“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to me.” I’d never questioned whether it was or not, now that I thought about it.
“Yeah well...it is when you’re taking away someone’s chance to fix their own problems. Or when you stay busy fixing other people’s stuff so you don’t have time to fix your own.” The look on Cherry’s face told me she was probably well versed in both those scenarios.
“Sometimes, you gotta jump in during a crisis,” said Tamar, startling me. She slowed until she joined us. “But the world doesn’t need for all the good guys to blow themselves up for others. It needs us to be a renewable resource. And to respect the people we help, and not treat ‘em like babies. Strong women build each other up instead of using themselves up.”
“That’s why Tamar started bringing me here,” said Cherry. “She’s teaching me to be a witch, but she’s kind of my mentor in life too. And she thought that this would be a good place for me to see ‘radical self-reliance’ in action and what it looks like in a place where people also help each other out all the time.”
“It was a hard thing for me to learn, too,” Tamar reassured her, reaching around the younger woman’s shoulders to give her an affectionate squeeze. “Cherry’s still struggling not to say yes to every favor that everyone asks of her, but it’s getting easier, isn’t it?”
Cherry shrugged, but there was pride in her smile. “Yup. That’s me. Putting on my big girl panties and learning to use my words.”
They laughed, and I smiled too, but I felt a twinge of envy. Cherry’s face as she looked at Tamar was one of deep love and trust. She looked like she felt safe. I wished I had someone in my life who could guide me, mentor me, advise me on all this spirit stuff.
“What is it?” said Tamar, gently, and I was reminded of Joe using the same words, the same tone, earlier.
I swallowed. “Do you...you said there were other people like me?” What had she called them? Oh yes--”Spirit workers?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know any of them? Personally I mean?”
“A few, yeah.”
“Do you think any of them would want to teach me about any of this stuff?” Gods, I sounded so eager.
I risked a glance at her. She was smiling; so was Cherry. “I could make some introductions, sure. But I think if you want a mentor, you’ll find one.”
“Great,” I breathed. “That would be so great.”
The pond was a beautiful sight--sunlight glittering off the opaque water, scattered people lounging on towels around the edges and on the man-made sandy bank at one end, the trees that ringed the area fluttering their leaves in the faint breeze, and the hot air full of the happy sounds of splashing, laughing, shouting, even singing from the many bodies moving with otter-like playfulness in the water.
There was no threat of death here, no sense of doom, no void-eyed demon with razor teeth, just life and joy and quite a lot of naked flesh. A small number of people wore bathing suits, but the vast majority were skinny-dipping. As we were about to do.
I had a moment of shyness as we reached the sandy bank and Cherry and Tamar began throwing off their clothes like it was nothing in the world. But I wasn’t going to not swim just because I didn’t own a bathing suit, so I stripped out of my now-grungy clothes.
No one paid any particular attention, of course. Morph was not like the rest of the world. In a space like this, bodies are just bodies, matter gathered around spirit, like metal filings around a magnet. That’s all. Everything else is just the cultural baggage we attach to it. So it was liberating to see Cherry go barreling down into the water, arms thrown up in a V, whooping and then shrieking as the water licked at her round thighs, her generous butt, the indents of her waist, her wide-flung arms. Her long hair fanned out mermaid-like as she ducked down in the water to her chin, then clung to her as she burst back up, shouting, “Anyone got glass to cut? Holy cow that’s cold!” She got a couple of catcalls, and she bantered, splashed, laughed, played, without an ounce of self-consciousness.
Tamar made her more leisurely way down into the water, her hair let out of its messy ponytail, and there was something elegant and grand about the way her legs parted the water, the way her fingertips trailed over the surface. Her lips were curved in a little smile, the breeze gently brushing a tousled bit of hair back from her high forehead as the sun kissed her skin like a lover. A large birthmark on her hip vanished beneath the water as she moved farther in, like a bird diving for a fish.
