Crescent City Connection

the South, and so it went until all the directions had been invoked.
    Skip had seen this before, and she found it calming and energizing at the same time. She looked at Layne and Kenny. Kenny, wide-eyed, might as well have been at Disneyland. And Layne, the sophisticated, hyperintelligent pal of Jimmy Dee Scoggin, was soaking it up, though slightly wary.
    Kit picked up the knife and used it to cut out an imaginary circle to serve as a temple. And after that was done, Skip thought she felt the atmosphere change again. She couldn’t have described it, really, except to say it felt cozier, as if a real circle existed.
    The high priestess lit two more candles, invoking deities associated with the healing arts, Brigid and Asclepius.
    “In Cerridwen’s Cauldron,” she said, “we sometimes plan the ritual and sometimes we invent it on the spot. We thought since we didn’t know Layne, we wouldn’t plan this one. So we can’t tell you what to expect.”
    “You mean anything can happen?” Layne sounded nervous.
    Kit spoke almost sharply: “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen—we’re going to heal you. Now tell us about your allergy.”
    “I—uh—sneeze around Angel. And I can’t breathe, and my eyes water.”
    “And what helps? Anything?”
    “Being away from the dog. And of course—from Jimmy Dee.”
    He almost cringed as he mentioned the last part. Kit said, “Anything else?”
    “Hot soup. That’s about it—but of course, it only relieves the symptoms.”
    Kenny said, “I brought some,” and reached into his backpack. He pulled out a soup can: “Chicken. Magic works by metaphor, doesn’t it? I just… thought I’d bring this. I brought a picture of Angel, too—in Layne’s lap.”
    He passed the picture around, showing it first to Layne, who rubbed his nose as he took it. “I think I’m going to sneeze just looking at it.”
    Melinda said, “Why don’t we just—you know—set up an astral cauldron and make some allergy-curing soup?”
    A couple of coven members said “Yeah!” Apparently this was something they’d done before.
    But Kit looked hard at Layne. “I want to touch him, too. Anybody else?”
    Layne blushed and drew back.
    “It’s okay. You’ll be fine if you just do what Kenny said. Think of it as metaphor.”
    Skip noted privately that that wasn’t exactly what Kenny had said.
    “Do you mind?” said Kit.
    Layne said, “No. Of course not.” But he looked scared to death.
    “Here.” Kit placed a chair in the center of the circle. “Sit here and close your eyes if you like.”
    She passed her hands from his head to his feet, close to the body, though not actually touching, despite what she’d said.
    “I don’t feel any energy blocks. Janna?”
    Another woman did the same thing. She let her palm hover between his shoulder blades. “There’s something here.” She began pulling at air, hands working as if pulling a rope out of Layne’s body.
    Each witch took a turn. Some pulled the rope out—toxins, maybe, Skip thought—some laid on hands, some didn’t touch, but held their hands for a while in front of a certain part of his body, and breathed loudly, as if through their palms.
    When the last one had had a turn. Kit said, “Skip?” Skip passed and she turned to Kenny.
    Without a word, almost in a trance, Kenny did exactly what the witches had done—checked Layne’s aura, if that was what it was—with his hands, and then, suddenly, he began making sweeping movements an inch or so from Layne’s body, and flinging out his fingers, metaphorically removing something.
    He said, as if he’d written it in advance:
    Allergy, go!
    Allergy, leave!
    Heed the spell
    That I now weave!
    Angel be pure!
    Layne be cured!
    Allergy, go!
    Allergy, leave!
    “So mote it be,” said all the witches in unison, as if the whole thing were scripted.
    “So mote it be,” Kenny repeated, leaving Skip flabbergasted and wondering if Layne was, too.
    This is too weird
, she thought.
Here I am with a thirteen-year-old boy trying to cure his gay uncle’s lover with witchcraft. No wonder I didn’t fit in on State Street.
    It was weird, but it was making her feel good—oddly elated, as a matter of fact.
    Kit said, “Kenny, will you help me smudge him?”
    The boy nodded as if he did this every day, and took the smoking twig of sage she gave him. When the two of them had ritually cleansed Layne’s body with the smoke, they sat down. “Shall we do the meditation? Everyone close