It was Midsummer’s Eve, and the landscape was alive with fires. The night breeze was warm, even as I hurtled down a lonely highway on my scooter. All around me, every hill and open field glittered with the light of the Midsummer bonfires, purifying the land and its inhabitants, and warding away witches and evil spirits.

 

As my small town’s premier (and well, only) Cunning Woman, I had helped preside over the municipal bonfire and all the attendant rituals. We’d rolled a flaming wheel down a hill to ensure a good harvest, processed around the fire three times sunwise, paraded around town with smoldering branches pulled from the fire and blessed it with the smoke, and collected ashes and embers to distribute to those who needed the aid they would give. Normally I’d keep vigil with all the fire all night, then take a ritual dip in the lake, before collecting herbs that gain potency on Midsummer day.

 

But tonight I was after a rarer, and potentially more dangerous quarry: the fern flower. I’d heard about it from my friend Daniella, who specialized in Slavic and Baltic magic. The fern flower is native to eastern Europe, but Dani apparently managed to track down one here in a state forest about 20 miles outside of town. 

 

Upon finding it, Dani had gained the boon granted by the fern flower. She could now speak to animals, locate lost or hidden objects at will, and had essentially a very local form of omnipotence, not to mention good fortune. 

 

Strictly speaking, I didn’t need any of that. I was perfectly capable of scrying and finding lost things, and while speaking to animals would be neat and helpful in some cases, I’d gotten by without it. 

 

However, I was acutely aware that while I was currently my town’s only active folk magician, it wouldn’t stay that way forever. Being a small business owner was precarious as a rule, and my profession even more so. It had taken me years to claw my way into something resembling stability, but I couldn’t let myself slip into complacency.

 

This was an attractive industry, and  magicians of all types were constantly setting up shop. The major cities were already chock full of them, one reason I’d ended up in a small town. Competition could be cutthroat, and I needed every advantage I could get. While I was also getting occasional consulting gigs from the local municipality, my bread and butter was still my clientele. If I lost them to some sharp new conjurer fresh out of school, I was sunk. I hoped obtaining a fern flower would give me the edge I needed.

 

Dani had warned me that I couldn’t use it for my own gain, though, only to help others. (Apparently Eastern European literature was full of sad stories of people who had found the fern flower, only to squander their gifts and ruin their lives. Somehow I wasn’t surprised). 

 

My entire business as a Cunning Woman was concerned with helping others, and I wasn’t particularly mercenary about it, so I wasn’t too worried. I was more concerned about what I might encounter in the woods.

 

 As one of the three Spirit Nights, Midsummer’s Eve was a somewhat dodgy time to be out, though not nearly as dangerous as Halloween or even May Eve. All sorts of critters would be on the loose. The woods themselves had a dubious reputation. They were haunted, and an old colonial era fort near the center had been occupied by an immigrant Faerie tribe, who would ride out from time to time. During the day it was safe enough, if you stayed on the paths, but night was a different matter. Dani had also said the fern flower itself would be guarded by all sorts of malevolent spirits, per usual for this sort of enchanted item, just to add to my troubles.

 

In spite of all that, I felt confident. I had come prepared, and I’d faced down worse than a ghost or some carousing Fae. I pulled up to the parking lot of the forest, which thankfully was deserted. Apparently the park police assumed that no one in their right mind would be out tonight (and they were probably right). I dismounted my scooter and rolled it behind a bush, just in case. 

 

And then it was time to get ready. Which, in this case meant stripping naked. When Dani had told me that, I’d blanched. “What is with the nudity?!” I’d exclaimed. “So many folk magic traditions, you gotta take your clothes off, why?”

 

Dani just shrugged. “Supposedly the fern flower is so delicate that just brushing against it will destroy it. I think it’s actually a purity thing, or something, but who knows? Do you want to chance it?”

 

“Still,” I said, feeling somewhat annoyed, “this feels like some crusty old guy’s fetish; an excuse to watch young women stroll about naked in the woods. Fucking voyeur or something…”

 

“Look,” said Dani confidently, “just trust me. It’s worth it.”