Beautiful. There was nothing about her or Cherry that would go in a fashion magazine, but they were beautiful. Everyone here was beautiful. I stood at the edge of the water for a moment, feeling the chilly little waves curl around my toes, my arms wrapped around my waist, just thinking for a moment about the time I’d wasted worrying about my own imperfections and how silly it seemed in this moment; how ridiculous and useful and resilient and fragile our little collections of magnetic filings that we called “bodies” were, and how much joy it brought to every single person in this pond to experience sensations through their bodies right now. I felt as though I were wearing Tamar’s enchanted glasses so that I could see past individual shapes and forms and see the spark of--whatever you want to call it, soul or spirit or essence--see them playing within the flesh that enclosed and protected them, receiving through those flesh bodies an experience that no spirit could have without physical senses. I was overwhelmed with joy; and I had the thought first that whatever else came out of this weekend, I was going to hold the memory of this feeling close to my heart for a very long time. And on its heels, came the sudden thought that perhaps having an actual, physical body is a rare thing, and that maybe it’s why spirits of all kinds are so interested in this world.
Goddamn hippie, I thought. I heard it in Joe’s voice and it made me chuckle to myself.
“Hey, Venus on the half shell, you going in or just gonna think about it all day?” Now that was actually Joe’s voice, and I looked up in surprise to see him passing beside me.
“Um,” I said. Clever.
He stopped about knee-high into the pond and faced me, his fists on his hips, not a trace of modesty. I had no idea where to look. He had a nice body--a little soft around the edges in a cozy, solid way, and with a mostly hairless torso at which level I tried to keep my eyes. I liked his shoulders. Good collarbones, a cushy spot toward the edge of each that would make a good pillow for snuggling. Call me crazy, but these are the things I notice in a guy. My face felt a little hot as I realized I was thinking about my cheek resting there. In terms of playing it cool, I was probably failing at least as hard as if I’d just openly stared at his dick.
“That’s right, keep looking,” he teased me, flexing his arms. “Tell you what, play your cards right and Imma get you a VIP ticket to the gun show.” He planted absurdly loud kisses on each of his biceps.
That made me laugh. “You’re an idiot.” I splash-walked my way into the water as fast as I could stand it, mostly to give myself something to do.
“An idiot with an ass you can bounce quarters off.”
“Great, you’ll be the first person I call when we get tired of beer pong tonight.” I ducked my head under the water and came back up, taking an extra-long moment to wipe my eyes.
He was still studying my face and grinning, his dark eyes full of mischief. “You’re blushing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not as used to skinny-dipping as you are.” I shook pond water out of my ears.
His brows drew together and he stumbled on his words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
My first impulse, of course, was to just dismiss it. No big deal. But I opened my mouth, closed it again, and then said, “Forgiven.”
He walked out a few more feet until he could get most of the way under the water as well, and then ran his wet fingers through his short, floppy hair, slicking it back. “So,
any luck with our project?”
I shrugged and sighed. “Not really. You?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Well, maybe the, uh, natives will turn up something for us to go on. If not, we’ve been doing what we can, right? Considering we’re flying blind.”
“I guess,” I said, dispirited.
“Hey.” He circled around to make me look at him. “And we’re going to keep doing whatever we can. This isn’t giving up. It’s just a little break.”
“Shield me, Joe!” shrieked Cherry, sloshing through the water and throwing her arms around his neck, using him to deflect a wall of water that some other guy sluiced toward them. Joe sputtered and roared in playful outrage, and the two of them took off after the splasher, joining in some kind of water war toward the center of the pond.
I drifted away in the other direction, letting my feet rise up from the squishy, pebbly floor of the pond, floating on my back. The sun was starting to slant, the balloon arc a colorful dotted line over the trees, only the filmiest scraps of cloud crossing the vast blue expanse of the sky. The cool water quenched my skin. I let my head sink enough for the water to fill my ears, so I could hear my own breathing loud in my skull, and tried to just enjoy existing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I realized Sara had found us down here, too. She was in what I was beginning to think of as the Morph uniform of tank top and long sarong tied as a skirt, sitting on one of the grassy banks by herself with her arms looped around her knees.
