Some Like It Witchy

by Ani Gonzalez

  He almost smiled. He liked it when Fiona got feisty. "Don't remind me. We did that last night, and I'm still traumatized."

  But they were ready for the Beltane rituals. The bonfires were all spaced out properly, wood piles had been inspected, and safety instructions had been handed out. The Banshee Creek Urgent Care Clinic had set up a tent with first aid supplies. The park had a large open area next to the creek and the night was cool and humid, so the fire risk was low.

  They were as prepared as it was possible to be.

  Fiona raised a brow. "Traumatized by piles of wood?"

  He shook his head. "No, by the people who bring firecrackers to put under the wood."

  Her eyes widened. "What?"

  "Boxes and boxes of them. Enough to cause a large explosion."

  DeShawn looked up from his checklist. "People are nuts."

  "Did he freak out?" Fiona asked, pointing at Gavin. "I bet he did."

  "Not at all," Gavin interjected. He never lost his cool. Now, Sean Stickley, the town sheriff, was a different story. There was a man who could not keep a level head when faced with six square feet of industrial-grade explosive material.

  "Ha," Fiona snorted. "You blew your top when you saw the original gas hook-up to my stove. It was epic."

  "It was not," Gavin clarified quickly. "I was just a bit concerned."

  DeShawn laughed and Gavin glared at him.

  His death ray stare failed.

  "Sorry, boss," his deputy apologized between chuckles. "But you really went ballistic over that one."

  "He turned purple," Fiona exclaimed. "He made me change it and he made me file a mountain of paperwork."

  DeShawn grinned and nodded in agreement. Even rookie Jack smiled.

  Traitors. There would be some extra push-ups in the next training session for sure.

  "Documentation is important," Gavin replied, grabbing DeShawn's checklist. "And that hook-up was a serious incident report waiting to happen."

  He didn't have to read the list of inspection items. He knew them by heart. Instead, he scanned the room looking for culprits. Everything seemed in order. Pity.

  Wait. He looked back at the shelves. There.

  Fiona noticed where his gaze landed and winced.

  "And speaking of safety violations," Gavin drawled. "Shall we discuss why the warning signs we asked for are in frames? Also, those rickety wood cabinets in the back would be a lot safer if they were stainless steel."

  A good half hour later, they said their farewells. Fiona would keep her decorative frames, but had grudgingly agreed to feature the warnings in a larger font. Not bad for a day's work.

  She was stubborn about the kitchen cabinets, which he had to admit were quite pretty, but it was early days yet. He still had a few months to change her mind.

  And he was looking forward to doing that. Sparring with Fiona was fast becoming one of his favorite hobbies.

  "We'll do Poltergeist Pizza next," he told DeShawn as they left the candle shop. "That's the last one. After the inspection, we can take a break for lunch, then head to the park to oversee the ritual prep. What do you say? Pizza's on me."

  If he had to tackle tonight's bonfire extravaganza, he was going to do it on a full stomach.

  "That pie better have extra pepperoni," DeShawn muttered once rookie Jack was out of earshot. "Since I strongly suspect that you came up with this surprise inspection so you'd have a chance to flirt with Little Miss Candle Maker."

  "What are you talking about?" Gavin asked, genuinely surprised. "There's no such thing as an unnecessary inspection."

  "Right," DeShawn replied, clearly skeptical. "You tell yourself that."

  They were almost at the pizzeria and Gavin's deputy picked up the pace and caught up with their new driver.

  Gavin was left standing in front of the pizzeria entrance, staring at the restaurant's chainsaw-wielding ghost logo.

  He'd had good cause for the inspection.

  Right?

  CHAPTER THREE

  "IT'S MAGICAL," Kat exclaimed, gazing around in owl-eyed wonder. "It's a veritable fairyland."

  Fiona had to agree. Black River Falls Park had been transformed. The trees near the entrance were decorated with white and yellow string lanterns, which twinkled merrily against the darkening sky. White and yellow ribbons hung from the branches, and gleaming luminaria lined the path to the clearing. The grassy plain bordered the creek, which was filled with wooden boats carrying lit candles.

  She could feel the energy in the air, like electricity running over her skin. Taking a deep breath, she tamped down her power and wondered if this was a mistake. The fiery warmth of the sacred day surged through her, tempting her with its endless possibilities.

