8 Months Ago
A few days had passed since Marie’s encounter with Joseph, the mysterious customer ushered out of Shadow of the Moon by a strange man with a demonic visage. She could have simply warded the store, herself, and been done with the whole thing, but Marie sensed that something was amiss, that if she were to try something like that, she’d only anger whatever forces with whom she had suddenly crossed paths. Instead, she decided to spend her free time researching similar events online and in the various folkloric books and scrolls she kept. In that time, she’d managed to narrow down the historical sightings and accounts to the beings most likely to be wandering the streets of Lost Haven. European folklore was filled with ghost stories, and Marie believed that perhaps the being that she had witnessed two days prior was some form of wraith or shade possessing the body of a man, and perhaps she had been able to discern the creature’s true form because of her powers.
But wraiths are vengeful spirits, she thought, trying to make sense of her account.
. . . unless it was bound to Joseph’s service by a contract or spell, but even then it wouldn’t have told him to leave, would it? She then wondered if Joseph knew the man’s true form, and if so, was he in control of or in league with him?
He might’ve had a familiar. They have no definite shape, but they aren’t known to take human form . . . but there’s no lore saying that they can’t. After hours of pondering and hypothesizing, Marie settled on a theory, believing Joseph was a skilled witch who had bound into service a familiar spirit.
Familiars have been known to guide and command their owners from time to time. Maybe they had an important date to keep? She kept a close eye on the shop’s emails, reviews, and complaints. He said that he would keep in touch, but he didn’t specify how.
Marie continued to toss around ideas in her head as she strolled into work that morning. She was so deep in thought that any conversation Madalena attempted to initiate went right past her, much to Madalena’s dismay. The day trudged along as Marie came up with all the different ways in which she could reach Joseph until something finally came to her: crossing the hedge. “That’s it!” she exclaimed as the thought came to her, Madalena peering into the shop from the office with a raised brow.
“You okay?” she asked with semi-concern.
“Yeah,” Marie answered, “just remembered something, didn’t mean to worry you.” Madalena shrugged and returned to the office. Marie, on the other hand, began scanning through the thick, dusty tome she often carried to work for the recipe to a spiritual flying ointment. Once she got home from work, she began preparations for a spiritual flight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Crossing the hedge, astral projection, spiritual flight, all different ways of saying the same thing, sending one’s spirit out into this world and beyond. The flight of witches recorded in European texts were likely those few times when witches were spotted flying to the sabbat in their physical forms, but sabbat meetings are best conducted as a spectre, for it allows greater focus, increases the power raised, and one can more easily find practitioners of the craft moving through the confines of time and space than searching in the physical realm. Marie knew all of this, she had known it since she was a child, but it hadn’t occurred to her, until recently, that Joseph might have been testing her knowledge when he entered the shop. He had seen the old tome that she had been reading, possibly even read the tops of the pages or deciphered a few of the obvious sigils and scripts, so perhaps he had recognized her as a carrier of the witch-fire from a few simple observations, and by “in touch,” he meant she would find him if she truly did carry Bucca’s mark.
Tonight was perfect, a full moon. If there were any other witches like herself, those who worshipped or those touched by Bucca, then tonight they would surely be at their most active. Marie dressed in ritual garb, a formality that she had never really cared to abide by, but one she believed would be appropriate for tonight’s operations. She had given the ointment plenty of time to set up the day before and was ready to begin. She took some of it on her fingers and placed a bit on her forehead, around her lips, and on the nape of her neck, rubbing in the poisonous mixture gently, making sure not to touch her lips or eyes. She then lay down in her bed, closed her eyes, and began breathing in and out deeply. With each breath, she fell deeper and deeper into a trance, her body warming up the areas where the ointment was placed. Finally, she opened her eyes and stood up, looking down at her bed to ensure that her body lay there sleeping. Sure enough, there were two of her, the one standing her consciousness and spirit, the one left sleeping her physical form. She smiled, proud of herself for being able to cross over so quickly and easily, then passed through the window of her apartment and flew out into the night.
