The Firefly Witch

by Alex Bledsoe

  The place drew spirits from everywhere, and I felt them around me. Many were lost, confused and afraid; I understood. I spoke to them in my secret voice, told them my secret name, asked if I could help. They all fled from me, except one that lurked just outside my senses, like a starving, mistreated pet offered a savory treat. I opened myself completely, and told the spirit to come. I offered all I had: perfect love and perfect trust.

  At first it spoke to my mind, with a woman’s voice. It said, I was created from the elements, given the breath of life, intended as the consort of a man created in the same way. We were to dwell in Paradise.

  Then, with a rush so strong I felt myself pushed from myself, the spirit came to me fully. I felt the pureness of her, the unconditional love for her companion. How could she not love him, she’d been created for him. And then pain like I’ve never known, an agony as strong as the love it mirrored, tore through my soul. The man was repulsed by me, by my need to exist as he did, with the same bodily functions and desires. He saw me full of secretions and blood.

  And then came the worst moment, the instant when the pain threatened to tear my own soul free from myself. And then my creator, The Creator, looked down on me and saw that I was not good.

  “Who are you?” I asked over the roar of her betrayal.

  She replied, I was never given a name.

  ***

  Tanna slept on the couch. I lay on the floor beside it, in case she had nightmares, but I don’t think she moved the rest of the night.

  It took a while for me to go back to sleep. I knew Tanna was, well, a little different; but this was the first time I’d seen her freak herself out. Had she just hallucinated the whole thing? I mean, sure, I’d seen some weird things with her, but there could’ve always been prosaic explanations. I just wondered if this was the first symptom of some mental crack-up.

  I hoped not. I wanted desperately to believe Tanna was exactly what she claimed: a witch, a scientist, a woman, a whole, multifaceted person. If she turned out to be just some New Age hippie-chick weirdo...well, better to find out now. I hadn’t fallen all the way for her, but the ground was rushing up fast. I even had a ring in mind.

  In the morning I made coffee and called the Weakleyville Press to say I’d be late for work. When I brought Tanna a cup she was just waking, clad in my battered old Roxette t-shirt, hair tousled in an absolutely adorable way. I wrapped her hands carefully around the insulated mug; with the fireflies gone at dawn, she was once again blind.

  “Sorry about last night, Ry,” she said. “And thanks for not freaking out. It means a lot.”

  I was glad she couldn’t see me blush at the compliment. “So, do you remember what you said?”

  She nodded. “Ohhhh, yeah. I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon.” She shivered at the memory.

  I kissed her forehead. Now that she was awake and rational, my 2 a.m. doubts dissolved. “You know anytime you need me, Tanna, I’ll be there. You’re never alone.” She lay her head on my shoulder with a sleepy smile.

  ***

  Journal entry (continued):

  I spent the morning in the West Tennessee University library following my one clue: the spirit’s odd statement about “secretions and blood.” It rang a distant bell in my memory.

  Many books mentioned Adam’s first wife, the infamous mother-of-demons Lilith, but only obscure Jewish scholars, in passing references to the Talmudic commentary known as the Midrash, made any mention of another wife between Lilith and Eve. I was surprised, in a way, because she seemed the exact opposite of Christ: Jesus was the “son of man,” rejected by mankind, while this nameless woman was the daughter of God, rejected first by Adam, then by God himself. Feminists should love this story, but my research found so little evidence I’m sure most of them have never heard of it. The very reason for Adam’s rejection--God created the woman right before his eyes, and he was disgusted at her fluid- and tissue-filled body--seemed relevant to contemporary sexual differences.

  The undergraduate assigned to assist me for the day expressed her opinion that the Nameless Virgin, as one source called her, was part of a logical patriarchal progression. First Lilith, created at the same time as Adam, and rejected because she believed herself his equal (famously telling him, “I will not lie beneath you,” and choosing damnation over subjugation); then the Nameless Virgin, whose creation, identical to Adam’s, disgusted him; and finally Eve, created from Adam and clearly subservient to him. Also mighty convenient for blame, the girl added. I told her that her observations were very astute.

