by Alex Bledsoe
I looked up. There, in the mixed smoke trails of candles and incense, I saw her form. She was indeed beautiful, and young, and now released. I asked the only question for which I really wanted an answer:
“How?!” I cried/sobbed/howled.
Her answer was the last one I expected from she who had been betrayed by so great a one as her Creator.
Faith.
***
I ended up at Cadillac’s. The crowd was mostly college frat kids, the only townies being old guys who worked for the city’s road repair crew. I sat at the bar between a kid in a Greek letter shirt and two girls who played drunken footsie and kept kicking my stool.
“You know what I hate?”
I looked up. Cadillac himself stood there. He’d remembered his teeth tonight, and he put a fresh draft beer in front of me before I asked for it. “What do you hate?”
“Damn chicken-shit cowards,” he said. “Look at that fella over there. Been walking up to that damn blond all night, ain’t got the nerve to speak to her. Bet he’s going to drink himself stupid tonight, kicking himself for not having any gumption.”
“Mm,” I said.
“Me, the older I get, the less crap I’m afraid of. But there’s a whole bunch of times I wished I hadn’t been such a chicken-shit. Know what I mean?”
I shook my head. “What the hell are you doing, Cadillac? I ain’t some damn freshman.”
“No, Ry, you’re just a dumb-ass townie. And I know that damned kicked-puppy look. You done broke up with your girlfriend. She’s that big-tittied redhead, right?”
“Well, I probably wouldn’t call her that.”
“You listen to me, Ryland Tully. You done made a decision you’re going to regret. Guys like you, no offense, don’t get girls like that. And I seen the way she looks at you, son--you got her. Now, if you ain’t been such a dumb-ass that you burned all them bridges, chug down this beer so you ain’t thinking clearly, because clear thinking ain’t done you much good so far, and get back there before some rich, good-looking guy comes along.”
I looked at the beer, then back at Cadillac. I’d done the same thing to Tanna that the Creator (whoever that was) did to that poor ghost: I’d rejected her for being herself.
I waited several moments after I knocked at Tanna’s door. I was about to knock again when I heard the deadbolt slide back. It opened as far as the security chain allowed, and Tanna looked at me. Her eyes were red. “What?” she said coldly.
I swallowed nervously. A lot depended on how smooth and clever I was in the next few moments. But no words came.
“Say what you came to say,” Tanna snapped. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted.
“Yeah, well, me, too. Good night.”
She started to shut the door, but I blocked it. She glared at me with sudden fury. “Don’t make me call the police.”
“Tanna, please. I love you.” The words jumped out before I was even conscious I’d formed them in my mind.
Something in her expression softened, and I pressed on. “I got a little spooked, you know? I haven’t been raised to deal with this kind of thing. I know you’re different, I know you’re special, that’s why I love you. Please, honey, I just lost it for a little while.”
“And now you’ve found it again?” she said sarcastically.
I couldn’t help a smile. Her wit was sharper than most surgical instruments. “Yeah, I found it. Right where I left it.”
She shut the door enough to undo the chain. She walked over to the bed and sat down. Her hair was tangled from our earlier encounter, and she wore a green silk robe. When she crossed her legs, the robe fell open. My whole body lit up.
***
Journal entry (concluded):
The spirit of the Nameless Virgin never contacted me again. She was at peace. And she’d paid for her peace by restoring mine, by reminding me that without faith, no hope is possible. As my Craft draws other spirits in pain to me, I will try to hold that knowledge close.
She was lost; I was lost; Ry was lost. Now we’re all found. I was blind, but now, sometimes, I see. I think I learned what my teacher wanted me to know: that these small circles mirror the Circle of the universe. As above, so below.
I hope all lessons aren’t this hard.
~III~
THE DARREN STEVENS CLUB
“You’re marrying a witch?” Tony exclaimed.
Heads turned throughout Cadillac’s pool hall. I kind of slid down at our table. “A little louder, I think the folks in the restrooms missed it.”
Tony was just warming up. “Ry, you’re out of your mind. You ain’t got no business getting married, we just got out of college! Besides, that chick is weird. I don’t mean because she’s blind or anything, I mean, she really is a witch. Everyone knows that.”
“I know that. And I don’t care. I love her, and we’re getting married.”
Tony Pallow spent the rest of the evening trying to talk me out of marrying Tanita Woicistikoviski, his arguments more desperate as the level of beer in the pitcher dropped. I nodded politely, agreed with most of his objections, but didn’t change my mind. I’d asked her on Halloween, and now, with April ending, we were going to get married on the first of May.
I had an ulterior motive in telling Tony about it, though. The locals in a college town tended to clique together, and I knew if I told him, he’d tell everyone else, so no one would be surprised with the notice appeared in the paper. It was proactive damage control, which says a lot about my mind-set at the time.
As the lights flicked on and off twice to announce closing time, Tony rose unsteadily. “You getting married in a church, at least?”
“Kind of.” I’d agreed to a Wiccan marriage, known as a handfasting, but that was a little much for Tony.
