Spell of the Serpent

"There weren’t always dragons in the Valley…”

What had begun as a pleasant conversation quickly escalated into dangerous territory. In a mixed city scorched by the Devil’s inferno, colloquial terms don’t always translate one to one. So, what Evan’s grandmother and her overworked paper fan actually said was that 'there were not always bruja in the San Fernando Valley'. Witches.

I myself preferred the translation ‘witch’… to call us ‘dragons’ seemed harsh, even if George R.R. Martin made them cool again.

“Women who don’t meet societal standards are always labeled witches, Yaya. Even you—” Evan dropped the metal lid onto the boiling pot but it didn’t help stifle the oppressive heat in Yaya's cramped kitchen.

“Evangeline María José Mendoza-!” Abuela started, but I was left in the dust of her rapid-fire Spanish. My Spanish was casual at best and Yaya’s tongue cut faster than a hibachi knife. She was still going when Evan stormed out of the house and dragged me with her, right passed the portrait of Jesus with the creepy eyes.

Evan transformed the block of bleak beige into a kaleidoscope of rage. I feared if she walked any faster, Evan would literally catch fire, “…she’s crazy! Loca! Chiflada! Cracked!—”

I grabbed her hand and, with great effort, interlaced my fingers into her clenched fist with a mind to slow her down, “She’s superstitious and worries…a lot.”

“Are you defending her now?!” Evan accused.

I could’ve smirked but I remained sly, “No. No! But we know Yaya — and, like, all grandmas are wary of any magick outside of their own rituals. You joined a group called ‘Delphyne’s Order’. It doesn’t exactly sound like a Catholic bible study. Do Catholics even recognize Greek Gods?”

“You are a witch, Rrr-rose! — and it’s ‘The Order of Delphyne!” She rolled my ‘R’ hard by accident; she was keyed-up… she rarely used my real name at all.

“I practice by myself! I don’t exactly call myself ‘Matron’ or ask people to bring me ‘offerings’… but you went from changing out her portraits of Jesus with pictures of Ewan McGregor to giving up your Friday nights to a coven… one annoyed her, but now? I’m pretty sure she’s going to call you a priest.”

“I’ll call her meds in.” Unceremoniously, her hand yanked out of my grasp. Evan dug a half-spent joint out of her purse; I thought it neatly symbolized her half-attention on me — but it was in the literal sense she sought the spliff: to light up.

Click. Burn.

The end of the paper glowed as she took the first sweet puff. In a cloud of suspended smoke she replied, “They’re really special! You should come. Just once.”

Our walk slowed; I was distracted by the sound of the bus hydraulics as it departed from the stop at the end of the block. The smell of weed mixed with the fried food drifting over the cement wall. I forced myself to focus on her. She wanted something.

An answer: yes.

“Am I even allowed to go?”

“Of course! Everyone’s welcome in Delphyne’s house… well, all women. Assigned at birth or identifying. Super progressive.”

A beat.

“When is it?” We both knew I’d drag my feet and draw it out but she would get what she wanted. She always did. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I would regret it.

“Tonight.” She smirked into a triumphant puff.

I gave her a look which sent her smoldering joint waving through the air like a mystic’s wand, “Like you have plans! C’mon…” her lips descend into a cute pout.

Fucking cheater.

Without another word, she knew she had won. Emitting a victorious shriek, Evan bounced forward and kissed me. Her lips were bitter and her tongue smoky, despite it, she was still my favorite taste. We broke apart.

“You won’t regret it, mi vida…” she murmured in a rare form of intimacy rarely illuminated between us, especially on the edge of a tire shop which was recently taped off as a crime scene.

“Mi cielo…” I returned in honest. She was my heaven. It was a term she taught me after she vetoed the pet names I’d tried giving her — but I couldn’t think of one more fitting for the woman who saved my life every damn day.

The moment was broken when we came down from our high and noticed a sunshine cleaners-esque van parked at the corner of the lot. Someone in a protective suit opened the back doors, momentarily blocking them from view.

Evan was morbidly curious but she was on my wavelength and we promptly continued on our way — across the street, at a brisk pace.

Later

Their location was odd.

It was a long-abandoned church. Not a grand old place, but if I had to guess, it had been some non-denominational sect who had a good run during the height of “satanic panic” but dwindled over the subsequent decades. I had doubts that the building even had running water. I had further doubts that anyone cared. It was uncomfortably muggy too. Despite the windows cracked open (by choice or otherwise), the air was thick and uncomfortably warm.

Different colored fabrics in a satiny sheen were draped around the room but they couldn’t hide the stains or general disrepair of God’s former house. Candles were lit on almost every surface which renewed my worry about no running water.

…but Evan was electric. All of my irritation, my doubts fell to the backseat when I watched her with other members of Delphyne. Evan was an extrovert but this was different; this was kinship. Connection.

She grabbed my arm, “Matron’s almost here. Emily says it’s going to be a special night. I’m sooo glad you came,” she rested her head against my arm.

I smiled through my wary, “Yeah…”

Lame.

But I was distracted by Emily, the short girl with a mermaid tattoo on the shaven side of her head. She fidgeted over something behind a precariously draped banner. Her frenzy reminded me of when my mom told me and my siblings to clean up before she got home from work — and it was only the metallic groan of the garage door that sprang us into action.

Members took their seats and we formed a crescent shape on the dusty floor. Evan sat pert on her knees and I was more casual, bravado was creeping in like I had something to prove, or rather, they had something to prove to me.