  There was nothing for it but to call the spirit again. But this time, I would take no chances, for I knew the power involved.

  ***

  I took a late lunch, because I wanted to meet Tanna after her session in the library. She seemed really happy to see me, and as we walked across campus to the cafeteria, I knew all the men watched her. I felt really proud, and not a little smug.

  I got us some coffee and joined her by the big window that looked out across the four dormitories. “So what have you been doing?” I said.

  “Trying to identify the spirit I contacted last night.”

  “Any luck?”

  “That depends on how open your mind is.”

  “My dad always said he could see straight through, ear to ear.”

  She giggled. I’d known a lot of girls who laughed, but Tanna giggled like a little girl, a huge contrast to her normal intensity. I found it, like everything else about her, irresistible.

  “Okay. This spirit mentioned Paradise and a Creator, and she came to me in a Christian church, so I started with Judeo-Christian legends. Did you know Adam had more than one wife?”

  I nodded. “Before Eve, there was...Lilith, right?”

  “Right. But some sources say there’s a third one, between Lilith and Eve.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “She never had one.” Tanna then told me this incredible story about Adam being repulsed because he’d watch God create this chick, and knew about all the stuff inside her--blood, fluid, sloppy internal organs and so forth--completely ignoring the fact that all this stuff was inside him.

  “So how does this tie in with--?” I prompted when she finished.

  “Well...this poor creature, this Nameless Virgin, was destroyed by the God who’d created her, apparently mere moments after being created. And that makes her the first person to die, if you buy into the mythology.”

  “But...you’re not a Christian,” I pointed out.

  “No. But if I’ve learned one lesson well, it’s that all paths are sacred. Christians see Deity as God, Wiccans as the Lord and Lady. Same being, different names and faces. And biology backs up the single-ancestor theory of mankind; random DNA samples from everywhere in the world show a common distant ancestor, for all people, a female. An Eve. And if there was an Eve....”

  "But this would've happened in the Garden of Eden, right? I don't know where that is, but I'm pretty sure it's not on Alabaster Street in Weakleyville.”

  "You're thinking in three dimensions. A spirit isn't bound by that. Perhaps the same aspects of the location that made people choose it for a church also brought the spirit here.”

  Well, I certainly never had conversations like this with any of my other girlfriends. “So I suppose you’re going to do something, right? Cast a spell or something?”

  She smiled and patted my hand. “We don’t indiscriminately cast spells, sweetie. But I do have to do something.” She shrugged. “I’ll work it out.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help....”

  She leaned toward me, and I met her kiss. “You’re a good listener. That’s invaluable.”

  ***

  Journal entry (continued):

  That night, as I sat in my apartment and meditated in preparation for ritual, I felt the spirit of the Nameless Virgin quivering just beyond my consciousness. Like some cosmic lost puppy, she’d managed to follow me home. Following purification of my physical
self and aura, I opened the window and admitted my fireflies. I felt myself grow larger than myself in their presence.

  I cast my circle this time in my own space. I called in the Guardians of the Watchtowers to protect me, to allow me to help this anguished spirit without risking my own. And I asked the Lady for compassion and guidance.

  This time the spirit came but did not overwhelm. “Speak to me of your pain,” I told her. “Let me know your need. I will help you.”

  I was created to love, she said, and have never been loved. I long to be beloved. Yet I, who committed no wrong save existence, am beloved of none, not even my Creator.

  “You see only one aspect of your Creator,” I told her. “Deity has many faces. Let me show you mine.”

