridal gowns came to mind.
        "Where is Glynis?"  Gladys muttered as she left the rack in the next aisle and marched to the front of the store where several customers waited impatiently to pay for their purchases.
        Kyra kept to her task.  Gladys Johnson and her twin, Glynis, owned Sew You Say and trusted no one but themselves to handle the cash register.  An attempt to sell craft kits and yarn had failed soon after Kyra had been hired five years ago; notions, fabric and needlework supplies remained.  Classes, too, had stopped, but long before Kyra had found employment.  The G's, as Kyra thought of them, had leased this shop in a strip mall for 25 years.  The neighborhood in Southeast Phoenix had changed from an Anglo population to one with an Hispanic mix, and Spanish rivaled English in the store.  Neither of the G's spoke the language and Kyra had been hired as much for her basic understanding of Spanish as her knowledge of sewing.  Deft with a needle, Kyra always wore over-alls she stitched in bright-colors, the bibs bead-embroidered and appliquéd with flowers like today's grass-green pair abloom with satin tulips.  Her popularity with the customers made her a valuable asset to the sisters in many ways.
        Short in stature, voluptuous Kyra looked Hispanic, but was Basque and Hungarian.  Dark curly hair, ebony eyes, pale olive complexion - wrap her crown with a kerchief, clip hoops in her ear lobes, swirl bangles on her wrists, and her Romani ancestry became apparent.
        Ada, her mother, had lived the nomadic lifestyle, shuttling Kyra across the country, her ties with the family clan fragmented, until settling in a Tempe trailer court ten years ago.  Kyra suspected her own determination to make roots had motivated her mother to stay put, too, but Ada claimed the Arizona sunshine had seduced her, and  Kyra's decision was a bonus.  Besides, she lived in a trailer for the very reason that she might just pull up stakes.  Ada could well-afford a real house with acreage, but a trailer was truer to her nature.
        In her sphere, Ada was legendary for her fortune-telling and earned a livelihood reading tarot cards at a sprawling permanent swap meet held at a Phoenix dog track known as much for the swap meet as for its seasonal racing.   Kyra happened to be as good or better at forecasting than her mother, but kept it secret.   The decade-past decision had been based on more than a desire to have roots.  Kyra only wanted to be a part of things, not separate, not different.  Let Ada be the desert version of the Gypsy Queen.
        "Hey, Baby."
        At the sound of Terry's voice, Kyra suppressed a sigh.  When she was honest with herself, she could admit that this was the real reason Phoenix had kept her anchored.  Or trapped as she felt lately.  Actually, for the last year.  Actually?  The last several years.  But this was what she wanted, permanence, even if the reality of it was less than her expectations.   She would never choose to live in a desert, otherwise.
        Terry winked a thick lash on his round, ruddy cheek as he flashed her a grin which she used to consider sexy.  Burly, tall, auburn hair curlier than Kyra's, Terry was several years older and had escaped the trailer court before Kyra, but had not forgotten her.  A week after receiving her high school diploma, she had moved in with him.  The window of their second story apartment bedroom faced a convenience store frequented in early morning hours by would-be robbers.  The occasional bullet exchanges still woke her up, but the police lights never did anymore.  Sew You Say was in the strip mall across the busy street from the apartment.  Kyra owned an twelve-year old Volvo, but walked to work.
        "Isn't it your break?" Terry said.
        Kyra glanced at the clock over the front entry.  Gladys was at the cash register and Glynis was cutting fabric for a customer.  Several customers browsed, but the store was not busy.  "Let me tell Glynis I'll be in stockroom with you," she said.
        Terry didn't wait for her, but strode to the back of the store.  Kyra wrinkled her nose at his sour smell.  Perspiration and last night's beer.  The combination of warm weather and hefting five-gallon size bottles all day on his water delivery route guaranteed sweat.  Borax in the rinse cycle would sweeten the fabric, but Kyra didn't control the laundry quality of his work shirts which were professionally washed by his company.  She did his other laundry, though, and the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping...Kyra figured she was grateful not to have a yard with grass to mow.
        "I'm meeting the guys after work," Terry said when Kyra joined him at a pitted wooden table crammed against boxes of discarded inventory by the store's bathroom.  Kyra spent little free time in the gloomy, stuffy room, preferring to linger in the home improvement center on the west end of the mall which had a large garden supply section.
        "You've been doing that a lot," she said, "a lot more than usual."
        Terry shrugged.  "Might be real late.  I get drunk, I'll crash where I'm at.  Don't wait up for me."