Mermaid Ink took her place at the tip of the crescent and the circle of women quieted. Candles swayed in the heavy atmosphere as if they drowning at the bottom of a pool, desperate for air.

From the crumbling altar, a flame drew forward and Matron passed into the circle. She was older than I expected, but that could’ve been my internalized misogyny. Her hair was a brilliant grey that glowed in the dim light.

“A merry eventide to you all,” she spoke. Her lips formed a smile that did not move when she spoke. The pillar candle in her cupped hands created a haunting visage where the light extinguished in her eyes, a brown so dark they were almost black.

“Merry merry, Matron,” the group echoed. Instinctively, I reached to Evan and took her hand in mine. Enthralled, she squeezed back in anticipation.

“We are blessed to be together this day. Blessed in company, in life, in breath…” Matron slowly walked the inner circle. Her booted feet clicked against the wood as she took each step with intention.

Her opening speech left a bad taste in my mouth, which was strange. I believed in everything she said, in theory. I was a practicing witch. I chose to be a witch because of the fostered connection to Earth, to the Universe… but when it came out from between her thin lips, I was unsettled.

Matron Echidna set her candle upon a small table at the opening of the circle. She stood behind it, priestess at the pulpit. “The Order of Delphyne comes together in fellowship once again, under the eye of Mother Gaia,” she looked around the circle. I took care to avoid eye contact. I chose instead to watch Evan who leaned forward a little more on every word.

“As her devoted, we begin with an offering,” Matron raised her hands. Two girls from the circle stood and took up tarnished brass dishes. Beginning at each end, they held their dish before them and followers gave up their offerings. I was surprised, for every offering was cash. It wasn’t just coins or rolled 1’s or 5’s, but many large bills. I would have guessed offerings would be a mix of items: money, food, special stones, etc. whatever was appropriate to the Goddess being honored. Especially with a guess to the average tax bracket around the room.

“She’s with me,” Evan smiled as she placed a $20 in the dish and the pall bearer moved on.

I drew to Evan’s ear, “20 dollars?” I whispered, “You didn’t tell me it cost money to attend this thing…”

“Their gracious tithes are not a fee of admission,” Matron looked right at me, “but a rightful atonement to Delphyne and the spirits that guide us. There is no salvation without sacrifice.” Her last sentence was echoed by the congregation.

My mouth dropped open in surprise: how did she hear me? Salvation? Sacrifice? I was too taken aback to respond.

The pall bearers set their full plates on either end of Matron’s altar, leaving the large cauldron betwixt. She smiled at me which sent a deep chill radiating from my heart to the tips of my fingers and the bottoms of my feet.

“May we be cloaked in Delphyne’s light, sanctified in her strength!” Matron raised her hands above her head in proclamation.

“Mote it be!” They echoed.

My stomach churned: something wasn’t right. It wasn’t because their rote memorization was feeling a little cult-y, but the look in Matron’s eye was an icy needle driven into my heart. I was shaken. I squeezed Evan’s hand. She glanced at me and mouthed, “It’s okay.”

I shook my head, it wasn’t okay but Evan had already turned her attention away from me. Soon, the pall bearers returned as cup bearers, a goblet in their hands.

“In unity,” the cup bearer said.

“In gratitude,” the drinker would respond before taking their sip.

Again, it was my turn. I hesitated.

“Please,” Evan muttered desperately. I glanced at her and she was wild with apprehension. “…mi vida.”

“In unity,” the cup bearer repeated with particularly harsh syllables.

“In… gratitude…,” I replied in great uncertainty. I took the goblet and faked a sip, not allowing the liquid to wet my lips before I gave it back. They moved onto Evan who sipped in earnest. As the congregation drank, Matron filled her cauldron with different herbs and oils.

When the Kool-Aid was finished, the circle joined hands and began a prayer I did not recognize. When the pseudo-chant ended, our arms raised high in the air together, Matron cried out, “To the glory of the Serpent!”

She threw a handful of powder into the cauldron which erupted into a brilliant flame.

I squinted my eyes in the sudden flash of light and with a flinch, dropped hands. The circle shifted. I thought they bowed their heads, but when my eyes adjusted I found each and every member of the congregation slumped over.

“Evan!?” I reached out my hands, grasping onto whatever part of her was near. She looked asleep. Serene, quiet, still… “Evan?!” I shrieked, shaking her harder than when she’s late for work with a killer hangover.

“Nullifidian’s aren’t welcome in the House of Delphyne,” Matron spoke in a chillingly calculated manner. Her voice was lower than before, her eyes peered at me over the smoldering cauldron.

“What the fuck did you do?!” I screamed in a frenzy. I wasn’t going to leave Evan’s orbit. I shoved my hands into my pocket to find my phone, “What the fuck is this?! You’re a goddamn lunatic! Loca!—”

When the weight of my phone comforted my hand, my finger violently swiped to unlock it.

Then my world went black in one terrible blow.

When I woke, it was into a frenzy.

The church was in flames. I could feel the heat as I was hoisted onto a gurney. Disembodied hands placed a respirator over my face. Then a voice that spoke to me, but I couldn’t focus on what they were saying…

I watched the blurred silhouette of a firefighter aim their powerful hose at the burning sanctuary.

The doors to the ambulance closed and I was blinded by the stale white light. The siren called above our heads but I managed to comprehend one very important thing from the paramedics buzzing around me:

“—they find anyone else?”

“No, just her.”