by Calinda B
She faces me, hands on her hips. “Your vast mind of knowing. You need to find that, too.”
“Sounds like a lot of discovery,” I grimace.
“Oh, you might not find it all in one trip. But you’ll find it, sure enough.” She empties her glass of tea, dabbing at her lips with her fingers. “Or else you won’t and that will be a sad, sad, day. And a napkin would be nice,” she adds without transition, in just her way. “My second to last husband always gave me a cute little cloth napkin when he brought me my tea.”
Listening to Betty is like taking a meandering journey. The sentences string together in their own meaningful manner. “Why do you all keep reminding me of dire possibilities?” I say, exasperated. “It’s all ‘there, there, you can do it’, and then it’s ‘maybe you won’t make it.’ I thought a good coach was supposed to inspire, not put fear into my mind.”
Buddy’s transparent form trots into the room, followed by Sober. Sober lays next to me, thumps his tail, groans, and closes his eyes. Buddy leaps into Betty’s lap.
“A good coach speaks of all possibilities. We want you to be prepared, not waltz forward with Candy Land eyes.”
“Candy Land eyes?”
“The eyes of naiveté and inexperience, dearie. That’s why I’m here. You need to learn where to find your allies, how to watch out for your enemies, how to fight your enemies, and how to source their weaknesses.”
“I thought that’s what Daniel and Rafe were teaching me.”
“They’re teaching you skills, true. I’m teaching you a woman’s ways. Where did I put my bag?”
“You left it on the porch with the cards.”
“Well?” She glares at me.
“I’m going.” I stand and head outside, retrieve her purse, tuck the Tarot deck in an inner pocket, and saunter inside. “More tea while I’m in the kitchen?”
“Yes, please. Have any cookies? Sweets of any kind?”
“Not usually, but let me check.” I rustle through the cupboards, open a drawer, and finally spy a few nuggets of dark, delicious chocolate which Daniel gave to me. The things we did with the other pieces of that chocolate make me shiver. I place my hands on the smooth granite countertop and lean my forehead against the hardwood cupboard door, reaching out mind to mind. Daniel.
Dulzura? Where are you?
I’m home. Betty’s here. She’s going to teach me some things. My sexual core floods with desire and want. Being soul bound with Daniel means he’s only a thought away at all times. It’s like we’re joined by tendrils of light, able and reaching out to coil, stroke, and embrace each other, even when we’re miles apart. It’s really not so bad to be soul bound—I only wish I had been included in the decision.
I want to be inside you. It’s been too long.
Tonight?
It won’t come soon enough. Come to my house…to our house, I mean…but please come.
The double entendre doesn’t escape me, and I smile. I will, love. I’ll come, you can bet on that.
“Did you get lost in the kitchen?” Betty calls.
“Nope, I’m coming,” I say, and begin to giggle.
I heard that, Daniel conveys. And yes you will, with me.
I return to the living room, glancing out the picture window that faces the back yard. “Looks like it’s clearing up nicely. Sun’s all the way out now.” Several sunbeams appear to dance across the red and black rug and cherry hardwood as the wind ruffles leaves in the trees outside. The floor is a study in light and shadow.
“Those are light fairies,” Betty says. “Those can be allies.”
I scoff. “Right. They’re sunbeams.”
She glares over the tops of her glasses, fixing me with a serious gaze. “They’re light fairies,” she says again, slowly enunciating each word in her southern drawl. “You can use them as allies.”
I didn’t know the word allies had so many syllables. “Okay, whatever you say, Betty.”
She places her fingers between her lips and blows a loud, strange whistling noise. All the sun patterns cease moving. “See? They know when they’re summoned.”
“Come on, Betty. Joke’s over,” I say, glancing skeptically out the window. “Let’s get down to work here.” The wind continues to tousle the branches, like a giant ruffling someone’s hair. I look at the unmoving patterns outlined on the hardwood floor…the tree branches sweeping to and fro…back to the bright still shapes. Hmmm.