As a spirit, she could glide through the air faster than if in physical flight and was not bothered by things such as walls and boundaries, for she could simply pass through them so long as they weren’t protected from her. She flew over Chinatown, then through the streets, smiling as the people around her felt the cold chill of her spirit pass them by, unable to see her. As she flew, she searched for beings like herself, spirits and inhuman creatures whose identities would be obvious in this heightened state of awareness. As if on cue, two figures came swirling past, women with fair skin and ivory hair that glowed brilliantly in the night. One was skyclad, the other wearing a thin, translucent tunic around her waist. These were not witches, but full blooded fae, spiritual beings of myth who attend to the many aspects of nature and who, like humans, have desires and motives all their own. These two nodded at Marie as they flew by, giggling and singing in eerie harmonies, eventually disappearing into a thicket of leaves and brush at the edge of the city. A forest, the traditional gathering places for witches and their ilk, a place where all the spirits could be seen and heard. Even in Lost Haven, a heavily urban area, spirits could enjoy the quiet of parks and forest trails, little pieces of nature scattered here and there.
Marie flew swiftly into the small collection of dense trees, moving about them freely until happening upon a clearing where, sure enough, other cloaked, darkly clad, and naked peoples gathered. Among them were all manner of spirits and fae, men and women of many ages, some gathered physically, some spiritually like Marie, and other creatures, dark shadows in the forms of beasts that Marie assumed were circle guardians or familiars. One in particular caught Marie’s attention, a tall, thin shadow with long, spindly talons and a wide, gaping jaw fitted with three rows of jagged teeth. Marie felt a shiver as she eyed the being, who turned to her as she neared the circle and gave her a simple nod. His presence wasn't threatening or menacing, though his image betrayed his motives. Beside the shadow stood a handsome man her age with beautiful and angular features, his dark hair covered by the hood of a dark cloak. He too looked to her, stretching out an arm and waving her over, smiling all the while.
“I had a feeling we might be seeing you again,” he said arrogantly, verbally patting himself on the back with his greeting. Marie wanted to roll her eyes, but decided against it. He continued, “I guessed from that grimoire you had out the other day that you were one of us, one of His followers. Not just anyone can get their hands on the personal grimoires of witches from the Middle Ages.”
“I’ve, uh, got a pretty good collection I guess . . .” she replied awkwardly. Even though she was among her kind, she still wasn’t completely at ease. “I’m Marie, by the way. Marie Heartford.” She extended her arm as if to give him a handshake.
“Joseph Mathers,” he responded, taking her hand in his and kissing it. Marie turned her head and blushed. She supposed this was a semi-formal occasion, so such a greeting wasn’t unwarranted, but it still took her by surprise.
“D-do you know everyone here?” she asked in a soft voice so as not to be heard by the others, all of whom were too busy conversing with one another to hear anything she said.
Joseph shook his head, “I’ve met a few, but this is my first time seeing many of these people. The circle gets bigger every full moon. Friends tell their friends, who tell their friends, that kind of thing.” He looked up into the sky, noting the position of the moon. He looked back down at her and gave a wide grin. “It would seem that time is upon us. The witching hour draws near.”
“I-I’ve got a few more questions . . . “
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that later,” he interrupted. “Right now, let’s enjoy ourselves and revel in the presence of our own kind.”
Before Marie could object, her hand was seized by Joseph and he brought her into the circle, outlined by several occult markings on the ground, a pyre of logs and sticks constructed at its center. Marie was familiar with this form of ritual but had never had the chance to take part, rather, she never had the desire to be around this many people, some of whom weren’t even clothed. The others in company came together within the circle, some holding stangs, some holding incense, some holding bowls of consecrated or holy water, and the ritual began. The guardians were called, the spirits were raised, and as the group began their ritual chanting, beings of all shapes, sizes, and metaphysical persuasions began emerging from the surrounding woods, some holding instruments, some simply looking to join in the revelry. Suddenly, the pyre at the center erupted into flames and all in attendance began a frenzied dance around it, some chanting Bucca’s name, some singing loudly in strange tongues, but all dancing to the music of the spirits, to the music of Bucca. Marie had never once liked a party, had never once been a part of such revelry, but for the first time in her life, Marie felt herself begin to slip. She was taken over by the frenzied ecstasy, as if possessed by Bucca himself, and knowingly, willingly, and joyfully danced and sang with the witches and spirits in the forest, and for the first time since her childhood, saw Him, floating above the pyre, dancing with witches and spirits, hand-in-hand with everyone present. Marie smiled and thought,
This is pure freedom.
& 
