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Flying Ointment

by  Jojovits1

Posted: Saturday, January 15, 2022
Word Count: 854
Summary: Flying ointment in witchcraft helps you seek the truth..but do we always want it?

“Flying?  Not actual flying though, right?  Isn’t it a sort of hallucinogenic so it makes you think you’re flying?”

Jarrod smirked a little.  “well yes, If you say so”

Tilly took the pot of ointment and popped it in her bag.  Jarrod had also given her a list of instructions on how to use it and what protection rituals to do beforehand.

“Be careful with this, Tilly.  It’s dark stuff and bloody dangerous too.  Treat it with respect”

Tilly tried to hide the smile that was playing around her lips.  She waved once and turned towards home.  She had been flirting with witchcraft, on the fringes but getting more confident.  It startled her still how the craft never quite worked how you thought it would.  You did have to be careful.  You often ended up with what you’d hoped for but in such a random, round about way, you sometimes wished you hadn’t.   She knew of someone who, when cash was tight and debts were piling up, had done a money spell.  He hadn’t done the correct protections beforehand, had not made his intentions clear enough.  His deities had awarded him the funds he sought but he hadn’t felt much like celebrating his windfall when he was standing by his father’s graveside and then had to go to the reading of the will.

It was tricky stuff this witchy lark.

But this was a cream.  It wasn’t invoking the ancestors or the Ioa, hoping you had taken the correct precautions to keep you safe.  This was herbs and fat and, well…stuff…but you rubbed it in.  It couldn’t be anything other than an LSD body lotion, surely?  She’d done some reading up on it but it was vague to say the least, almost secretive in its actual physical results.  There was a lot written on the fact that it gave you knowledge you wouldn’t have gained otherwise.  It allowed you to “fly” to other realms, dimensions, whatever you wanted to call it and gave you the answers you needed. 

And Tilly needed answers.

She was suspicious of Jarrod.  Since they had met and he had introduced her to the craft, he had been her guide and mentor.  As she was gaining more power though, she felt he was intimidated, threatened, and was working against her.  If this gave her the answers she needed, she could put things in place that would either make him sorry he had ever worked against her or she could finally drop her guard and let him in fully.

She drew a bath and scattered honeysuckle, nettle leaves and dill in the reservoir of bubbles.  She wasn’t sure if Radox was witch friendly but it would have to do for now.  She bathed until the water matched the temperature of her blood, incantations and an insidious mistrust of Jarrod swirling in her head the whole time.

She toweled herself down and padded through to the living room with the little pot in her hand, table salt in the other.  She bent down and scattered the salt in a graceful arc as she twisted and spun.  She stood within the circle and mouthed blessings to the deities as she anointed herself with the balm.  Her forehead, temples, chest, wrists then deep inside…and waited.
Tilly must have fallen asleep.  When she woke up, she was on the ceiling, clawing at the roof and frantically staring down at her own body on the floor. 

She calmed herself.  This was illusion, wasn’t it?  She looked again, still concerned for the body below that was not moving.  And then she grew.  She became bigger than the room, burst out beyond the roof and stood for a second amidst clouds and stars.  She floated and then whizzed like lightening across the universe to a place of black light and mist.
She heard a question in her head, too fleeting to put into words. 

And she saw Jarrod.

“I’ll leave out some of the protection stuff but the basics are there.  In the end this is belladonna, henbane, mandrake, poppy…all the deadly nightshade family.  She will be skyclad and will have anointed it inside herself…she is a stickler for witchy tradition.  It’s basically poison, and it will look like suicide”

Tilly felt herself contract.  Her heart stopped as she watched the tableau.  It was a shock how much it hurt to have her fears confirmed.

Like an elastic band, she felt herself being drawn back to the salted circle in her living room. 
The police were already there, zipping her into a body bag.  They had been alerted by a call from her best friend, Jarrod, who had been concerned by her mental wellbeing and how entrenched she had become in the craft. 

Jarrod took on the look of a bereft and grieving friend. 

The police were sure there were no suspicious circumstances, and this was either a suicide or an accidental death by someone rather unhinged.  They shook Jarrod’s hand as they left.

None of them noticed the look of terror in his eyes as deep in his mind, Jarrod heard Tilly’s scream.

And always would.