 

So I did as she instructed and neatly folded my clothes and left them on my scooter seat. I kept some sandals on, though, because I drew the line at tearing up my feet. However, just because I was unclothed didn’t mean I was unprotected. I had a garland of mugwort around my neck, which conveyed powerful protection on this night. I also had a cross of rowan and red thread to repel the Fae Folk, and one of silver as well. I had silver rings on my fingers, and bracelets of St. John’s Wart on my wrists. I’d also drawn several protective sigils and marks on my body, along with a few I’d permanently tattooed. I was as protected as I could get. On my head I tied a linen cloth  for handling the fern flower once I’d found it. I was also wearing roughly a gallon of bug spray, to protect against more mundane threats.

 

 I checked my watch. 11:45. I was just in time. I set off into the forest.

 

I hadn’t brought a flashlight,but the moon was bright enough I could see fairly well, and the paths were well marked. I was headed for a small stream bed, where Dani said she had found hers. It made sense; plenty of ferns grew there, and I was sure one of them would bloom tonight. I cautiously made my way deeper into the woods, but other than the calls of nightingales, it was quiet. At one point there was a loud crashing noise in the distance, and I froze. In the dim moonlight I could make out a herd of deer trampling through the underbrush. I relaxed. False alarm. 

 

Just before midnight I came to the stream bank. I carefully left the path and tiptoed amongst the ferns. I checked my watch again. 11: 58.  Dani had said that at the stroke of midnight, the fern flowers would glow, making them easy to spot. I’d then have to gently shake the blossom onto the linen cloth, and then place the bloom under my tongue to gain its power. Easy enough, I figured. I didn’t even see any spirits guarding it. Perhaps tonight was my lucky night. 

 

Sure enough, as I watched in amazement, I saw little balls of light sparkle amongst the ferns at the edge of the bank, by the water. I crouched down and crept closer. They glowed with a cold blue light, like willowisps, not what I was expecting. I reached down to the fern nearest me with the linen cloth, and gently shook it. The blossom came loose, but to my surprise instead of neatly falling into my outstretched hand it started to float upward. I grabbed at it, but it eluded my grasp. I looked around, and the other blossoms were floating into the air as well. With increasing desperation, I lunged at them, but they remained just out of reach. Finally, I lunged at one, but I overbalanced, my feet slid out from under me, and I slid down the bank into the stream. Despite the summer night’s heat, the water seemed freezing cold, and I gasped in shock. The current was strong, and immediately yanked me downstream. I struggled in the water until I managed to grab hold of a tree root. With much effort and swearing, I managed to haul myself on shore. The lights were all gone. I checked my watch. 12:04. Damnit. 

 

As I cursed my evening, I heard weird, high pitched giggling. I looked up, and across the bank, I saw small figures, no more than three feet high, scurrying amongst the ferns. They looked like small grey hairy men, and some of them had quills going down their backs. I sighed. I knew then I had been tricked. They were Pukwudgies, the Native form of the Little People, and tricky little buggers to boot.  Once they had been found through northeastern North America, but European settlement and deforestation had driven them out and reduced their numbers. Now, with the ongoing rewilding, they were expanding back into their former ranger. Great for the magical ecosystem, not so great for me, the person they were trying to lure to my doom. 

 

I sighed and swore before muttering the Lord’s Prayer to make sure the Pukwudgies stayed away. The night, which had started out so promising, had turned into a disaster. Well, I thought with resignation, nothing to do but go back home. Maybe I’d be able to pick some herbs or flowers on my way out and at least not come back empty-handed. 

 

I dejectedly  went back on the path and headed back the way I’d come. I hadn’t gone but 10 yards when I heard more laughter, this of a deeper, more sinister quality. The path in front of me blurred and shifted, and suddenly I was in the middle of dense brush. I had no idea where I was, and felt completely disoriented, like I’d been spun around. 

 

Shit, I’ve been pixie-led, I thought. Oh well, that’s easy enough to fix, just take off an item of clothing and turn it inside out and-shit.

 

SHIT.

