Coatlique The moon had hidden Herself tonight in a cloak of shadow and starry tears that dripped down their glitter light to stain the earth with their beauty. Tonight was a night when madmen wept in their frost-bitten hands at the loss of Her light, when small children hugged themselves in the corners of their rooms, praying that they will not be stolen away by the Hill Dwellers. Tonight was a night when the devils came out to spread their dark lust into the open thighs of witch-women and hell sluts. Tonight was a night ready for magic, as willing as a virgin on her wedding night to accept a new presence into that deep matrix of wisps and goblins. The moon had hidden Her face and I was ready, as I always was, to shine amongst the sodden swamps and minions of deviltry. The neighbor's lights still shined, the small magic of electricity causing them to burn without flame or reason. Ah, science! It thought itself so grand! As if by flipping a switch or mixing a chemical it could do away with the faeries, the succubi, or silence the whispers of the moon as She spoke into the ears of her willing servants. Science deluded itself into thinking it was the only thing out there to protect its human creators from the silver daughters and sons of the dark. What fools they were! What mortals! I waved my hand and spoke a command to the fire elementals. They obeyed me in their slow and haughty salamander form, crawling over to the neighbor's light posts and sitting their red underbellies on top of the glass. I watched, smugly, as the lights popped one at a time in a burst of shards and flame as the wires inside melted into small puddles of mixed metal and ash. "My thanks." I murmured and bent to pick a small violet from the lawn. The flower wasn't open all the way, for the moon wasn't out to bless the small blossom with Her light and Her liquid madness. The elders of my people had said that anyone who breathed in the scent of flowers at night was welcoming possession, for that was when the piskies, small female Fay with beautiful faces and sharp teeth, liked to bath in the dew-drops that the petals held. I had no fear of their wrath, however. Long had it been since I had been threatened by a Fay and still my youth burned inside me, alongside my power. A movement! I whipped around, feeling my hair touch my bare back, unadorned by clothing or jewelry. There was someone there. I could feel them trembling from behind the mulberry bushes my neighbors had planted on the border between our houses. I was a witch to them, a small intrusion upon their happy lives, a shadow over the sun. They either ignored me or talked about me in hushed voices, saying that I walked naked at night to corrupt their children and dance with the devil. How right they were and how foolish! They did not respect my power, nor did they offer me gifts to appease my wrath. They were fools and I thought myself wise to avoid contact, lest I be tempted to exercise my power and curse their lives with plague and prejudice. Only but once had I attended one of their parties. They hadn't invited me, but I had decided to arrive anyways and see their faces clearly in the artificial light. When I had entered their house, the silence that filled the room grew substance and coated their lungs every time they inhaled. "Well met, Mr. Harthwort. Mrs. Harthwort." I nodded in their direction as they sat, their coffee mugs halfway to their lips as they stared at me with surprise. Only about four or five other neighborhood families had shown up and they each looked at me like I was a stranger, even though I was certain they knew of my existence and my malevolent ways. Their children had been shooed into the living room so that the adults could sit and chatter together in the kitchen in peace, while they sipped their drinks and spoke of practicalities. I nodded at each of the families and moved into the living room while they watched my back, still trying to exhale the silence that had choked their voice boxes with nothingness. The children, four girls and three boys, each below fifteen years, looked up from their games and arguments as I entered. I knew I was a legend to them and that satisfied me. Two of the girl-children had knocked upon my door on Samhain, their All Hallows Eve, dressed as Faeries, or what they at least thought the Fay looked like. I hadn't answered the door, of course, but merely looked at them through the dark window curtain and watched them run nervously away when they saw my solemn face. The youngest of those two girls, a lass named Maureen, looked at me curiously. "Hi." She said quietly and began to play with her skirt, twisting the ends into sad knots and whirls. "Hello, young ones." I spoke and looked down upon them, feeling the twists of Fate curl into my bones. One of these children would be my apprentice, I knew. In time they would come to me and give me their allotted sacrifice in order to receive the barest glimpse of my knowledge; one year of their life would be taken into my limbs and spread out into a hundred years with my practice and skill. They all stared up at me, many with their faces pale and trembling. "What's your name?" I looked around and found the speaker sitting on an antique rocking chair, his hands folded cautiously upon his lap. "I am Coatlique of the serpent skirt." I spoke to them and each looked properly stunned. "Why are you here?" The boy asked again. He was a beautiful child with black hair and thick flesh, the perfect offering for the nixies. Had I not known that one of the children would intermingle with my destiny, I would have stolen him from his parents and sacrificed him into the dark, faerie-ridden waters. Boy children in the age of puberty were the favorite offerings of the nixies and many watery gifts would have been given to me in exchange for his blood. Before I could answer his question, however, I felt someone enter the room. Turning, I glanced behind me. One of the parents stood there, a formidable man whose ancestors had pillaged weak villages for their gold and women. I could have easily laid a curse upon his head, quicker than a wisp on the misty dales, but I held myself and stepped out the room. His eyes followed me and his down-turned mouth reminded me of the stray dog I had bled the previous week for one of my incantations. I shall bleed you in your dreams, Mr. Allviss, I thought to myself and smiled at him sweetly, trapping him briefly in my eyes on my way out of the room. The adults in the kitchen stared at me again when I entered. The