I flipped over onto my stomach and swam a few wobbly strokes toward her. She smiled and flicked one hand up in a little wave. “Not coming in?” I said. “It’s glorious.”
She shook her head, her purple-streaked braids dancing around her shoulders. “Nah.” After a moment she added, “Don’t really want pond water in the braids.”
“Right,” I said. “So, I don’t suppose you have any brilliant ideas where to go from here, do you?”
“Been wracking my brain.”
“Yeah.” My shoulders slumped.
She gave a pensive shrug. “I think it’s right that we’re trying. Way back when, I remember I was at a party and someone came up to me, someone in the queer community who barely knew me at all, and looked me in the eye and said, ‘You aren’t here to make other people comfortable.’ It doesn’t sound like much, but it saved me. I think the world only works when we all look out for each other, even strangers.”
“I want to,” I said. “If I could figure out who I was going up to, I’d gladly say...whatever I’m going to end up saying if I find them.”
“Or it.” She pulled her knees up tighter and rested her chin on one arm. “The bad guy. Demon. Whatever. Not that I’m anxious to meet this dude, but if you saw him again you could follow him. Maybe he’d be thoughtful enough to have, like, a lair full of pictures of his stalkee like in the movies.”
“If only,” I agreed, and the weight of this charge I’d taken on somehow became more real to me. I looked around the pond, at all these happy wet naked people, thinking of my blissful moment. For one of the people here, maybe even someone in this pond, that glorious experience of being a spark of life embodied was going to end. And when it did, it wasn’t just the fear and panic and pain of the physical death that they had to face--it was whatever horrors went along with being claimed by the demon. Enslavement? Torment? Their soul being consumed altogether? I had no idea, but I remembered the bottomless, consuming terror that was probably only a taste of what that person had waiting for them.
It seemed all the more obscene, for such evil to invade a space like this that was created for beautiful human ideals to thrive in, things like love and community and art and sharing and stewardship, to try to bring pain and horror and fear into it. I wanted to help this mysterious victim stay alive, but I wished I could also shield them from any hint of danger. I wanted to preserve this whole temporary village from the monsters that prowled the outskirts; I wanted to let them all keep their joy.
A thought started to rise up somewhere in the back of my head, but Sara’s words sidetracked me. “Has she had a talk with you yet?”
“What?” I blinked at her.
She gestured with her chin out at where Cherry and Joe frolicked with their friends, now batting a beach ball around. “Cherry. Has she had the Joe talk with you yet?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“In that case, you probably have that to look forward to.” Her voice was bright, but it sounded forced. “Since it’s obvious that Joe digs you.”
I felt like I was thinking through molasses. “She and Joe...are they a couple?”
Sara chuckled. “Who knows what they call themselves? But they do sleep together and they have their own weird bond. They’re not exclusive, though. And when Joe shows interest in someone, you can set your watch by how long it takes Cherry to drag them off for a talk about expectations and rules and safer sex and who knows what else. I guess it weeds out the weak. If a girl can get through that conversation without wanting to flee for the hills, Joe probably has a good shot with her.”
“Wait...why doesn’t Joe have that conversation with them himself?”
“My guess, he’s too busy trying to get up the nerve to move past ‘funny nice guy’ and make the ask. Cherry doesn’t waste that kind of time.” She shot me a sly look. “Of course, you’re also Cherry’s type. She likes tall, statuesque women who look like they could kick some ass. She might be saving her chat pennies to pitch you on a three-way.”
“I really have no idea what to say about that.” My mind felt like it was standing in a circle of aggressive revelations that were shoving it back and forth among them. “I don’t think I look like much of an ass-kicker.”
She laughed. “What, you’re not all over that idea?”