  And I opened myself as a channel, allowing the love of my Lady to pour through me, to bathe the tortured spirit in cleansing light. I felt the spirit’s sobs, knew she desperately wished to come to the Lady, but was unable to do so. My heart broke for her, because I knew similar feelings, as a tiny blind girl unable to come to herself until she found her own courage. Mine was brought to me, in love and trust, as the Craft. But how could I do the same for this spirit?

  And then I knew.

  ***

  After we put the paper to bed, I stopped at Cadillac’s for a quick beer. My pals Tony Pallow and Danny Baker were already there. I expected Danny, but Tony’s presence was a surprise; he’d been off to take the entrance tests at the police academy in Memphis, but returned home to pick up some medical records too important to trust to the mail.

  We got a pitcher of beer and a pool table. I broke the first rack, and chose low numbers for our game of cutthroat. “So,” Tony asked, “you still dating that New Age chick?”

  “Yeah,” I said, as I sank the nine ball. “Looks like this one may last a while.”

  “That is one hot cookie, man, I tell you what,” Danny said appreciatively. “I saw her in this, like, tight green dress, and man, you could’ve lit a cigarette off her. Who’d believe she’s hooked up with ole Mr. Tully here?”

  “Well, I ain’t so sure about her,” Tony said dubiously.

  I scratched on my shot at the eleven ball. Irritated, I said, “Tell me that little comment was just so I’d mess up my shot.”

  Tony took his cue stick and lined up on the six. “No, I was serious. I know she’s pretty and all, but you know what I heard? She’s into witchcraft.”

  The way he said it implied old crones in pointed hats tossing animal parts into a boiling cauldron, not the gentle power of Tanna’s beliefs. I met his eyes to show I was serious. “Let it go, man. I don’t talk bad about Leslie speaking in tongues at church.”

  He held my gaze. “Seriously, Ry. We talked about cults in one of the orientation classes at the academy. A lot of them use pretty girls to draw people in. I mean, I’ve only met her once, so I’m reserving judgment. Just be careful, okay?”

  I was really annoyed with Tony’s new superior attitude; he was half cop already. I tore open a package of salt still in my pocket from lunch and sprinkled some of it on his arm as he bent to his next shot.

  “What was that?” he said.

  “Magic fairy dust,” I said smugly. “Now you’ll lose every game tonight.”

  And he did.

  I got home about seven, and played the only message on my answering machine. “Ry, this is Tanna. I would really like to see you tonight. Please call me when you get in.”

  She sounded simultaneously desperate, nervous, and excited, and boy, did my hormones pick up the inference. I took a quick shower, changed into a clean shirt and dashed over to her place. This was going to be the night, I could feel it.

  The moment I opened the door she ran into my arms and kissed me so passionately I thought I’d spontaneously combust. She dragged me into the little one-room efficiency she rented and shut the door with her foot. “Lock it,” she whispered against my lips. I did.

  Moments later we landed on her bed. Around us, candles flickered and fireflies danced at the windows. The room felt warm, hazy with incense and throbbing with something primal.

  We were still fully dressed, except for our shoes, but Tanna behaved as if weren’t, drawing my hands to her breasts and grinding her hips against me. When I kissed her neck under her ear, she wrapped her legs around me and moaned.

  Wow, I thought, this is really it. I hope I can last more than a minute.

  Then she pushed away. “Wait,” she gasped, “I need to tell you something.”

  I was fully prepared--the secret weapon was in my wallet--but I waited breathlessly.

  “I...I’m not a virgin,” she said.

  I blinked. “That’s okay.”

  “But I want you to make love to me like I was. I need as much gentleness and compassion as you have, Ry.”

  “Hey, don’t worry, I’m kind of nervous, too. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long--”

  She sat up and pulled off her blouse. “No, that’s not what I mean. The spirit I told you about...I want you to make love to her, through me.” She unhooked her bra. “She’s been a virgin longer than you can imagine, Ry. She’s so alone, and so distraught, but we can help her.”

  I guess the look on my face was pretty interesting, because she said, “I know how this sounds, but think about everything you’ve seen with me. And you will be making love to me, I’m just going to share the feelings with her.”