  "Is there writing on the ribbons?" Luanne LaRue, the botánica's fortune teller, asked as she walked next to them.

  Fiona peered at a citron-colored ribbon next to her. The word "blessings" was repeated several times in ornate white calligraphy.

  She smiled with relief. Beltane honored the positive aspects of fire—warmth, illumination, clarity. The fiery current she was tapping into had none of the destructive, negative energy she feared.

  She made a mental note to get as far away from Banshee Creek as she could during Samhain. The reaping festival invoked the negative fire energy that Beltane avoided. She would have to find someone to run the store while she took a beach vacation in Florida or maybe Mexico. It didn't matter as long as the environment had plenty of water to nullify her power.

  Margaritas wouldn't hurt either.

  "This one says 'purity,'" Kat mentioned, pointing at a white ribbon.

  "Love, charity, healing." Luanne nodded as she read the ribbons. "All good things."

  "Of course," a voice said behind them. "Tonight, all is light."

  The speaker was a dark-haired young woman in a cream-colored robe with gold embroidery who'd walked up behind them. She was carrying a wood staff with intricate carvings.

  "Hi, Gwen," Kat said. "This is amazing. Did you do this?"

  Gwen's mouth turned up at the corner. "I wish. No, your local paranormal investigations group did the entrance."

  Luanne's eyes widened. "PRoVE? No way."

  Gwen nodded. "Their original plan was to do something a bit more, er, pop culture oriented."

  "That means aliens," Kat muttered. "Or mummies."

  "I believe an Egyptian sun salutation was proposed," Gwen said. "But we convinced them to stick to the underlying concepts behind the ritual, purity and protection."

  "It turned out well," Fiona said admiringly. Who would have thought that the local ghost hunters were capable of putting together something so beautiful?

  "It certainly did," Gwen agreed. "It's perfect for our ritual."

  "We're really looking forward to it," Kat said. "When are you starting?"

  "In about two hours," Gwen replied. "But I'm afraid we're doing a closed ritual tonight. Coven members only."

  "Oh." Kat looked crestfallen. "That's disappointing. I was looking forward to watching Alicia LeFay lead a ceremony."

  So Gwen was a member of LeFay's coven? Fiona regarded Gwen with new interest. With her fancy robe, neatly straightened hair and wire-rimmed glasses, Gwen looked like a highly competent accountant on her way to a Renaissance Faire wedding.

  "I'm sorry about that," Gwen said, looking uncomfortable. "But our group is going through some...challenges. We need to focus on our needs tonight."

  "Of course," Kat replied. "That's what Beltane is for."

  Gwen smiled. "Indeed." She reached for a ribbon inscribed with the word "peace." "We appreciate that the town went out of its way to make this night special. It will help our group immensely."

  "We're Banshee Creek," Luanne said laughing. "Special is our middle name."

  "I can see that," Gwen glanced behind her. "We're staying at the Monster Hunter Motel and it's really something. Sandy lucked out and got the Buffy room, and we are all green with jealousy." Her eyes twinkled. "Very appr
opriate for a group of witches. Well, I should go help with the final preparations. Alicia thinks we need more wood."

  "Have a blessed Beltane, Gwen." Kat said.

  "Same to you," Gwen replied, bowing slightly as she left.

  "Well, that's a bummer," Kat said. "I really want to see the ritual."

  "No, you don't," Luanne mumbled in response.

  Kat aimed a suspicious glance at the fortune teller. "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing." Luanne looked uncertain. "Just that you don't want to attend Madame LeFay's Beltane ritual. I'm not sure why."

  Luanne, Fiona knew, had an uncanny ability to see into the future. Her ability was cryptic and confusing, but seldom wrong.

  Luanne and Kat were one of the reasons she felt so at home in Banshee Creek. She wasn't alone.

  But was Luanne's warning related to Fiona's own power? Or to the pulsing, throbbing magic currently raging through her?

  She reached behind her head to adjust her ponytail. The magic was strong, but she was in control.

  She had to be.

  "Maybe they're going to have a fight," Fiona ventured. "Gwen looked worried."