“Do this baby Light Rebel a favor and reveal yourselves, will you? She needs to know who her allies are,” Betty says, staring in the direction of the luminous array.
The light patterns skitter across the floor like water hoppers, making their way to me and then skimming up my shoes, onto my legs. I jerk in surprise. They stimulate my skin in a pleasant manner, like being tickled by tiny feather covered fingers. I reach down to brush the sensation away.
“Oh, no, you’ll harm them, child! Don’t do it,” Betty exclaims.
“Um, well, they tickle.” I squirm. “Tell me how these little things can help me if I need an ally.”
“Certainly. Watch me.” She raises her hands in the air, fingers stiffly pointed at me, and says in a loud, clear voice, “Caeco carpitur igni!”
The light patterns swiftly coalesce into a burst of light in front of my eyes, like a ten thousand lumen flash bulb. “Whoa! What did you tell them to do?” I can’t tell where they’ve gone because I can’t see at the moment. I blink, blink, and blink again.
“Blind fire. That’s what I said.”
“Do I get to do this to you, now?”
“Oh, my Lord, no, that wouldn’t be nice!” The tinkling of ice cubes indicates she’s lifted her glass of sweet tea.
I’d glare at her if I could see her. “So how do I get to practice?” I say, still blinking and rubbing my eyes.
“We’ll find an opportunity. Can you remember that phrase?”
“Caeco carpitur igni. Did I say it right?”
“Yes, you did. I told you, you’re a quick study.”
“But nothing happened when I said it.”
“You didn’t summon your power. You have to source it right here.”
I’m pretty sure she’s indicated the area around her solar plexus, but I’m still blinking, trying to get my sight back.
“There’s the mailman walking up to the house. Try it on him.”
“Now?”
“There’s never been a better time than the present.”
I’ve never liked the guy. He’s often got an attitude, leaving my mail in the neighbor’s box on purpose, out of laziness so he doesn’t have to come to my door as well, or dropping it on the porch. I point my fingers at him, peer through the blinky spots in my vision, will lightning into my fingertips, feel the anger I felt the last time he dropped my mail in the mud and left it there, and then I repeat the phrase Betty said, watching through the window as his hair bursts into flame. “Oh, no!” I run to the window. Sober immediately gets up and races alongside me, his wings unfurling, fluttering, jumping and scratching at the window. “Down! Get down,” I yell at him. “The postman will see your wings!”
The postal worker’s shrieking, batting at his head, envelopes big and small flying free from his bag.
“That’s a little too much energy, don’t you think?” Betty says. “You focused it like a magnifying glass on dry paper. Douse it, dear.”
I quickly imagine a bucket of water, sketching it out in my mind before manifesting it and dumping it atop of him.
His hair’s now soaking wet, as is his shirt, dripping water on the ground. He turns to the window, mouth agape, and stares at me and my sparkly feathered canine before turning and racing down the sidewalk, leaving a mail trail behind him.
I yank open the front door and, without thinking, imagine casting a silvery rope around his ankles as if I’m the queen of the rodeo. He swiftly drops to the asphalt like a hog-tied mule, with a loud thud. “You’re responsible for this mail, mister,” I say, marching out to the
road where he lays, Sober loping ahead of me. “Your job is to deliver it. Do your job!”
He rolls over, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, staring at me, glancing at my mutt and then back to me. His arms and legs begin a swift, crablike retreat moving across the street.
Sober stops him with one well-placed paw, snarling viciously in the postman’s face.
“Wings!” I hiss. “Sit. We’re not supposed to let people see this side of you!”
Still growling, he folds his shimmery, feathery appendages and hunkers on his haunches, teeth bared, moving his gaze between me and Mr. Postman.
“Good boy,” I say. I notice the shimmering blue electricity pulsing from my fingers. “Oops!” I say, hiding my hands behind my back. “Betty!” I call. “I think you’re needed here!”
