Arine took the hand Katie offered her, and was once again surprised by how real her hand felt. The redhead noticed her reaction and smirked. "So yer th' young lass me Mia's fallen fer, eh? Arine, right?" Arine nodded her head, "Yes, Arine Lloyd," the blonde answered. Katie smiled at that, apparently liking the name. As she watched Arine continue to look around herself in a daze, she leaned forward. "Doesn't feel like a dream, does it?" she asked. Arine shook her head as she looked out at the shoreline and the ocean, the waves breaking against the sand, "'Tis alright, ye'll get used t'it." As Katie began leading Arine away from the shore, the blonde tried to make sense of what she'd just said, "Get used to it?" she asked, "What do you mean? This is just a dream, right?" Katie stopped walking. She released Arine's hand and looked back at her, "'Tis a bit more complicated than that lassie. Ye see, yer body's still in bed with me Mia... Our Mia, but yer also currently here as well." "Oh?" Arine asked, not at all understanding what the redhead was going on about, "And where is here?" "Well, it has several names; Hy Breasil or the Secret Island, Tir Tairrngire or the Land of Promise, Fairyland, the Summerlands, but basically it all boils down to being the Irish land of the dead, located past th' ninth wave," she explained as Arine saw what looked like a large green dragon come out of the woods behind Katie. The creature headed for a large oak tree by the shore. "You... You mean... I'm..." Arine gasped as her heart began to race. Katie laughed sweetly, "Heaven's no," she said as the dragon reached behind the tree, grabbed a gigantic pair of spectacles and a large book. As the dragon sat by the shore to read its book, its large wings folded up at its sides, Katie continued, "I'm th' dead one, remember?" "Oh, of course," Arine said, "Then exactly why am I here?" she asked. "Well," Katie said as she took on a more serious air, "As ye know, th' black hearted Donovan O'Brian has reared his ugly head. You and Mia are both in danger, ye see. I'm forbidden from tellin' ye what kind of danger, but I was allowed to bring ye here to tell ye that ye've got a choice ‘afore ye, Arine. In th' upcomin' drama gettin' ready t' take place, ye can either be th' damsel in distress, of ye can be a hero an' join in th' fight. Both paths are opened to ye, an' both are fraught wit' danger. If ye choose t' fight though, I'll help ye." The blonde looked at Katie silently for several seconds before answering, "If Mia's in danger, then I want to help her," she said. Katie smiled broadly at Arine, "Aye, I somehow knew ye would, lass. Now we haven't much time ‘afore ye wake up. I'm goin' t' teach you how to fight." Arine raised an eyebrow, "You're going to teach me to fight? How?" Katie seemed offended at the question, "How, ye ask? How? Listen, I may be a woman, and a small one at that, but I'm also an Irish woman, and the Irish are born fighters. Why, shortly after th' flood, Parthalon and his followers fought their way across the waved to Ireland. Then th' conqueror Nemed came, then the Firbolgs, then the Tuatha D'e Danann, th' children of the goddess Danu. Finally, the Milesius conquered the Emerald Isle, and have been there ever since. The Irish have always fought, both for Ireland herself and for what's right and true. Asides," she added, "Me father was a boxer. He might've gone pro if he didn't have to take care of me and my siblings by working in the coal mine. Still, I watched him enough to pick up some pointers." Arine suddenly felt very foolish, "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to offend. Please, teach me to fight." The redhead smiled once again, "That's what I wanted t' hear. Sorry if I got carried away, lassie, but we've not much time and everything's at stake. Now first, ye've got to learn th' proper stance. Here, let me show ye..." Over the next few hours, while Arine's body slept next to Mia's, her dream self was being put through its paces by Katie. The blonde soon got over her initial discomfort at her lack of clothing as she learned everything Katie knew of from watching her father when she was a youth. She showed her how to duck and weave, how to guard her chest and face, and how to punch and jab. Occasionally the dragon would look up from its book out of curiosity to see the two young women, then it would go back to reading. Several times Arine had to stop in order to catch her breath, surprised by how physically exhausted she was. Finally, Katie put a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "I'm sorry if I pushed ye, but