“Man, you do what you want, it’s your life. But what she does ain’t right. It ain’t Christian. And you ain’t never going to be happy with her.”
***
“We’re having company this weekend,” Tanna said. We’d just finished especially vigorous lovemaking, and I stared at the ceiling of our modest rental house while I caught my breath. “For the handfasting. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I gasped, my heart still pounding from exertion. After all, I couldn’t invite my friends. “Who is it?”
“Nighthawk.”
“That big hair band from the Eighties?”
“That was Night Ranger.”
“Then who's Nighthawk again?” I teased. I knew perfectly well who she was: Tanna's teacher, a high priestess of the Craft. I'd put all sorts of faces to the name, so I was actually rather looking forward to meeting her.
Tanna shifted so that she lay across my chest. Red curls stuck to her sweaty shoulders, and the slow flicker of fireflies at the windows danced on her skin. She traced the line of my jaw. “In addition to handfasting us, she wants to talk to me about my initiation as a high priestess.”
“I thought you were already a priestess.”
“I act as one, for the coven, because someone has to, and I've got the most experience. But I've only taken my second degree. The third...” She paused. “It's a life-changer. No one I've known who's gone through it was the same afterward.”
I rose a little. The tone in her voice was new. “You sound afraid. And a little defensive.”
She lay her cheek on my sternum. "I know you've been having second thoughts, Ry.”
That damn psychic intuition. “Not serious ones.”
“They should be. Respecting beliefs you don’t share isn’t easy. Some people would say it isn’t possible.” She looked up at me again. “If I accept this initiation, while handfasted to you, it'll affect you, too.”
“How?”
“I don't know. I can't know.”
I smiled. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
She sighed and snuggled even closer. “That’s why I love you. I’ve felt weird all my life. I don’t feel weird with you.”
&nb
sp; Apprehension knotted inside me as her words echoed Tony’s. Wiccans don’t believe in coincidence; was I rushing into something foolish here?
Then I stroked her sweaty back where it curved into her hip, and amazingly found myself ready to express affection again. So I did.
***
Friday night, the night before May Day and our handfasting, Lady Nighthawk arrived.
She stood outside our front door like a cloud of ebony lace. Her hair was a thick, teased mass of black curls, and her skin was so dusky light didn’t reflect from it. Her eyes were wide, intelligent and at some level, scary.
I knew she was black, which didn’t bother me. And I assumed, since Tanna respected her so much, that she was intelligent. But no one had mentioned her sheer, intimidating presence.
“Mr. Tully?” she asked imperiously.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reflexively replied, as if one of my aunts had spoken.
Tanna eased past me. “Lady Nighthawk,” she cried. “It’s been way too long.”
Nighthawk put her hands on Tanna’s cheeks. She had small silver rings on every finger, even her thumbs, and her long nails were painted black. She gestured at the thousands of fireflies around our house. “The trees outside are filled with your familiars. You can see me?”
“Better than ever,” Tanna beamed.
The woman enveloped Tanna in her arms. “Tanita, my sister. The Goddess has kept you well.”
“More than you know,” Tanna said. She pulled away and took my hand. “Lady Nighthawk, this is Ry Tully.”
I’d never felt so scrutinized in all my life. “You have joined your soul to Tanita’s?” she asked.
“Uh...planning to,” I said.
“This is a very special woman. Her soul has the capacity to solve great mysteries, and the Goddess has chosen her for a life of service. Only the strongest of men can accompany her on her life journey.” She looked right at me, hard. “Are you strong enough?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. This was exactly the kind of over-dramatized New Age hippie-chick weirdo that kept me from associating comfortably with most of Tanna’s friends. Unlike Tanna, they didn’t seem to want to exist in the real world with the rest of us, but instead inhabited some pseudo-Ren Faire alternate reality. Then again, maybe I was just too literal-minded. So I fell back on my stock response. “Yes, ma’am.”
Someone cleared his throat. I hadn’t realized anyone else was there. A black man, dressed very normally, stepped up behind Nighthawk.
“Honeybunch, can we discuss Tanna’s place in the universal scheme of things someplace other than the porch? I’ve been driving all night, and I really would like to find the restroom.”
Nighthawk’s lips turned up slightly. “The voice of the prosaic. My husband, Todd.”
He offered his hand. It was firm and friendly. “Todd Hawk?” I deadpanned.
Tanna surreptitiously kicked me, but Todd smiled. “No, Anger.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Would I make that up?”
“You might if you were starting an anger management program.”
“By the Goddess,” Nighthawk groaned, “they are alike.”
“Told ya,” Tanna said.
***
By midnight, the other members of Tanna’s coven had arrived. There were six in all, five college-age girls and one boy who was awfully close to being a girl.
When Tanna first arrived in Weakleyville, she’d been content to practice her beliefs alone. Wiccans, she explained, don’t recruit or proselytize. But folks were just naturally drawn to her, and soon she had several friends anxious to see if Paganism might be for them. Most had bad experiences in regular religion due to sexual orientation or Baptist hypocrisy. Some had never been religious at all. All were intelligent, sensitive and open-minded.