  Kat glanced down the path, where Gwen waited with other members of her coven. With their robes, carved wood staffs and stately demeanors, they resembled escapees from a Tolkien movie shoot.

  "Maybe. They all look kind of jittery and coven politics can be a real pain in the watusi sometimes. That's why I stick to solitaire." She shook her head. "I wouldn't mess with Gwen in any case. I hear she's quite good with the quarterstaff."

  "The what?" Fiona asked.

  "The pole she was holding," Kat exclaimed. "It doubles as a weapon."

  Fiona's brow went up in amazement. "I didn't realize the arguments were that serious."

  Kat shook her head. "You wouldn't believe some of the stories I've heard since I've been at the botánica. They would make your hair stand on end."

  "Let's go check out the other groups," Luanne said, scanning the park.

  "Good idea." Kat fished into her purse and pulled a yellow piece of paper. "I have the map."

  "Those guys look like they're ready to party," Fiona pointed to a group of young people in bright yellow t-shirts that read "Ellicott City Wiccan Society—Brewing for Beltane."

  Madame LeFay's coven may be attached to the formalities of witchcraft, but other groups had different interpretations. The Ellicott City Coven evidently preferred a casual Wiccan frat house style.

  The group had already lit up their bonfire, which was surrounded by large metal barrels. The flames crackled cheerfully and the group members milled around, drinking and laughing.

  Luanne's eyes narrowed as they approached the bonfire. "Did they bring kegs?"

  "Probably," Kat said with a chuckle, waving at a thickset red-haired man who seemed to be the leader of the group. "Mead and beer are traditional foods for Beltane. They're yellow, which is the right color, right, Matt?"

  "Well, let's be honest," Matt replied with a rueful grin. "We somehow manage to bring beer into all our rituals."

  They all laughed. A young woman passed around plastic cups filled with a sweet-smelling golden liquid.

  "This," Matt said, "is our Beltane honey mead. It's distilled warmth and sunlight." He raised his cup. "Visitors, may the gods' blessing be upon you this sacred night and all the nights and days before we meet again."

  Matt's arcane words could have sounded silly, but his deep baritone voice and reverent manner turned a simple gesture into a solemn blessing. Sure, they were just holding plastic cups, but he made them seem like precious goblets.

  "We thank you." Kat raised her cup and Luanne and Fiona followed suit. "May your hospitality and generosity be repaid a thousandfold."

  They drank the honey wine greedily.

  "You're welcome to walk between our fires," Matt said. "But I suggest you visit the Mayan Revival Coalition." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "They brought spiked hot chocolate."

  He turned to greet a pair of newcomers wearing "Virginia is for Ghost Lovers" t-shirts. Fiona noted that the Wiccan groups seemed happy to host the tourists.

  "These guys are extraordinarily friendly," Luanne noted, mirroring Fiona's thoughts.

  Kat nodded. "Beer will do that."

  They meandered aimlessly, visiting different bonfires. A group of dancers called The Florham Park Faeries had dressed up in sparkly gowns and gossamer wings and they twirled through the crowd blessing the attendees and sprinkling them with gold dust. The Mayan Revival Coalition had a pyramid-shaped flaming contraption, feathered serpent shirts, and a wicked Mexican White Hot Chocolate containing alarming amounts of alcohol.

  "I don't mean to cast doubts on their authenticity," Fiona said tipsily, "but this thing is mostly vodka."

  "Religious syncretism," Kat said, with a discreet hiccup, "is a wonderful thing."

  "Vodka is a religion?" Luanne asked, giggling.

  "It should be," Fiona replied.

  Her friends laughed. Fiona, however, did not join in. She scanned the crowds as she sipped her hot cocoa. The park had a lot of people, a lot of booze, and a lot of fires. This was a volatile combination, and she would've expected to see a good-sized contingent of Fire & Rescue personnel discreetly patrolling the area. Luanne's boyfriend, the town sheriff, was here and so was Olivia, one of his deputies. The Urgent Care Clinic had set up a tent and they were busy treating burns and other maladies, both real and imaginary. The Fire & Rescue ambulance truck was in the parking lot as a preventive measure, but she hadn't seen any of the firefighters.

  "He won't be here until ten," Kat said with a mischievous and slightly intoxicated smile.

  "Who?" Fiona asked, blushing.