ye've got precious little time to learn what I'm teachin' ye." Arine breathed hard as she wiped the sweat from her brow, "I understand," she said. The redhead then pulled the reporter into a hug. "Take good care of her," she said, "I'm trusting her to you." A moment later, everything went black. Arine opened her eyes to find Mia smiling at her as she stroked the blonde's hair. The blonde smiled back as she realized the elf had been watching her sleep again. She started to get up when she let out a groan. Every muscle in her body felt sore and fatigued. "Arine, love?" Mia asked out of concern, "Are you alright?" The blonde looked at the elf silently for a few seconds as she debated whether or not to tell her that her late partner was giving her boxing lessons on the side, "I'm fine," she finally said, "I guess I kind of got wore out last night." Mia leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips, "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't realize..." "No, I'm fine. Really," Arine reassured her as she looked into the elf's gentle brown eyes. She remembered it all, every detail of her visit past the ninth wave, and she had her weary body to remind her of her workout. Mia was in danger, and when given the choice, the blonde had chosen the role of the hero. As the elf continued to stroke her yellow locks, Arine brought her lips back to Mia's, holding her tight as she hoped she was up for whatever was coming. ------ Morning found Manhattan's Little Italy district still. The sun rose over a sleeping borough, the restaurants and businesses yet to open. All was quiet, or almost all quiet. In a building on the corner of Mulberry and Broome Street, on the third floor, the extended family of mothers and fathers, grandmothers and great grandmothers, aunts and uncles and cousins all living together in the various apartments were up bright and early. The family matriarch had put the Italian gypsy tribe of Strega on alert; their "adopted" family member, Mia, had a new love, and that love was in danger; Mamma De Luca had seen it in her palm and in her eyes. And now, all throughout the apartments, the stregheria was at work as the family members worked with rubber gloves and handkerchiefs over their faces as they handled plants such as belladonna and foxglove, the toxicity of the plants forcing the precautions. If taken internally, the dangerous plants were lethal in even small doses. When mixed with other herbs, however, and then combined with heavy lard and rubbed on the underarms and between the thighs where the thin skin could easily absorb the tropane within the deadly plants, the Strega using it would pass out, sometimes for days at a time, while their astral selves traveled abroad. The ingredients may vary from family to family, and the tropane-containing plant might be deadly nightshade, mandrake or hemlock, but the witch's flying ointment always worked the same. As the extended De Luca family worked on, making sure always to keep from adding too much belladonna or foxglove (and thus make a lethal batch of the greasy ointment), Amadora came up the flight of stairs to the third floor, going to room three where Mamma De Luca was waiting for her. In the great granddaughter's hands were grocery bags, piled up with lemons. "Great grandma," the dark-haired youth began, "I've got the lemons you wanted." "Good," the matriarch said with a smile as Amadora came over to her, "And how's your sister Delanna doing?" Amadora suddenly looked sorrowful, "About as well as can be expected, I suppose," she said. Her older sister was now six months pregnant with the child of a gangly college student who disappeared soon after finding out Delanna was carrying his child. ‘Damn druid' Amadora thought bitterly. Gemma De Luca's smile faded as she nodded her head knowingly. She patted the chair next to her, and her great granddaughter brightened as she sat respectfully at her great grandmother's side. She was still a youth in the gypsy family, and had to be taught the lore of the ancient Strega before she could learn to bless or curse, or join her family members in their dances beneath the moon. Her apprenticeship was nearing its end, but she was not yet ready to join in the making of the flying ointments. Which was fine by her; unlike society at large the Strega treasured the elderly for their wisdom, and Amadora loved to hear Mamma De Luca tell the old tales. "Once, long ago," the elderly witch began, "Diana the Moon Goddess fell in love with her brother the Morningstar. She lay with him, and beget Aradia. Aradia then became a human and was sent to