The front door slams and my elder guardian shuffles from the house. “Lord have mercy, child, what did you do?” She’s carrying her ghost pooch like a baby slung over her shoulder, her hands floating in front of her where she’s holding him against her body, her long hair billowing around her head like a huge cotton puff. To those who can’t see her Chihuahua, she must look a bit strange. When she reaches us, she gently places the small spirit pup on the street and puts her hands on her hips. “Goodness gracious, what happened?”
“She’s a demon, she is! That girl, she…she….she…her dog…” the postman stutters. He looks a fright with wet, still smoking, charred hair and terror all over his face. Not to mention the fact that he’s still positioned like a frozen crab in the street in front of us.
“You sure don’t have control of your abilities yet, girl. Help the poor man up.”
“Why should I?” I snap. “He spread everyone’s mail over my front yard and isn’t making any attempts to deliver it.”
“Just do it, dearie. We’ll set everything straight. And then we’ll get to your training. You’re right—I should have started weeks ago.”
I extend a hand to the man, but he wants nothing to do with me.
“I…she…he…” he continues to babble in a blithering, nonsensical manner.
“Oh, Lord,” Betty says, extending her arm. “Get up, you fool.”
He takes her arm and she tugs him to his feet.
“You look at me,” she says. “Right here. In the eyes. Look at me.” She taps the bridge of her nose.
The fellow’s eyes glaze as he fixates on Betty’s pale blue orbs.
“That’s a good man, there you go.” She cocks her head to the left, muttering. She then slowly inclines her head to the right, still murmuring strange vowels.
The postman visibly relaxes, his mouth falling open, his shoulders slumping.
“That’s it. Now give me a hug.”
The guy politely extends his arms and embraces my weird Appalachian witch guardian.
She pats and soothes his back while he breaks into sobs on her shoulder. “There you go. That’s my boy,” she says. She sweeps her fingertips in my direction, shooing me away.
I point to the porch and mouth, “House?”
She nods and I quietly make my way to my home, Sober at my side.
Several minutes later, she lets herself in the front door. “He’ll be all right.”
“What did you do?”
“Clouded his memories is all. He’ll have a headache by day’s end, but he’ll be certain he had a nightmare about you, followed by an erotic dream. Next time you see him, be polite, at least.” She shakes her head. “He’ll likely regard you with a mixture of desire and apprehension from now on.”
“Great,” I say. “That’s just great. I never liked the man and you want him to think he had an erotic dream about me?”
“You don’t have to like him. Let him do his job and feel turned on and scared when he drops by. It could be his only excitement in life.”
I glance out the front window and see that he’s picking up each piece of mail. “What does he think happened to the mail?”
“He thinks he dropped it.”
“What does he think my dog is?” I ask, patting Sober’s head.
“He can’t comprehend it so I erased that one. No sense driving the man crazy.” She pats her cheeks with her fingertips. “My, my, that was a fine hullabaloo. I haven’t had that much fun since Tom and me were doing it in the…”
“That’s all right, Betty, I don’t need to know. What about my training?” I ask, diverting her attention.
“Yes! It needs attending to. Boy, oh, boy, do you need training,” she says, like I’m a colt that needs breaking. “Fetch my cards, will you? Let’s get down to business.”
Chapter 6
“So now I can turn light fairies into flames. That will come in so useful,” I say, sarcasm lacing my words. “I can also torch trees when I’m angry. And postmen. You should have seen me earlier today. Wow.”
“You do have a temper,” Betty says agreeably, popping the last chocolate in her mouth. “But, you have a lot to be angry about.”
I retrieve her Tarot deck and hand it to her.
She waves it away. “This is your training, not mine. And you never know when you’ll need to employ their help.” She settles into the red chair and I assume a seat on the sofa opposite her. “By the way, you’ll have to give them a gift for helping you. That’s only proper. They’re not your personal slaves, you know.” She gives me a look.
“What kind of gift?”
“They like dust motes an awful lot. Like to toss them around and play catch.”
“Dust motes,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Got it.”
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.”
“Whatever, Betty. I understand. I think there’s a few under my bed. Now what?” I ask.