 

In my diligence in following Dani’s instructions to the letter, and my own confidence in my abilities, I hadn’t worn anything that could be turned inside out. For a second, I stood in the brush, stunned by my own foolishness. Then it turned into anger at myself, and I started blundering through the undergrowth. The briars scratched at my skin, and drew blood, but I simply pressed on, too pissed off to stop. I have no idea how much time I spent meandering through the woods, no doubt going in circles. I’d be stuck out here all night, I was certain.  At one point, I saw a silhouette fly across the moon. It was human-shaped, and I realized it was a witch flying to a revel. I thought about trying to signal them, but I doubted they could see me, and I hadn’t had great experiences with witches anyway.

 

Despite trying to head toward the edge of the woods, I felt I was being drawn deeper, toward the perilous fairy fort. My heart beat faster with trepidation, even as I struggled with the briars and bushes. Suddenly I heard the baying of hounds and the thunder of horses’ hooves. Coming through the woods, I could see a great glittering company. Leading them were our local King and Queen of the Faeries, resplendent in golden dress and shining armor, mounted on pure white steeds. 

 

Accompanying them were a host of other faeries and strange creatures, many of whom I only got a glimpse of. Alongside was a squadron of ghostly cavalry, dressed in old-fashioned military uniforms from centuries passed. I crouched down and drew a magic circle around myself, clutched my crosses and pendants, and muttered prayers to myself. Thankfully, it worked, and even though I felt the concussion of their hooves and the hot breath of the hounds, the Wild Hunt passed me by. The sounds of their passage lessened, and they floated off the ground and into the air, riding through the forest canopy and into the sky. Once they were out of sight, I stood up and turned around. I figured it’d be smarties to go in the same direction, since the Wild Hunt was probably moving out of the forest. 

 

I stumbled along, footsore and bleeding from countless scratches. The moon was getting low in the sky. As I came over a ridge, I saw a human form in the distance. A person! I was saved! Odd for them to be out, but perhaps they were also seeking the fern flower, or just collecting herbs and flowers. 

 

“Hey!” I shouted.

 

The figure turned around and looked up. With dread, I realized it was only humanoid. He had long pointed ears, horns, and even in the moonlight I could see how furry he was. Damnit, I thought, it’s a satyr, isn’t it. And on a night like tonight, he almost certainly had one thing in mind.

 

The satyr proudly strode toward me. He was now only a few yards off. He spoke with a rough, guttural voice, in heavily accented English.

“You want,” he said, thrusting his hips vigorously, “some fuck?”

Satyrs were supposedly irresistible lovers, to the point where some women sought them out. I wasn’t into that sort of thing, though, and even if I had been, I wasn’t in the mood with everything I’d been through that night.

 

“No thank you!” I shouted, turned tail and ran. The Satyr gave chase. “Come back!” he shouted after me. “Me please you good! Me fuck you like ram! All night long!”

 

“Noooope!” I shouted behind me. Thankfully, his short, stubby, mishappen legs couldn’t keepkep up with my long stride, and I was able to put some distance between us. As I managed to get just out of swipe, I ran to a massive, gnarled oak, with plenty of branches to clamber up. I hoisted myself up and started climbing. The satyr came into view, huffing and puffing. He paused, sniffing the air, still intent in pursuit. From another part of the woods there came a crashing sound-I could see the same herd of deer that had spooked me earlier. The satyr immediately darted off in their direction. None too bright, satyrs, thank goodness.

 

As I sat in the tree, I reviewed the evening. I’d almost been drowned by Pukwudgies, just barely passed over by the Wild Hunt, and attracted the attention of amorous satyr. What the hell was he even doing here? I thought. Satyrs were uncommon outside of Greece, much less in the middle of nowhere like here. I’d have to talk to my contacts in the magic division of Animal Control, see if he needed to be relocated. Still, that would have to wait till I was able to get out of these stupid woods. Maybe I should just stay in this tree until dawn, I thought. At least I’d be less likely to run into whatever else wanted to ruin my night. 

 

As I looked down, I realized that this tree looked familiar. I’d seen it before. Suddenly, I remembered when and where. I found a crack in the bark and knocked on it.

 

“Mitch!” I whispered urgently. “Mitch, are you in?”

A tiny, muffled voice came from beneath the bark. “Of course I’m in! Where the hell would I be?” it asked indignantly. “And who wants to know?” The voice had the clipped cadence of an old-timey radio announcer, and oozed confidence in spite of its gruff vocabulary.

