Chapter 43
43.
The Last Premonition
“Whenever there are five or more Disco Witches twirling on the dance floor in the name of the Great Goddess Mother, magic shall be at hand!”
—Disco Witch Manifesto #3
The first thing Howie noticed when he opened his eyes was that he had one of the worst headaches of his life. The second thing was the three angels dressed in white sequins and feathers staring down at him. How strange to be lying on the floor when angels have arrived to accompany me to the Morning Party. He pictured all the jealous queens watching him strutting through the gate with flashy, decked-out seraphim. It would almost be better than bringing Liza! (Okay, that’s an exaggeration.) He’d need to make an extra-special hat of course. Do angels get into the party free? I wonder if they get VIP drink tickets.
One of the angels, the Italian American one, in white leather chaps and a harness, started yelling with the most discomforting nasal desperation, “Talk to me, you motherfucker!”
Next, the old female angel, who was Black and wearing a white feather boa and dozens of spangly silver necklaces, spoke in a more soothing voice. “Shh. Calm yourself. His eyes are open. He’s going to be okay.”
“But he has a bump on the back of his head!” the little Italian angel complained. “What if he has a friggin’ concussion? Oh marone!”
“Oh dear,” the female angel said. “Maybe we should call for a water taxi to take him to the hospital? Or do you think we’d need to airlift him?”
“Both of you settle yourselves,” the third angel told the other two. He was also Black and dressed in what looked like a silver jump suit. “I’m the only one here who was a registered nurse. I’ll check him out. Howie, honey, do you think you need to go to a hospital? That fat head of yours nearly busted in half.”
So that was the reason for this headache. Howie must have knocked himself out. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He took in the view of the very unangelic Lenny, Dory, and Saint D’Norman all standing over him in their spangly Morning Party outfits.
“I don’t need a hospital.” Howie groaned as he wobbled up to sitting. There was something important he needed to tell them, but what was it? “You look fabulous by the way. What time is it? Are we going to the Morning Party?”
“The party ended hours ago, darling.” Dory breathed a sigh of relief.
“Complete shit show!” Lenny said.
“What are you talking about?” Howie felt for the bump on the back of his head.
“He doesn’t even know?” Saint D’Norman lifted the pendant flashlight from around his neck to examine Howie’s eyes. Did he have dizziness? No longer. Did he have a ringing in the ears? Nausea? Blurry vision? Fatigue or drowsiness? No. No. Just a teeny bit. No and no.
“I’m fine!” Howie demanded, though he still couldn’t recall why he had such a sense of urgency in his guts. “Tell me what happened at the party.”
Saint D’Norman gave the other two the head nod, clearing the patient.
“It started out lovely.” Dory widened her eyes for emphasis. “But then that flimsy dance floor they put up over the pools collapsed, sending the entire crowd into the toilet.”
“Oy! The way those queens were screaming,” Lenny added, “you’d think someone filled their poppers with pepper spray.”
“How awful,” Howie said, as images of splashing queens conflicted with the lost information he was trying to drag from his mind meat. Something about wings. Was it about a butterfly? A mourning dove? Did I feel the need to buy wingtips?
“They say no one was seriously injured,” Saint D’Norman muttered as he examined Howie’s head bump.
“But they stopped the party just when everyone’s X was peaking,” Lenny added. “Talk about a tragedy. Scotty Black is opening the Promethean early for the after-party.” Lenny arched his one eyebrow. “The greedy bastard upped the entrance fee by five bucks. We were on our way to Chrissy Bluebird’s for drinks, but—”
“But then Saint D’Norman found out some incredible news!” Dory almost squealed, which was unusual for her since she was not a woman who ever, ever squealed. “That’s why we came to find you!”
“Tell me later.” Howie pulled himself to standing with Lenny’s help. “There’s something very important I need to tell you … but I can’t quite remember … Where’s Joe? I think it has to do with Joe.”
“Just fuckin’ shut up for a minute!” Lenny lifted his palm to Howie’s face. “Listen to Saint D’Norman for one friggin’ minute! Please!”
“Fine,” Howie groaned. “Go ahead. But please be quick.”
Saint D’Norman, burdened with a dozen silver chains around his neck, asked for a chair. To lighten his load, he removed his dazzling, five-pound, rhinestone-studded fez.
“The weight of fashion is just too much for me nowadays.” Saint D’Norman sighed and fanned himself. “Perhaps I should have worn a veil instead of the fez.”
“Saint D’Norman, darling”—Dory patted the frail man on the back—“tell Howie about your vision.”
“Ah, yes …” Saint D’Norman wet his teeth with his tongue, which he tended to do when he knew a long explanation was needed. “Well, because I wanted to go to the Promethean tonight, I left the Morning Party early to take a disco nap, so I unfortunately missed the whole floor-collapsing fiasco. But during my nap I kept waking up to take a pee. I’ve got a bladder the size of a Japanese beetle’s. On the way to the toilet, I was hit with a necromantic nausea. You know the sort. Someone from the other side was trying to contact me.”
