Page 95 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

Ronnie flew back downstairs to the quorum. Saint D’Norman was just finishing a banana while patting Elena on the cheek. The other three looked like springs ready to be sprung. Howie pulled a rectangular object from his fanny pack. Ronnie recognized it instantly. It was the cassette case for Elliot’s mixtapeLove Songs 1.

“Quick!” Howie shouted. “Each of you touch this to your heart and then your forehead. Focus your thoughts on it!” They all did exactly as he instructed. “Perfect! It will center all the deities of light onto Joe’s heart.” He then motioned for Elena to come over and warned her not to look at the five while they danced. “Or you’ll need reading glasses before you’re forty. Okay?”

Elena nodded and returned to her bodyguard position.

“Everybody get back in place!” Howie’s expression was trapped somewhere between terror and excitement. “We’re going longer and harder, and we may see a lot of unusual things. Don’t be afraid.” He looked deeply into the eyes of all his comrades. “We’ve only tried aspell of this size once before. This time, we can’t let it fail. Everyone ready?”

“Ready!” Dory said.

Saint D’Norman gave a languid thumbs-up and winked.

“Sure!” Lenny barked. “Let’s fucking do this thing!”

“Okay.” Howie looked to Ronnie. “Sweetie, this is where the flagging comes in. Okay?”

Ronnie nodded, pulling the silver silks from his belt. Howie then placed a shiny red flag in the center of the pentagram and took his place back at the pinnacle. As the thunder-laden, opening chords of the Weather Girls’ “It’s Raining Men” blasted through the sound system, Howie began to spin. This time he lifted Elliot’sLove Songs 1jewel case to the sky in his right hand and the silver flag in the other.

Ronnie and the others began their twirl. When up to speed, they spun their flags into silver swirling balls of lightning. Once again Ronnie felt himself lift off the ground as the Weather Girls belted their anthem to sopping wet men. As he twirled faster, faces suddenly appeared in front of his blurred eyes. He didn’t know to whom the faces belonged, yet they seemed deeply familiar. His brain filled with extraordinary memories of events he had never witnessed, places he had never visited, and old lovers he had never met, all boogying through the disco ball of his brain. He recalled throwing a brick through the window of the Stonewall. Making love to a Guatemalan man in the dunes of Herring Cove Beach in Provincetown, dancing on an East Village rooftop with a gorgeous Black opera singer in the 1940s, and on and on; a parade of lovers reaching back through time. Each memory, a mirrored fractal reflecting the mind of every twirling, magical being that ever was or would be.

Suddenly, in the center of the pentagram, right where Howie had left the red flag, a brown-skinned drag queen appeared, wearing a sparkly dress and blonde wig. Ronnie understood this was Max De Laguna, the high priest of the Disco Witches, in his religious drag-queen attire. His body, slim and translucent, flickered between flesh and vapor. The glowing specter picked up the red flag and looked at it quizzically.

“Max is transitioning,” Howie called out.

“It’s his time,” Dory whispered.

Just as Max’s spirit began to spin the red flag, an explosion of actual thunder struck the very foundation of the old wooden dance club. Howie’s mind commanded them: “Don’t stop twirling! There! Look at him! There’s Joe!”

In his mind’s eye, Ronnie saw his best friend, lying on the ground, his body jerking violently, his mouth foaming, his lungs unable to take in air. Joe was dying.

A CLEARING IN THE WOODS—10:19PM

“There’s no point, lad!” Vince gasped for air as he indicated for Fergal to slow his desperate trudge. “We’ve looked everywhere. Hopefully, he’s back at home.”

“He’s not,” Fergal said, clutching Joe’s bloodstained white shorts and fanny pack. “I have a really bad feeling.”

“Then we’ll head back and contact the police—”

A huge flash of lightning lit up the sky. When Fergal looked up, there was a massive flock of mourning doves all flying northwest toward the Great South Bay.

“Isn’t that that the queerest thing,” Vince said, gawking at the sky. “Wasn’t even a cloud a minute ago, and would you look at that.” He pointed to a colossal cumulus cloud moving directly over the island, blocking the eclipsing moon. “Let’s make a run for it—”

“No,” Fergal yelled. “This way!” He left the path, heading in the same direction as the birds. Another bolt of lightning lit the sky.

“Feck it!” Vince cursed before taking off after Fergal. “I’m right behind you, lad!”

THE DANCE FLOOR OF THE CLUB—10:20PM

While the five Disco Witches continued to twirl and flag, Max’s spirit swooped through the Promethean’s ceiling. Thunder clapped. Lighting cracked. Wind slammed the balcony windows open and closed.

“What is happening?” Ronnie shouted.

“It’s working!” Howie cried out.

“I’m weakening,” Saint D’Norman warned.

“Keep twirling!” Dory pleaded.

“We’re almost there!” Lenny hollered.

---