 

“It’s Kat! I need your help, Mitch.”

 

Though the crack I could see a ghostly eye, and part of a face appeared.

 

Mitch had been a snake-oil salesman and general con-artist over a century ago. He’d robbed countless people of their life savings, health, and well being. He’d used his ill-gotten gains to buy the land that made up some of the current state forest, retired there, and died peacefully of old age. Still, no man can escape justice, even in death, and for his sins Mitch was imprisoned beneath the bark of this tree to do penance, one year for every person he’d swindled. From what I gathered, he was going to be there a long, long time. I’d stumbled across him and his tree last May while collecting May branches, and made a point to remember it. 

 

“Kat, what the hell are you doing here? And why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Mitch said, peering out at me. 

 

I sighed. “Mitch, it’s a long story.

 

“Well, I won’t complain, I don’t often have naked dames climb all over my tree. You’ve got some lovely gams, by the way, if I do say so myself.” 

 

I rolled my eyes. Even through the ages, men were all the same. “Mitch, I’ve been pixie-led. I need help getting back on the path. Can you see where we are?”

 

“Sure I can,” he said, oozing with the charm that had made him oh so convincing in his day. “But if I do, you gotta do a favor for me, see?” 

 

“Yeah, ok,” I said, just wanting to get this over with. “I’ll mention in my prayers for the rest of the year and light a candle at the side-altar for you every week.” 

 

“Thanks lady, you know how to treat a man right,” said Mitch, a little more brightly. “Now, the path runs right by this tree, about a dozen yards away. Just walk 50 or so paces straight away from the trunk and you’ll hit. 

 

I looked down. All I could see was featureless brush, bushes, and trees. “Mitch, I can’t see it,” I said, almost piteously. 

 

“Then don’t look!” came Mitch’s reassuring voice. He had a point.

 

“Thanks Mitch,” I called as I started my descent.

“Don’t mention,” he said, his voice growing fainter. “Come back any time. You know where to find me!”

I climbed down the tree and reached the ground. Then, pointing myself in the direction Mitch had given, I closed my eyes and started walking. I counted off the paces, blindly pushing through leaves and branches. At about pace 56, the leaves and brambles suddenly stopped, and there was empty ground around me. I crouched down and felt the ground. Trail dust. I stood up and opened my eyes. The path was in front me. I let out a huge sigh of relief. 

 

I started to walk down the trail, and then started jogging. In spite of my exhaustion, I was so desperate to get out I pushed myself to the limit. In the east, there was just the beginning glimmer of dawn. I might get out of these woods before sunrise yet. 

 

As I half-jogged, half hobbled, along the trail, I heard singing, the sweetest song I had ever heard. I couldn’t recognize the language, or the melody, but it entranced me. Bad sign.

 

I shook my head and clutched my rowan cross, trying to shake the spell put over me. As I rounded a bend, I found the source of the singing. Sitting on a rock next to the trail was a lady dressed all in green, her diaphanous robes seemingly blending into the moss. She was pale, unnaturally so, with red hair. Not reddish, like my strawberry blonde, but deep crimson red locks, flowing down her back and topped with a flower crown. As I approached, she stopped her singing and  looked at me. Her eyes were wild, impossibly deep, and while I tried not to look into them, I found myself drawn in. 

 

My jog slowed to a walk, and I stumbled toward her. In slow, lilting tones, she beckoned me forward. 

 

“Come hither, o wretched wight,” said the lady. She was so beautiful. I found myself at the base of her rock. She gently slid off, not making a sound, and gracefully slid next to me. I still couldn’t tear my eyes away from hers. Slowly she embraced me, and I shuddered, with fear or arousal I couldn’t say. Her touch was cold, even on a warm night like tonight. 

 

“What wouldst thou desire?” she said.

 

“Uhhhhhh…” I stuttered. The still rational part of my brain didn’t want to give her any ideas. 

 

“I can give thou beck water, cold and clear,” she said, suddenly producing a silver cup, filled to the brim with crystal clear water. I instantly realized how thirsty I was, how dehydrated I’d gotten running around the woods. My mouth was parched, and my tongue felt like sandpaper. I started to reach for the cup, but caught myself.