earth to teach the stregheria," Gemma said as she motioned for her great granddaughter to pass her a box. Amadora did, and the old witch opened it to reveal pins with black heads. As she began to slowly stick the pins into the lemons she continued, "Aradia was the first Strega, and it is from her we have learned to bless and to curse, to heal others and to defend ourselves from our oppressors. When she was done, she returned unto the Moon and the Morningstar." She continued on, telling the same stories she'd already told a hundred times before, and would continue to retell, driving the tales into her great granddaughter's memory so that she would be ready when it came time to take her place alongside the rest of her family in the Strega. All throughout the tales, Gemma continued pushing the black pins into the lemons, sixteen pins for each lemon. When at last she was done, Amadora held the bag with the pierced fruits up to the matriarch who closed her eyes as she stretched her hands over them. "Al punto di mezza notte un limone ho raccolta, lo raccolta nel giardino ho raccolta un limone, un arancio et un mandarino..." she said, chanting words taught her ages ago by her grandmother and mother. When she finally finished, she nodded to Amadora who took the lemons away to a holding place until they would be needed. As Gemma watched Amadora leave, she frowned worriedly. If the tea leaves left at the bottom of her cup and the tarot deck she consulted were correct, the upcoming battle would be hard fought. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes as she fell into a troubled sleep. ------ Joseph Stevens, his graying hair slicked back and his mustache neatly trimmed, walked into his office at the publishing headquarters of Amazing Fantasy, only to find a gangly young man in a blue jean jacket and faded jeans waiting for him. As the youth looked at him, his piercing green eyes meeting Joseph's brown ones, he smiled broadly. "Mr. Stevens, right?" he asked. At the annoyed editor's nod he reached his hand into his pocket, "Good to meet you, sir. My name's Nick, Nick MacAulay. I realize you're a busy man, so this won't take long," he said as he pulled out a watch dangling from a chain. "It had better not," Joseph said irritably, "I'm not accustomed to finding strangers in my office, and... and I... I..." the older man found himself being slowly distracted by the watch the youth was dangling by its chain. "Beautiful, isn't it?" MacAulay said as his eyes twinkled, "It was given to me from my grandfather. See how it glitters and gleams in the light. You know Mr. Stevens," Nick said as he narrowed his eyes, "You look tired. In fact, you can barely keep your eyes open, can you?" Joseph nodded through half-closed eyes as the druid took his hand and led him to the chair behind the desk. As the editor fell heavily down into the seat, the young man in the goatee and ponytail smiled gloatingly. "Joseph," he said, "If you can still hear me, raise your right arm," he commanded, noting with satisfaction as the now hypnotized man obeyed him, "Good. Now I want you to listen carefully to me, and do exactly as I say. You're going to call one of your new field contributors, the young Miss Arine Lloyd. And this is what you are going to say..." -End Notes- Much of the information about Strega comes from the work Aradia, or Gospel of the Witches published by Charles Leland back in 1899. Also, the part about the flying ointments comes from the fact that during the witchcraft craze going on throughout Europe during the late Renaissance and later, among all the innocent women falsely accused were a very few who actually gave recipes for flying ointments. These flying ointments all seemed to center around hallucinogenic plants such as those described. Since these recipes were wrested from these village healers and wise-women under torture and threat, however, it's recommended that no one be foolish enough to try to make a batch based off of these old recipes. Also, as many modern Neo-Pagan Wiccans are quick to point out, the hallucinogenic flying ointments would seem to have developed during an age of persecution. Today one can achieve much safer results through meditation and breathing techniques. "Al punto di mezza notte un limone ho raccolta, lo raccolta nel giardino ho raccolta un limone, un arancio et un mandarino..." is Italian, and translates to, "At the instant when the midnight came, I have picked a lemon in the garden, I have picked a lemon, and along with it, an orange and a (fragrant) mandarin..."
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