  "Gavin, of course," Luanne replied, hiccupping. "That's who you're looking for, isn't it?"

  "I was not," Fiona lied, a little too quickly. "I was just looking for Caine and the PRoVE guys. They should be around here somewhere."

  Her friends looked skeptical, but Kat relented and checked her map.

  "Figures," she said with a rueful smile. "PRoVE is right in front of the creek. They took the best spot."

  "Let's go," Fiona exclaimed with as much false enthusiasm as she could muster.

  They walked down to the bank. PRoVE had, indeed, commandeered a prize location overlooking the waterfall, and a crowd had gathered around their camp. In true PRoVE fashion, they had the largest bonfire Fiona had seen yet, a large woodpile, and a plastic table laden with cakes and various types of jam. No one was eating, however.

  The members sat on logs surrounding the fire, and a willowy woman with long brown hair sat on a raised log, strumming her guitar. Fiona instantly recognized her as Abby Reed, Mike Stone's wife.

  Her audience clapped as the girls approached the group.

  "Well, that was 'House of the Rising Sun,'" Abby said. "I have a couple of requests for 'Don't Pay the Ferryman,' but that's not really appropriate for tonight. We're celebrating the sun today."

  The PRoVE guys groaned.

  Abby raised a brow. "Really? Y'all going to be like that? In that case, I'm going to play 'Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows' next."

  Her audience booed, but she paid them no attention. The peppy strains of what was arguable the happiest and most annoying song in existence floated through the clearing. The crowd resisted at first—tough bikers didn't sing sugary songs, after all—but they quickly capitulated and joined in the chorus.

  "Can you believe that?" said a bearded man in a black biker's vest as he approached carrying a couple of bottles. "She's been singing children's songs all night long. That's what babies do to you. One minute you're a folk-country music star with several awards under your belt, and the next you're singing 'On the Sunny Side of the Street' at the top of your voice."

  "It's the sleep deprivation," Kat explained, reaching for a bottle of Haunted Orchard's Golden Delicious Cider.

  Fiona glanced at the array of amber-colored alcoholic beverages, but reached for a Sun
rise Delight Rosemary Lemonade. She'd already drunk her liquor quota for the month.

  "Sounds right," Caine Magnusson said. "You know they use that to torture terrorists, right? These babies need to be stopped. They're violating the Geneva Convention."

  Abby's next song was a cover of Sheryl Crow's "Soak Up the Sun." The song was contemporary, but the cool breeze and candlelit creek gave the performance an otherworldly feel. A Florham Park Faery swept by and attacked them with pixie dust. Caine swore and waved her away, but not before his beard was covered in shiny golden glitter.

  "Cursed faeries," he growled. "Who invited them anyway?"

  "You think that's bad?" Kat giggled. "Wait until the Salem coven figures out that you took the best spot. Alicia LeFay will want to have a few words with you."

  Caine shook his head. "They asked for the grove space." He waved toward a stand of trees behind them. "They wanted a secluded area."

  "The grove?" Fiona peered through the trees. "That's far away. They're missing all the fun."

  "I warned them," Caine replied. "But they insisted. They've been really quiet too. They must be having the most boring Beltane ever. I hope they come back next year and join the rest of us."

  Fiona scanned the raucous party going on all around them. What had started as a peaceful, meditative ritual had turned into a bacchanalia. People danced and sang and drank with abandon.

  "This might be a little much," she said. "If you're serious about your magic."

  But it was, she had to admit, the true spirit of Beltane. Good spirits, good friends, and a whole summer of sunshine ahead of them. The seductive warmth of the fire drew her in, and she felt herself relax. The Beltane fire was a cozy cocoon and she just wanted to wrap it around her and luxuriate in its comfort and safety.

  Abby's music stopped. The crowd groaned, but the singer waved them into silence.

  "What's that?" She asked. "Did you hear something?"

  Caine shushed his group and they all listened carefully. The noise from the bonfires drowned the sound somewhat, but after a second it came out loud and clear.

  Someone was screaming for help.

  Fiona stood rooted to the spot as Caine took his cell phone out and started dialing. He was too late. Sheriff Stickely and Olivia were already running toward the grove. In the distance, Fiona could hear the Fire & Rescue sirens wailing.