Page 16 of Filthy Little Witch
Marta
Sitting cross-legged near the tree line out behind the motel, I wrapped a red ribbon around one hand and sank the fingers on my other into the dirt, diving my consciousness into my body. This particular ribbon had been given to me by my tita when my magic first manifested.
“It will protect you if you treat it with respect,” she’d told me. In her tradition, red was a symbol of power, and ribbons, in particular, represented a barrier against harmful spirits. Once I had it wrapped around my wrist, I went to my safe space in my mind—the forest near my abuelita’s house. The trees rustled in the wind, the birds chirped overhead, and the steady stream of trickling water echoed nearby.
Focusing on my breathing, I pulled energy up from the ground, channeling it into my heart, absorbing it into my soul. I reciprocated by sending my own back down, starting an ebb and flow between us.
I walked through my internal woods, touching the bark on the trees, my fingers sparking with strength and renewed determination. Just when I got to an area where the creek water crashed into rocks, a strange sensation cascaded over my arms and up the back of my neck. I glanced around but found nothing unusual. This was, after all, my sacred space.
“Mi hija,” came a soft voice from behind me.
I whipped around, gasping, preparing to defend myself, but my focus landed on a tall, beautiful woman with blue flowing robes. Her dark hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders, and she held her hands out to me, beckoning me forward, almost like she wanted me to embrace her.
“Who are you?” I asked. Of all the times I’d come to this place, of all the times I’d centered and grounded myself in seclusion, no one had ever randomly intruded.
“Listen closely,” she said in Spanish, completely ignoring my question. “The time has come when you must fight. You must forsake your rage at what isn’t and focus on what is. You must channel your anger into faith, and faith into action.”
“What?” I didn’t understand what I was hearing. Who was she? Why had she chosen now to contact me?
In all my years as a practicing witch, I considered myself faithful to the things I could see and touch. The elements. The moon. My own spirit. But this? Was I imagining this?
When I finally got close enough to her, she put her hands on my jaw and tilted her glowing face down, meeting my eyes with resplendent ones of her own. They glittered with ferocity, with force and command. Whoever she was, she demanded my complete attention, my utter rapture. And I didn’t have the willpower to resist.
“You will want to give up,” she continued. “You must not do this. You were given many gifts, mi hija. Do not let them go to waste.”
“I—I don’t understand.” The words fell from my lips in a stutter. I wasn’t scared of her, no. She emanated a fierce but compassionate vitality that infected me with pure bliss. I could have stayed there with her forever. I could have basked in her radiance until the end of days.
Then she straightened and let go of my face, her expression morphing from stern benevolence to that of a parent chastising a child throwing a temper tantrum. I got the sense she had said all she would on this matter, and between one blink and the next, she was gone.
I glanced around, sure I had misunderstood or perhaps imagined the whole thing. This was, after all, my sacred mental space. It wouldn’t have been impossible to have conjured the entire conversation from my subconscious. But I had never done anything like that before.
Why now? Why here?
“Who are you?” I shouted to no one. “Come back!”
I whirled around again, and when I returned to the spot where she’d once stood, a great giant cloud of black smoke filled my vision. Glowing red eyes raced toward me, gleaming sharp teeth encased by an evil grin. The demon reached out toward me, wrapping its arms around my throat, and just when I thought it would suffocate me in my own head, I opened my eyes back in the living realm.
I gasped, sucking in air, as I glanced around.
It isn’t real. It isn’t real.
I repeated the mantra as I blinked and focused on what I could see, what I could hear, what I could touch. The birds in the trees. The cool ground under me. The woods and the undergrowth and the faint sound of water running somewhere up ahead.
It isn’t real.
Certain it was just a dream, just a trauma that hadn’t quite been processed, I pushed myself to my feet and went to find the others.
We parked our bikes and walked into the forest, the relentless tension in my chest increasing exponentially. The trees hummed with ominous energy, seeming to emanate a warning that we were not welcome here. They’d already been scorched with chaos magic and would tolerate no more of it.
That should have been our first clue to tuck tail and run.
Wes and Atlas walked on either side of me, and the fiery bond between us vibrated intensely at the proximity. Despite not trusting it or knowing how to use it, I couldn’t deny its captivating hold. Their emotions rattled deep down inside, nearly indistinguishable from my own. Wes was nervous, his heart pounding and his chest tight. Atlas was more resolute. His white-hot fury at having been attacked was compounded by how the demon had wrecked his car. He wanted revenge.
When we finally stepped into a clearing, I knew immediately it was the place where the Femmes had brought this entity into our realm. The aura of the trees changed to a sickening threat, one that coated my skin in raw evil, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. This was a bad place.
“Here,” Bridge said, pointing to a spot on the ground where the undergrowth had been charred in the shape of a perfect circle.
Isobel reached into her bag and retrieved a tall glass bottle full of Holy Water. She popped open the top and poured the liquid on the decimated area, chanting a spell to cleanse the space. It smoked when it touched the ground, gray wisps rising as it reacted to the malicious energy. I read them as they appeared in zigzag crosses and interweaving tendrils.
