“Tough break,” said Jack. “Been out of work long?”
“Two decades next month,” replied Hazel, grinning. “I saved plenty and invested it wisely. After five centuries of struggling, I decided to take a few years off. Bought me this trailer and settled down in the country with Sylvester.”
“No desire to return to work?”
“I’ve been mulling over a few offers,” declared the witch. “With all this New Age mysticism around, it’s no big deal anymore claiming to be a witch. So, I’m not bound by the same constraints as most other supernaturals. Nobody takes me seriously, but they all want to hear what I have to say. In the past six months, I’ve lectured at three colleges, a half-dozen feminist rallies, and turned down an appearance on Oprah. It’s been a kick. Trouble is, most people involved in the revival are more interested in pagan ceremonies and getting naked than real magic. But, that’s pretty much the way it’s always been, even during the Middle Ages.”
Jack rose to his feet. “The word ‘Beltane’ mean anything to you, Hazel?”
The witch frowned. “It have something to do with a festival of sorts? The title sounds familiar, but I was never much one on ceremonies. I was a woods witch. Ask Simon. If anyone in camp knows the word’s significance, it’ll be him. He always does. Simon’s a know-it-all.”
“So I noticed,” said Jack. “He has the right answer, if you ask the right question. That’s the trick.”
“The newsstand isn’t far from here,” said Hazel. “I’m surprised he’s not back yet.”
“I’ll go outside and wait,” said Jack. “Besides, I want to stretch my legs. Thanks again for breakfast.”
“Always glad to help a mortal in need,” said Hazel, her bright eyes twinkling. “It’s my nature.”
The trailer camp consisted of nearly two dozen campers spread out over several acres of woodland. The owner of the grounds was a leprechaun named O’Malley, who Jack had yet to meet. According to Cassandra, the Irish faerie had cashed in his gold hoard years ago and invested the money in real estate. He lived in Illinois because it was one of the few states that still permitted blind land trusts. Rumor had it that O’Malley owned half the real estate in the Loop.
Fortunately, the faerie believed in sharing his good fortune with his fellow supernaturals. He maintained the trailer camp in Chicago’s far western suburbs for those of his kind who couldn’t afford any other lodging. Or who longed for the company of others like themselves. The ones with money, O’Malley charged a small rental fee; the others stayed for free.
Jack drifted idly through the campgrounds, letting the tensions of the last few days drain from him. The green grass, the huge old trees, and the cool spring breeze combined to form an incredibly restful setting. A child of the city, born and bred in concrete and steel surroundings, Jack had never fully grasped the lure of the outdoors. Now, for the first time, he felt in some small way he understood what Simon meant about needing the woods.
After roving aimlessly for twenty minutes, he stumbled across Cassandra in a small clearing, exercising with her walking staff. Mesmerized, he watched the black woman practice. She moved silently, with an inherent grace and speed that Jack found fascinating. The Amazon flowed from location to location, never resting in one spot more than a few seconds. She handled her wood staff with such incredible skill that it seemed like an extension of her body. Though her arms and legs glistened from a thin layer of sweat, she exhibited no other signs of physical distress. Watching her work, Jack had no doubt that she was the most beautiful and most deadly woman he had ever seen.
“Hey, Cassandra,” he called after a few minutes passed and she showed no signs of slowing down, “how about taking a break? I’m getting worn out from watching you.”
Twirling her staff around so fast that it blurred, Cassandra slammed the wood stick into the ground. It quivered for an instant, then stopped, one end embedded six inches into the soil. Smiling, the Amazon stepped over to Jack.
“Sorry. I truthfully didn’t notice you. When I’m practicing, my mind is totally focused on my art. Nothing distracts me.”
She smiled. “Feeling better this morning?”
“Much,” he replied. “This place is terrific. It’s so peaceful.”
Cassandra chuckled. “It’s great if peace is what you’re looking for.”
From the tone of her voice, it was quite clear that peace was not one of Cassandra’s top priorities. Her expression grew serious. “I want you to do me a favor, Jack.”
“Name it,” he replied. “You saved my life, remember? I’m in your debt. Ask away.”
“I’d like to join your party,” said Cassandra nervously. Voice trembling slightly, she continued. “You and Simon can’t defeat von Bern and the forces of night without help. There’s too many of them. While most of the supernaturals in this camp sympathize with your goals, they’re not fighters. Most of them prefer not to get involved. In many ways, they’ve adapted too well to modem life. Hazel, Sylvester and Simon are the exceptions, not the norms. Me, too. My kind believe in battling for the underdogs. I would help even the odds.”
Jack shrugged. “It sounds like a wonderful idea to me. I’m not proud. If you’re crazy enough to make the offer, don’t expect me to turn you down.” He paused. “Obviously, you thought otherwise. How come?”
Cassandra smiled gently, her eyes misting noticeably. “I’ve lived an awful long time, Jack Collins. Legends of the Amazons date back to the time of Troy, and thus, so do I. For three thousand years, I’ve burned with the constant desire to fight. A true warrior maid, I live for battle.
“Most of those centuries were spent living on my own. There weren’t a large number of Amazons originally, and we were created with an insidious weakness that rendered many of us vulnerable to the ravages of time. I suspect I may be the last of my kind alive. And being a true Amazon in a man’s world is no fun. No fun at all.”
Cassandra wrenched her staff out of the ground. “The notion of equality between the sexes never existed before this era, Jack. Men, especially fighting men, have always had a hard time accepting a woman who fought as well, if not better, than themselves. You can’t imagine how many famous heroes rejected offers similar to the one I made to you. You truly can’t imagine. Thousands of innocents suffered and died because their ‘saviors’ were too proud to accept the aid of a woman. I appreciate your trust in me. You won’t be sorry.”
“That’s the least…” began Jack, only to be interrupted by a loud voice from the woods.
“Hey,” called Simon, emerging from the trees, “guess who’s back from the 7-Eleven? I heard you were looking for me.”
Sighing, Jack turned to the changeling. Interrupting meaningful conversations defined Simon’s talent. Jack shook his head, wondering what Cassandra meant by “an insidious weakness.” From the Amazon’s tone of voice, he felt certain it was not a subject she would broach willingly. He made a mental note to put the question to Simon when they were alone. In the meantime, another more urgent query required his attention.
“The word ‘Beltane’ strike any chords in that storehouse of knowledge inside your head?” Jack asked the changeling. “I think it’s vital to our mission.”
“Beltane,” repeated Simon, his eyes glazing over, “is the name of the ancient Celtic festival of fire held on the eve of May first to welcome the advent of summer. Its origins are lost in the sands of prehistory. It survives in a much different form today as May Day. As does the winter festival, Samhain, now celebrated as Halloween.
“The Celts believed that along with Samhain, Beltane was a day when Beings of Terrible Power walked the Earth. The Druids considered it sacred. On May Day Eve, the priests sacrificed hundreds, burning them alive in wicker cages to satisfy the hunger of their gods.”