 

“No thank you, Lady,” I said, trying to be respectful.

 

“Doest thou hunger? I can give you roots of relish sweet…honey wild…manna dew,” she whispered breathily into my ear. Truthfully, I was starving, but I also had other things on my mind, and she knew it. She gently kissed my forehead, my cheek, my eyes. I realized she was drawing me back from the path, into what I assume was her bower. 

 

I tried to pull away, still, but it was taking more and more effort. This place felt safe, even though I knew it wasn’t. The lady would take care of my every need, asking only my devotion in return. But my increasingly frail mind was still screaming to run. I started to wriggle out of her grasp again.

 

She noticed, and let me go. I stumbled back. Perhaps she wasn’t evil after all, this was just a big misunderstanding? I could hope as much.

 

“Or perhaps thou wouldst have what thou desires most?” she said, and reached down and plucked something from the stream bank at the back of her layer. It was a tiny blossom-and it glowed. She’d somehow found a fern flower. 

 

I gasped. With arm outstretched, she proffered to me. Finally! Something to show for this whole stupid adventure! With this, I could be secure. I’d be omnipotent, my skills far surpassing any competition.  I’d never have to worry about money again. I reached out to take it from her.

 

Before I could touch her hand, a band of specters appeared behind her. They were wispy and translucent, and pale as moonlight, but I could still discern their form. I saw pale soldiers, chieftains, nobles even. Their faces were sunken and shriveled, and their gaunt mouths were open wide. From them came a chorus of voices, wailing in dismay. I couldn’t make out most of them, but one rang clear. 

 

Woe, woe, La Belle Dame Sans Merci has enthralled thee.

 

I screamed. I now knew what I was dealing with, and I was terrified. I jerked my hand away and tried to back off, but my legs felt like lead. On she came, her arms outstretched, her gown billowing around her, threatening to swallow me up. Her eyes were still wild, this time with madness, and hunger. 

 

Just then, the first rays of the dawn pierced the gloom of the wood, illuminating her face. Daylight did not disperse her–she was far too powerful for that. But, mercifully, she blinked, and for an instant the spell was broken. I turned and sprinted away from her, once again finding myself running blindly through the woods. I didn’t even bother seeking the path, but simply ran in the direction of sunrise. Behind me I could hear the rustling of the lady’s gown and she pursued me. 

 

I came to the creek yet again, and scrambled down its banks. With luck, she couldn’t cross running water. As I tried to leap over it, my foot slipped on a rock, and fell into a pool. Down I sank, far deeper than I should have, and the water grew darker and darker…

 

I sat upright with a gasp. I was lying on a grassy bank, just outside the woods, next to the creek. The sun was well above the horizon. I checked myself over. I was definitely breathing, and other than some bruises and scratches, I was unharmed. The garlands of magical herbs were gone, as was much of my silver, but the rowan cross remained. Next to me were my clothes, neatly folded.

 

“...How?” I wondered aloud. I had no idea what had happened. Had it all been just a dream? The scratches seemed real enough. Perhaps it was best not to question it, and just be thankfully I’d managed to escape from these accursed woods. They had clearly bested me. With a sense of resignation, I got dressed and hiked back to the parking lot where I’d left my scooter. 

 

I took a canteen out of the cargo compartment and took a long swig, even though it was warm. As sunrise approached, I sat on my scooter and just breathed. I counted my blessing, such as they were. Maybe it was for the best, after all. Maybe I didn’t really need the extra help. I started up my scooter, kicked into high gear, and headed back to town. 

 

After a stopover at my apartment for a belated breakfast and a change of clothes, I finally ventured out. The flames of Midsummer Eve had given way to the music and revelry of Midsummer day, as people picnicked, drank, and danced around the town maypole. I wasn’t feeling too celebratory, but I figured I should at least make an appearance. 

 

While I was out, I ran into Dani, who had swung through town on an errand.

 

“How’d it go?” she asked.

 

“Oh, no luck, unfortunately.” I said. “You were right, it’s not easy to get.”

 

“Aww, sorry to hear that,” said Dani. “Well, you can always try again on Old Midsummer on July 6th.”

 

I thought for a second. “Nah,” I said. “I’m good.”