They sat around our living room, excited and nervous to meet the woman who’d inspired their mentor, Tanna. A couple of them wore extreme costumes, but most were outwardly quite conventional. It was the South, after all; some things were best kept below the radar of common sight.
Nighthawk held court from my recliner. Tanna beamed. I tried to join in, but pretty soon realized this was a members-only situation. I adjourned to the back yard and found Todd Anger seated at the picnic table, drinking a beer.
“Trouble keeping up with the conversation?” he said.
“Too much enlightenment for me.”
“Happens to me all the time.” He handed me a beer from his cooler. “Here.”
“Thanks.” The aluminum cans glowed anti-freeze green in the reflected firefly light. I asked, “You know about Tanna and the fireflies?”
He gestured at the trees. “It used to happen sometimes when Tanna would come stay with us, but never on this scale. Whatever that little girl has going for her, it must really kick butt now. Does it ever get on your nerves?”
“The lightning bugs? Nah. I don’t suppose Nighthawk has anything like that, huh?”
“Well, she has an iguana. She claims it’s her familiar, and it does behave kind of weird sometimes, but I think she just likes the way it looks on her shoulder. Nothing like Tanna’s fireflies.” He drained his can and opened another. “You know, I remember when Tanna was fourteen. She’d just gotten interested in Wicca, because all that other stuff she could do had gotten really strong with puberty.” He shook his head. “And puberty was kind to that girl. No offense.”
It didn’t seem threatening the way he said it. “None taken. So you’re not involved in the Craft at all?”
“Nah. I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff, and Beth impresses the hell out of me, but I’m just not in synch enough with it, you know?”
“Beth?”
“Nighthawk.”
“Why does she call herself ‘Nighthawk’?”
“Lady Nighthawk. Because she wants a special name for ritual space. And I love her, so if she wants to call herself Lady Nighthawk sometimes, it’s okay.”
“Yeah, I’ve found myself in that position a few times, too.” We sat in silence for a long time. At last I said, “But the sex is great, isn’t it?”
He grinned. “Abso-damn-lutely.”
***
The coven used to meet in town, in a clearing at the back of a local cemetery, but it became too public. They’d moved their meetings to a farm owned by a member’s parents three miles outside Weakleyville. It had privacy, and except for one altercation with a bunch of drunk good ole boys convinced they'd stumbled onto a bunch of Satanists, it had been peaceful. If the parents wondered why their daughter’s friends always wanted to camp in the woods by the back 40, they never came out and asked. It gave them plausible deniability down at the VFW.
We left for the ceremony at dusk. Tanna rode with Nighthawk; it was odd to see such a flamboyant person do something as mundane as drive. Todd rode with me, and we’d been asked to pick up some last-minute supplies for the feast afterwards, which also gave the others a chance to prepare. Since I was a nervous wreck, it also gave me something to do.
Todd waited in the car. I grabbed the few items on my list and carried them to the checkout line. Too late, I saw that Tony Pallow was already there, his girlfriend Leslie beside him. He smiled; she looked at me oddly and moved a little away.
“Hey, man,” Tony said. He was buying frozen pizzas and beer. “Wedding still on?”
“On my way right now,” I said before I could catch myself.
“You’re kidding. Right now?”
“Yep.”
He took in my jeans and casual shirt. “Not a formal, I guess.”
“Nah.”
He paid for his groceries, then the two of them left without another word. As I pushed my buggy out of the store, Tony was waiting for me.
“Ry, man, screw your head on straight,” he said urgently. “You’re getting married in a witch church, ain’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re getting married by the devil? Damn, boy, what is wrong with you?”
; “Nothing,” I snapped back. “And this has nothing to do with the devil.” I noticed Leslie standing impatiently by his truck. “Your girlfriend’s waiting for you, just like mine is. Hope you have as good a night as I will.”
He scowled, shook his head, and then delivered the lowest of blows. “Man, I sure am glad your folks ain’t alive to see this.”
Suddenly I saw Tony, my friend since second grade, as the essentially small-minded man he was. It didn’t make him bad, or stupid, or even wrong; it just made him eternally, entirely different from me.
Tanna’s influence? Or just maturity? I don’t know. But I turned and walked off without a word, smiled at Leslie who continued to look at me as if I had an extra hand growing from my forehead, and put my groceries in the car.
We drove in silence for several minutes before Todd finally said, “So you’re about to join the Darren Stevens Club.”
“Huh?”
“Samantha’s husband on Bewitched. A normal guy married to a witch.”
“I guess so.”
“Fifteen years ago I was in your shoes, too. I was nuts about Beth, but I was scared to death of all this crap. It just didn’t jibe with anything I’d been raised to believe. But I’ve got to give her credit, she’s never tried to talk me into being a part of something I’m not comfortable with.”
“Tanna, neither.”
“And it’s a hoot to watch her work on people. She’s absolutely scared of nothing.”
“Tanna, neither.” Then I slammed on the brakes and pulled the car to the side of the road.