  Well, this was a new one. But even as I tried to absorb all she’d said, she continued disrobing. Finally she knelt on the bed before me, naked, lips parted, breasts heaving. I would’ve made love to her if she’d said the spirit of John Wayne was involved.

  I undressed as fast as I could and pressed her back down on the bed. “Gently,” she whispered. “Please, with perfect love and perfect trust.”

  I nodded, kissed her for the first time as her lover, and a whole bunch of my dreams and fantasies came true....

  ***

  Journal entry (continued):

  I had my first lover at sixteen. It was painful, and clumsy, and necessary for my understanding of the world. And even then, I knew I would soon enjoy it. I knew, if done in the right spirit, it was magic.

  My other lovers taught me many things. I learned my own pleasure, and my own ability to please. I learned the many different emotions intimacy could invoke. I treasured them all.

  Now, as this man I loved more than myself moved into me, I opened the path to the spirit of the Nameless Virgin. I felt her move into me as well, felt her impulses and desires fill me and overpower me.

  And then the most magical thing of all happened. I suddenly lost all memory, all knowledge of my past lovers. I was a virgin again, trembling with a desire I couldn’t identify, a need whose quenching I had yet to know. As I relearned what I already knew, I felt a completeness, a warmth and love and safety so new to me I could hardly comprehend it. This was perfect love and perfect trust, here in my bed with this man. And the spirit in me felt it, too, and her ageless solitude finally ended with our commingled cry of release.

  ***

  Okay, I’m a regular guy. Put in me in bed with a gorgeous willing girl, and I’m happy. And Tanna was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I was as aroused as I’d ever been in my life, and she responded with a ferocity that made me hope the folks who lived in the rest of the house weren’t home.

  I lasted longer than I thought I would, but I can’t say it was a marathon. But even before I finished, she arched under me and cried out, and our first time ended with that simultaneous, mutual explosion that you always read about as the pinnacle of passion.

  And then the sky fell.

  The candles flared, and I heard things rattle on her desk. A picture fell from the wall, and the bed shook under us. By the time the blood in my ears calmed enough for me to relax, it was over, but I was still wide-eyed.

  Tanna lay gasping under me. “By the Goddess...that was amazing....”

  “I think your ghost got a little over-excited
,” I said.

  She laughed and ran her fingers lightly over her cheeks. “She’s gone. For once, she was beloved, and that was all she ever wanted. She’s gone to her peace.” She pulled a pillow over her face, as if embarrassed. “But I guess I should’ve warned you.”

  “How could you know she’d start breaking things?”

  “Oh, no, sweetie, that wasn’t her. That was me.”

  “You?”

  She peeked out from behind the pillow’s fringed edge. “Whenever I...have an orgasm, it releases a big burst of psychic energy. Anything not nailed down tends to get knocked over. But it’s never been--” She smiled and shivered at the memory. “--Anything like that before. That was amazing.”

  I jumped off the bed. “Wait, you mean every time we make love, stuff will break?”

  She sat up. “Ry, wait, it isn’t--”

  That was it. Maybe Tony was right, and I’d heard, and seen, and experienced, enough. I grabbed my pants. “This is too weird. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with this.”

  I didn’t look at her as I dressed, but I felt the pain come off her in waves, crashing into my panic. I gave up on my shoes, grabbed them and ran for the door.

  “Ry, please, I love you!” she cried. But I didn’t stop.

  ***

  Journal entry (continued):

  I put up my circle and sat inside this safe place, waiting for comfort from the Lady. But none came.

  I had not dressed. I had not washed. I was as I’d been when he left, when he saw me for what I was. And fled from me.

  Thank you, the spirit said. Her voice was now soft, at peace. For her, the agony was over. I did not respond.

  I know your pain, she said. I have borne an identical one for eternity. It can be endured.