        Kyra kept her expression calm as he patted her cheek and left.  Another issue she had just recently begun to be honest with herself about were Terry's lies.  She didn't want to look too closely at the evidence, though, because she didn't trust herself.  At seventeen and scoffing the Laws of Power, she had exercised her budding psychic abilities on a popular, flirtatious teacher.  She picked Beltane Eve to work her magick
and did so silently at Ada's spiritual gathering in the foothills of the Superstition Mountains.   Kyra would still flinch when she thought about it.  The circle had been properly cast and the directions called with honor to Her, the Great Mother, because Ada respected the Rules.  But Kyra's words in her internal ceremony had been demanding, uncompromising rhymes and a broken shoe lace knotted tight (confiscated by her from the teacher) had been cast into the fire.  The teacher had wanted her all right in an overwhelmingly sexual sense, but not enough to give up his wife, and Kyra soon grew tired of being a lust object.  Yet even now, years later, every six months the miserable, bewitched man still called her!  In Terry's case, then, she would have to deal with his infidelity realistically because manipulation was not a healthy choice.  It didn't mean she couldn't protect herself, but energy should only be directed in a positive
way.  In fact, whatever she did was okay as long as she did no harm, being ever conscious that all comes back three-fold.  She wondered if perhaps Terry was an instant pay-back for the school teacher charm, but it didn't matter.  She should send him ‘away' with bright blessings.  She should.  Emotionally, economically - she just wasn't ready yet to face it.
        Kyra realized that she had twenty-five minutes left before returning to the floor.  Time enough to visit the garden section.  Just smelling the potting soil and moisture from the sprinkling system grounded her and brought peace of mind.

        "Have you seen the new shipment of geraniums?  We've got stripes, scents..."
        Kyra smiled at Jared, assistant manager in the garden section.  Blond, blue eyes, buff  - he was a surfer vision, and the soap he used enhanced the effect.  She was always reminded of the ocean around him.  Very appealing, particularly his genuine interest in gardening and what seemed to be a sincere regard for her, but not her type.  Past experience had told her that Jared-types loved feminine versions of themselves although he had gotten to be more than a casual acquaintance since being hired four months ago.   He knew about Terry.   She knew he rented a small house and lived alone.  They both had expressed dreams to move out of the city for a rural community.
        "I'll take a couple cartons of geraniums, Jared.  Any kind."
        "For the patio, right?"  He said as he led her to the aisle.
        "It's just a small balcony with lots of hooks for hanging pots.  I do have a couple pots on the floor."
        "Have you ever worked with clay?"
        "You mean like making pottery?"
        "Yeah."  He grinned.  "I have a kiln and throw pots."
        "Do you sell them?"
        "Not yet, but I might.  I do it for gifts."  He looked at her.  "I have one for you.  For these geraniums and to hang on one of those hooks."
        Kyra stared at him, flattered, but wary.  Why would he give her a gift?  "Uh, any reason why I should get...a pot?"
        "Why not?"  He smiled, and Kyra had the impression that his teeth glinted.  "Wait here.  I've had it with me in the office for the next time you came in." 

        Kyra studied the round pink pot.  "Do these marks have any meaning or are they for decoration?"
        "Runes."
        She looked at him, puzzled.  Runes on stones or tiles were used for divination.   "Just for decoration?"
        His eyes shifted from the pot to Kyra and he smiled again.  "I'm Swedish and interested in my Norse heritage."
        Which was an evasive answer, but Kyra had to leave.  She said as she turned toward the exit,  "I'll buy the geraniums tomorrow.   I've run out of time.  The pot is great - thanks!"
        Jared bowed his head to hide his satisfied expression.
        "Kyra?  I didn't see Terry's truck when I got home, so you must be in there!"
        Kyra smiled as she crossed the room from the sofa to the front entry.  Their neighbor, willowy Juliette, waitress at a fifties' theme restaurant, thrift-shop junkie and dabbler in the Craft, was also Kyra's dear friend.  She knew Terry's habits and taking Kyra out evenings wasn't common.
        "‘Lo," Juliette breathed as she swept into the apartment, tongue ring clicking.  Without raising an eyebrow Kyra took in the electric-yellow boa, a straw boater hat on the dyed-blue hair, gaudy rhinestone necklace and leopard print house-dress that was one of Juliette's favorites'.
        "The Tom Cruise movie is on HBO," Kyra said.
        "He's so ordinary unless you're talking about the vampire flick he did."
        "I like ordinary," Kyra said.
        Juliette snorted as she dumped several Styrofoam take-out containers on the dinette table.  "I grew up in a middle class, middle brow boring family while you had this exotic childhood roving from New York to California, living on the edge..."
        "The edge of the law, the edge of poverty, the edge of despair..."
        "My point being is that you long for what I had and vice versa.  We need to do a brain swap."
        Kyra laughed.
        "Where's Terry tonight?"  Juliette inquired.  She opened the top container and scooped mashed potatoes with chicken gravy on to her index finger and into her mouth.