“No, I--seriously, I’m still about five things back in processing everything you just said.”
“Are you into him? Or her, for that matter?”
I realized that she seemed especially interested in my answer. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I go for all genders. But I really wasn’t thinking about it. I...” I tried to figure out how to word what I wanted to say. “I’m not really sure I can deal with any of that this weekend.” I pictured Rosa Vermelha, looking at me with those wicked bedroom eyes. He claimed your heart, not your cunt. “There was someone else in my life. We’ve been apart for a while, but I’m not sure I’m ready to give up on it. Or if it’s a good idea to start something new. It’s a weird situation. It’s probably bad for me to drag anyone else into it.”
She nodded, looking back out at Joe and Cherry, and I had a feeling she was doing it to avoid my gaze. “That’s responsible of you. Sounds lonely, though.”
“Sometimes,” I said. Always, I thought. “What about you? You know a lot about them. Are you involved with them or their...thing?”
She shook her head. “Nah. I don’t think I’m really either of their types.” And then added, quickly, “And I feel like there’d be some kind of drama there, anyway.”
It was too late, though; I’d seen the flash of pain in her eyes. I wondered how often she’d heard “not my type” as the excuse.
I wanted to give her some kind of reassurance, to tell her that I thought she was beautiful, sweet, gifted, someone anyone would be lucky to have. Someone I would want for myself. But there are some words that are always hollow until their spaces are filled with the proof of offers, actions, caresses, connection. Since I couldn’t give her the latter, I bit my tongue on the former. All I said was, “That seems smart. You probably don’t need that kind of headache.”
“Definitely not.” We ran out of conversation.
I thought back to what we’d been talking about before the tangent, and my distracted thought bubble swelled back up and burst into my conscious mind. “Stalker!” I said.
“Who?” She looked puzzled.
&n
bsp; “What you were saying before. About the demon. About having a lair with pictures all over the walls. I have an idea what to do next.” The relief was as cool as the water. Something new to try. “Are you willing to help with another long shot? Because I think swim time is just about over.”
CHAPTER TEN
I pushed Tamar’s re-enchanted sunglasses up to the top of my head and lay back on an appropriated beach towel covered in improvised sigils written in Sharpie, my heart pounding. Beside me was the approximate spot where I’d seen the demon standing the night before. I looked around at my friends. “Everyone clear on what you’re supposed to be doing?”
They all nodded, Sara and Joe and Cherry. Joe was scowling. “I still don’t like it.” But he’d helped. He wasn’t getting in my way.
Tamar didn’t respond, but she was preoccupied, threading a slender sewing needle with a long piece of embroidery floss. I could still smell the alcohol she’d used to clean the needle and her hands. “Start the charcoal,” she instructed Cherry, who touched the flame of her Zippo to a small round briquette resting in a dish of sand. It crackled loudly and I smelled the saltpeter. I’ve always liked that scent--to me it’s the smell of witchcraft.
“The mugwort incense will send you deeper in your trance.” Tamar crouched at my side with the threaded needle held in her fingertips. “We’ll hold space for you here and keep your physical body safe, so you can let go, okay? If we didn’t screw this up, it’ll be like a lucid dream in many ways. You can’t change the nature or the rules of the plane you’re in, but don’t be afraid to try weird stuff, because you can do things you couldn’t here in this plane. Be careful of any beings you encounter, though. Don’t eat nothing, don’t take gifts or make deals.”
“Remember the Prime Directive.” Cherry laughed, but it was nervous.
“Don’t be a hero,” added Tamar. “This is just to check things out and see if you get any intel. It’s an experiment, so don’t go off the rails, all right?” She looked around at the others. “You all keep our connection unbroken here, and let me direct our energy, since I’ll have my finger on Mari’s pulse, spiritually speaking.” She looked down at me again. “You ready for this?”
MetamorphosUS: Book 1 of the Mythfit Witch Mysteries Page 14