“Pull a card. Think the word ‘enemy.’”
I do as I’m told and pick a card, concentrating as I do so.
“What do you see?”
My face contorts into a grimace as an ugly two-headed black beast bolts from the card. It has barb wire fur and it snarls and snaps, saliva spraying from its mouth. “Uh, I think it’s a Maimer. Either that or a Shredder. Either way, it’s one of the deadly beasts in Daniel’s world.”
“Oh, those are ghastly. Put your hand in front of it.”
I recoil. “My hand? Why?”
“Who’s the teacher here?”
“Who’s limb are we talking about?”
“Do it, child,” Betty exclaims.
I tentatively reach my fingers toward the creature.
It launches into a full out attack on my fingertips, tearing and shredding my skin with teensy weensy translucent teeth. “Ouch! Shit!” I pull my hand away but the creature keeps up with its attack, clinging to me like a small bat.
“Watch your language, dear.”
“Betty, help me! What do I do?” I shake my hand, trying to get this see-through critter off.
“Source its weakness.”
“I don’t know how to do that! Ow! You little bastard!”
“Marissa,” Betty admonishes.
Its jagged fangs sink into my wrist, drawing blood like a giant mosquito. I try to crush it but my fingers move right through it. “Come on, Betty, help me out here.”
“Use your imagination. Where do you think it has a weakness?”
“I don’t know! It’s kind of hard to think when I’m in pain.”
“That’s the time you’ll need this skill most.”
“Easy for you to say.” I growl the sentence back at her, but I know she’s right. If I’m actually in trouble, I won’t have time to stop and think.
“I can’t help you. This is a skill you need to learn. Find its weakness, child. Remember, this is a miniature replica of the real thing.”
I try to imagine where a vulnerable spot might be in this jagged beast, even as it munches its way up my arm. “I’ve got it! His tummy!”
“What about his tummy?”
“I don’t know, let’s see...”
The bastard apparition is chewing up my bicep. I try to
picture this thing having a tummy. Then I spot it. Right below his navel, there’s a small, tender patch of skin which this beast hates to get wet—it drives him crazy. I visualize dunking the creature in a pool, using my sword to pierce him at that very place, and he poofs into the ethers.
“See?” Betty chortles. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“Yeah. Tell that to my bleeding wounds.”
“Isn’t that 3D deck wonderful? So real!”
“Uh, yeah, it’s super.” I race into the kitchen to keep blood from dripping on anything, then stick my arm under the faucet and turn it on, letting the cool water soothe my ragged flesh. Knowing how using my magic can wear me out for days, I wonder if I should mend the arm now, restoring it back to perfection through visualization and will, or whether I should really wait until later. Since I want to be full of energy when I see Daniel this evening, I decide to wait.
When I return, we continue the lessons, of course. Each card I pick reveals a different enemy. I source the weaknesses of Maimers, Decayers, Dismemberers, Maligners, Shredders, and Annihilators, the worst of them all, getting bruised, bitten, and beat up in the process. I source chinks in wizards, like the one who has a preference for cocaine, and warlocks and demons—there’s one who goes ballistic if you mention his ex-girlfriend—and devils. By the time we’re done, I’m exhausted, covered with bruises, scrapes, gashes, tears, and wounds. I glance at the wall clock. It’s nearly eight. “Um, I’ve got to go.”
“You’ve got to be ready, is what you’ve got to do.”
“I have plans, Betty. Daniel and I haven’t had much time together and Rafe’s away for a few days.”
“One more card.”
“Come on! We’ve done them all!”
“One more.” She glares at me over the top of her pink and orange glasses. “This is for your own good. Speaking of good, I found a great recipe for a pie called ‘Good God Apple Pie.’ Ain’t that a twist of a name?”
Uh oh, her mind is starting to zig and zag. “You seem tired.”
“Fresh as a daisy. When I get home, me and Tom are going to get as busy as two rutting elk.”
“Argh! Too much information, Betty.”
“I’m just saying, I’m wide awake and you’ve got more to learn.”