        "Is that a black widow decal glued on your nail?"
        "Yes.  It's the approximate size of one, isn't it?  You didn't answer me."
        "Terry is with his friends."
        Juliette gazed at Kyra.  "I can fix this problem."
        "So can I and it doesn't take magick.  It takes me making...oh, I don't know what it takes except I don't want any spells involved.  We've discussed this before."
        "I'll protect myself and you!" Juliette exclaimed.  "C'mon.  I have this new book filled with easy spells for every occasion.  I could do it and not even tell you!"
        "No!  You don't fully understand the danger of messing with such things."  Juliette was on the right track, but her friend hadn't developed the wisdom yet to respect the consequences which random, casual magick could evoke.
        "Well, Ada holds Esbat every month with her circle.  She'd do it right."  Juliette grabbed the container, minced into the living room on her red velvet mules and plunked into the leather easy chair, the most expensive piece of furniture they owned, and Terry's favorite.
        "Try not to spill gravy on the chair," Kyra said, poking in the next container.  Onion rings slathered in ketchup.  Juliette's diet consisted of comfort food, specifically any menu item she could scrounge from the restaurant kitchen, and ginger ale.
        "Beltane is at the end of the month.  Do a reverse spell and instead of celebrating the Great Marriage with a roll on the ground, end the Grand Relationship."
        "A particularly potent Day of Power and not one I'm dabbling with, Jul."  Kyra sat on the sofa.
        "Okay.  Then let Ada do it."
        "Ada likes Terry and thinks I'd be crazy to dump him.  Ada's idea of a relationship is a man who spends the night and remembers her name in the morning.  Terry is like a god to her."
        Juliette regarded her.  "Was your mom married to your dad?"
        "She was married at the time to a man picked by the family, but he was not my dad.  She might have married him, but he died."
        "Mysteriously?" Juliette's coal-rimmed eyes had widened.
        "In a drug bust.  He didn't use the stuff, but ran a manufacturing house.  He was shot by cops."
        "Wow.  Whatta life you've had!"
        "I didn't know him, Jul.  Aren't you glad you know your dad?  I've never really known any of my family because Ada had little use for them.  She liked her independence.  Imagine not knowing your wonderful Aunt Sue.  Imagine not hearing her stories about the sixties and burning her bra and making love in the mud at Woodstock."
        Juliette changed the subject.  "Do you get any sex these days?"
        Kyra giggled nervously.  "We've been together forever even though we broke up a few times and I was with others.  But Terry was my first.  It's not like it's a big thrill to...to..."
        "It should remain a thrill.  Maybe not fireworks, but good.  You have to make an effort.  I can't pick up a magazine without finding an article on sparking the bed scene."
        Kyra read the same magazines.  She'd considered the tips, the suggestions to add thrills, but couldn't quite get around to approaching Terry about him in the role as partner.  It had occurred to her that he might not prefer her as a partner, but decided the blame should be on the beer.  When sex happened, it was mostly for his gratification.
        "So tell me what will it take for you to get rid of Terry? What has to happen to convince you?"
        Kyra shook her head.  Juliette was more agitated than usual about the subject tonight, and Kyra was tired of it.  She said firmly, "I like the security so I just have to
reconcile myself to giving that up or finding a way to be serene about his...contradictions."
        "What if one of his contradictions slapped you in the face?"
        Kyra stared at her friend who had a peculiar expression.  Fear and...guilt?
        Juliette took a deep breath and said resolutely, "During inventory at the store in January.  I came looking for you and guess who I found bonking some girl in this damn chair?  He didn't even have the door locked, which is insane in this neighborhood."  She exhaled deeply.  Oh, hell.  He brings girls here plenty.  It's not like he picks someone special, either.  He's even bonked me."
        Tears choked Kyra.  She knew it.  She just didn't want to hear it.  And it certainly didn't matter who.  Why Juliette's sudden need to confess?  Now her carefully constructed illusion had been exposed and destroyed. 

 She could hardly stay here another minute.  She would drift just like her mother.  Man to man.  Job to job.  Town to town until she was old and had nothing but a rusted trailer and a worn tarot deck to win friends...
        "Go away, Juliette," she whispered.  "Go away."
        "I want to help!  I did it to help you!  This wasn't easy for me hurting you!"  Juliette leaned to Kyra with her hand outstretched.
        Kyra recoiled.  "Go away."
        Juliette got out of the chair, the container forgotten.  It slipped upside down, spilling the contents on the arm rest and into the seat cushion.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "When you think about it, you'll realize it's better.  Just end it and forgive me."
        Kyra stared at the door after Juliette had left.  She had no real friends, either.  She began to cry in earnest. 