woman, Mrs. Harthwort, had the nerve to say to me, "I think you should leave." Her arms were crossed tightly around her chest, as if that would ward off my evil eye, and as I looked upon her, they hugged even tighter. I laughed. "Goodnight, Mr and Mrs. Harthwort. Have a pleasant evening." They had said nothing as I closed the door. Now, under the dark of the moon, I heard the quick breathing of someone hidden in the mulberry bushes. I paused and considered my options; I could kill him or her right away without hearing their excuse for spying upon me, I could approach them and demand an answer, or I could ignore them and let them continue to watch me. I passed over the first idea right away. In my past I would not have hesitated in the slightest and many men had been cast down before me in an orgy of blood and death, but now I was old in spirit, although young in body, and slaughter had lost its appeal to me in these modern times. Forcing them to reveal themselves would be the best solution and would also lead to a confrontation, which would be both entertaining and a chance to exercise my powers, much in the same way that dancers stretch before they perform onstage. "Weaving Arachne," I intoned, speaking loud enough for my spy to listen and wonder, "Come unto me. Spinner of webs and competition, sweet enemy of great Athena, come! Bring your children and your grandchildren to my domain and rest yourselves upon the flesh of my enemy." From the depths of the woods there came a noise, like tiny twigs being broken. The spy's breath quickened and I saw, in the grass, a small flood of miniature black bodies swarm across the lawn and towards the mulberry bush. It was like a black tide, and the spiders washed over the person hidden in the bushes without hesitation, eager for their resting place as I had promised them. As their small bodies created a second skin for my spy, I watched the intruder scramble from their hiding place, mouth open to scream. Before any sound could be released, however, the spiders swarmed in and stopped whatever noise my spy attempted to make. I walked over to the body, writhing wildly on the lawn in a gross spectacle that made me laugh, low and delicious, and I stood over the mass of insect bodies and tormented flesh. "Are you through spying on me? Did you think I would not notice?" The spy made a choking sound as the spiders were forced further and further down their throat and I took that for a 'yes'. Feeling no pity but deciding that it would be easier to question this person alive rather than dead, I waved my hands and spoke my spell of release. "Depart, Arachne, with your children by your side. May the attention of the Gods never fall upon you again except in blessing." As quickly as they had come, the spiders retreated and I saw his face by the light of the stars, swollen and ugly with poisonous bites. It was a boy and he looked familiar. Who exactly he was, however, was obscured by the bloated punctures. "Clear." I commanded and the poison, hearing my voice, secreted from his skin in a foul-smelling sweat as he moaned and convulsed. As soon as inflamed bites had deflated, I recognized his dark eyes and black hair. It was the boy from the party, the one who had dared to question me. Fate whispered its memories into my ear and I knelt by him and lifted him to his feet. "Well, boy. Why were you spying upon me?" He groaned and kept his eyes closed to guard against the sweat-poison droplets leaking from his skin. He was handsomer now since the party had occurred two years before. His broad flesh had melted into muscle and sinew and his brows were thick and black as a witch's heart. Otherwise he had not changed over the years. I could feel inside of him. His heart was still tender and unblemished. I shook him roughly and he opened his mouth and began to vomit out spiders and stomach acids. I was pleased to note that he hadn't eaten prior to visiting me. Traditionally, hopeful apprentices went on a fast before applying. The boy hadn't known that, of course, but some watchful spirit must have remembered the olden days and kept him from eating. Finally, after he was done vomiting, he coughed once and said, weakly, "I wanted to know if you really were a witch. My parents…my parents wouldn't even talk about you to me and the kids on the street don't know anything. I…" He began coughing again, but by this time most of the poison had drained off of his face and he was able to open his eyes again in time to realize that he was standing next to a naked woman. I watched the stereotypical blush begin to form and I savored the taste of his embarrassment. "I am more than a mere witch, boy." I told him, almost pitying his pain and confusing. "I am a priestess, a prophetess, a sorceress. I am Coatlique, descendant of She who gave birth to the world as a virgin, who gathered feathers from the five hill-goddesses and who wore claws and serpents as her ornaments. I have power beyond your wildest dreams, boy. I am more than a mere pagan, playing at the dark arts long forgotten by the mortal race. I am more than a witch. I am more than anything." He stared up at me, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. I smirked and summoned a group of piskies to fly about me and light up my face. They came obediently, as I knew they would, their glowing bodies burning with a magical fire like fallen stars. I kept my voice low and forced the piskies to shine brighter, more impressive, despite the fact that the burning of excess magic hurt their skin and made their fragile wings crack under the heat. "What is your name, boy?" He inhaled slowly and held his breath for a moment before answering. "Gregory Harthwort." "Would you like to learn my power, Gregory Harthwort?" I asked him as the piskies grew brighter and brighter and their cries of pain grew loud enough for human ears to hear. He looked startled at first, as if I had just repeated a key phrase he had heard on and off again in his daydreams, and then nodded with cautious enthusiasm. "Oh yes," he whispered and I smiled as one of the piskies burst into flame, her high-pitched scream lasting until the ball of smoke and fire landed on the dew licked grass. "Then come with me and, in exchange for an offering, I shall teach you." I held out my hand and he took it while the dark beasts of the woods watched us, playing the witness. Together we entered the forest filled with succubi and demons, faeries and wraiths, the only sound being the chorus of mourning voices as the piskies lamented the loss of their burning sister.