        Dusk had passed and Kyra sat crumpled in darkness, listening to a cricket singing on the small balcony off the living room.  The sliding door was open, amplifying the sound, and a breeze carried in the scent of lavender from the variety Kyra grew in clay pots. Lavender relieves stress, she thought.  Lavender is calming.  Would she be hysterical tonight if the flowers hadn't been blooming?
        Suddenly she became conscious of light.  Waxing moon, she realized, almost full.  Luck, love, abundance - the time to celebrate white magick, the phase to draw in energy.  It had been ages since she had paid attention to the moon phases and had never noticed such strong moonlight in the apartment.  Kyra dragged herself off the sofa and stepped on to the balcony.  Between the scrawny, bushy-topped palms in the yard, the moon seemed to train on her, bidding her to abandon her reluctance to do magick.
        "Great Mother," she whispered, "shackles and chains, bonds that drain, kindle the power within me, the courage to be free, so mote it be."  The moon disappeared behind a cloud.  Kyra squinted at the sky.  She was within the three-day window of opportunity to do a full moon ritual.  With a growing sense of excitement, she hurried inside to assemble the elements. 

        Kyra sat cross-legged facing the moon scudding among the clouds in the southern sky.  A terra cotta incense burner in the shape of the Nile River Goddess smoked with sandalwood.  The breeze tossed the wooden wind chimes hung on the left side of the balcony.  Her lavender plants were grouped around the sliding door, the north side.   To her right, the west, an iron kettle held rainwater, a rarity in the desert and precious.  The kettle was the closest she was willing to come to possessing a cauldron.
        In front of her she had a white candle anchored inside Jared's pink pot.  She wasn't sure why she was so drawn to it, but perhaps because Jared cared about her, unlike Terry, anymore, to whom she had become a convenience.
        She had cut out a heart shape and held it up.  Tearing it, she said, "take this heart, so ripped a part, show me how, to heal it now, make it whole, with new direction to go.  Set me free.  Let it be."  Holding the pieces of paper in the candle's flame, she said, "Fire to heal, fire to cleanse, bring to me love again."

        "I came for the geraniums.  "
        "It's been awhile.  I thought you might already have something else planted in that pot I gave you."
        Kyra stared at Jared.  Why did she feel like he knew how she had used his pot? Why did she have the strong suspicion that this man practiced his own magick? "Tell me what the runes mean on the pot," she said.
        Jared smoothed the soil spilled on his work table and drawing the runes explained, "j signifies a major change. b can mean healing...a new love affair. d indicates full circle, completion."
        Kyra took a deep breath.  "Terry came home three days ago, exploded over greasy food dried on his favorite chair that had been spilled by Juliette who until six days ago used to be my friend.  He moved out in a matter of hours.  Hours!  After five years!  It was time, but I wanted it to be on my terms, not his.  He just...left.  I should have left him."  Tears gathered in her eyes.  "Did you...did you cast a spell on him?  It...it should have been my spell!"
        Jared quickly surveyed the shop area.  One customer inspected rose bushes set up outside the wide door.  Another studied seed packets hung on a wall display.  He moved closer to her.  "Being as how it was so swift and final, maybe it was both our spells, " he said gently.
        Kyra blinked.  "Both?"
        He placed his hands on her shoulders.  "Tiny gold bells, red and white woven ribbons, a glitter-embroidered basket of white roses - I can tell each Sabbat by the design you've created on your over-alls.   This bib is telling me Beltane."
        "The appliqué eggs and bunny in March could have been for Easter," Kyra said defensively, trying re-gain her composure.
        "Or Ostara.  If your intent wasn't to honor a Sabbat,  I would have expected a groundhog around February 1st, not those Brid's Day over-alls with white quilted candles ablaze with silver sequins and finished with an evergreen wreath embroidery."
        "I didn't realize how obvious..."
        Jared leaned into her ear and whispered, "Only obvious to a kindred spirit, Kyra, Darling."
        She shivered from the sudden heat radiating in her heart.   Jared!  He had been pursuing her and she had been wasting their future chasing Terry into a dead end!  But it didn't matter now.   What was happening was mutual - the best kind of magick!  She shook her wrist indicating her watch.  "Oh, I'm running out of time again.  I'll come at six to get the geraniums.   Will you be here?"
        "Why don't I deliver them, and we can go out for dinner."
        Kyra brushed at her wet eyes.  "What are you doing on Beltane?"
        Jared grinned confidently.  "I'm spending it with you."
        "Certain celebrations won't wait," she said.
        "A bonfire...?"
        "Honoring the Great Marriage tradition."
        Jared ignored the customer by the cash register holding two containers of red rose bushes.  Grabbing Kyra, he said, "At last," and kissed her.