Howie, suddenly curious, momentarily ceased searching his foggy brain and sat in the chair across the table. He knew never to ignore one of Saint D’Norman’s intestinal telegrams from the netherworld. Before the plague years, he had been considered the Ma Bell of necromancy. “So who was it?”
Before Saint D’Norman could speak, Lenny blurted, “It was fucking Lucho!”
“Lucho?” Howie’s voice cracked.
Lucho, the poor beautiful young man they had lost to the Great Darkness in Provincetown so many years before, the failure that had haunted all their dreams—especially Lenny’s. That Lucho had made an appearance at all was staggering (those taken by the egregore were usually never heard from again), but that he had contacted Saint D’Norman during a disco nap at almost the very moment the dance floor at the Morning Party was collapsing—it couldn’t be just a coincidence.
“Did he say anything about Joe?” Howie cried as bits of their recent conversation started to flicker in his mind.
Saint D’Norman shrugged. “He mentioned someone that might have been Joe, but it wasn’t clear. You know how gay men are, describing everyone as ‘hot.’ But he did say whoever it was, they were the chosen one, and that there is indeed an egregore on the island, so we need to be alert.”
“Maybe Joe’s with Ronnie,” Howie said, stumbling to get up. “Help me up!”
“Why are you getting agita about Joe?” Lenny said, pushing Howie back down. “He doesn’t match the rubric. He’s too young and has the back skin of a Gerber’s baby.” Lenny turned to Saint D’Norman. “Check his heart again.”
As Saint D’Norman pressed his ear to Howie’s chest, fireworks went off inside Howie’s head, obliterating the last vestiges of mental clouds. It all came back to him. His conversation with Joe, the packed suitcase, Joe’s lie about his age. The tossed-away mixtape case. The fanny pack snap. The photo of Elliot. The winged heart.
“He lied!” Howie touched the wound on his head again. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! He matches the rubric completely. He lied about his age. He’s really twenty-nine.”
Saint D’Norman gasped, as did Dory and Lenny (but more subtly).
“Motherfucker,” Lenny said. “But what about the—”
“He’s got it,” Howie said. “Or rather, he had it. I saw it in a photo he took with his late ex-boyfriend Elliot. It was right there, the winged-heart mole on his right shoulder blade. He must have had it removed. And he’s been blabbering all summer about that hot Gladiator Man. The one Lenny just saw in the bushes.”
“The egregore.” Dory’s eyes grew heavy with fear. “Your instincts were right after all, Howie.”
“He’s who Lucho was talking about.” Saint D’Norman sucked his cheeks knowingly. “He’s the chosen one.”
“Fuck the Great Darkness and the dragon it rode in on!” Lenny pounded the table with his fist, clearly having overcome any skepticism. “We’ll just make sure not to leave Joe’s side until he’s off the island in September. It’s our fucking job.”
“It’s too late for that.” Howie’s expression turned desperate again. “Joe packed his bags. He’s planning to leave the island without telling us—or maybe do something stupid or—oh, I don’t even want to say it out loud. He even threw away Elliot’s mixtape case. I’m certain he’s at the same breaking point as poor Lucho.”
“Well, we have to try something!” Lenny blurted. “Let’s put on our fucking dancing shoes!”
“How can we?” Howie’s eyes flared at Lenny’s ignorance. “You know we don’t have any power without a quorum—”
“Tell him now, Saint D’Norman!” Dory demanded. “Quickly, please!”
“That was the other reason for Lucho’s visit.” Saint D’Norman cleared his throat. “He wanted us to know that we still have a chance for a quorum.”
“Is it Max?” Howie smiled, clutching the necklaces around his throat. “Please tell me Max is going to rally.”
Saint D’Norman looked into Howie’s eyes and shook his head. “I’m sorry, honey. Max will be crossing over anytime now.”
“Heshy left a message this morning.” Dory wiped away a tear as Lenny gave her a hug.
“Shit,” Howie mumbled, his voice wobbling. “And we’re not there with him …”
“Heshy and their best friend, Melon Blossom, are there,” Saint D’Norman said. “Max doesn’t want us to worry. He knows we’re needed here.”
“So then, how can we have a quorum if it’s not Max?” Howie asked.
“That’s the thing.” Saint D’Norman lowered his tone to sound soothsayer ominous. “Lucho said there’s another witch on the island who has the gift.”
“Another witch?” Howie shook his head in disbelief. This fact did not adhere at all to what he knew of the history of their order. “Someone we didn’t recruit ourselves? Back when we started, Max said—”
“That was then!” Lenny barked. “Stop being a fuckin’ nostalgic naysayer. It’s 1989! You heard what Lucho said. We have a chance of getting our collective powers back. We just have to find this fifth witch!”
“Or let them find us,” Dory added. “With some of our old magic back, we’ll have a chance.”
“I wonder if that’s the additional strangeness I’ve been feeling?” Howie’s voice was almost a whisper. “Since the beginning of the summer, I’ve felt a presence, a power. My own ability to see auras has been stronger. I thought it was just because of it being my own Saturn Returns year—”
“I felt the same thing,” Saint D’Norman said. “I thought it was my medication.”
“Count me in.” Lenny raised his hand. “I felt it in the Meat Rack when I saw the egregore. And I’ve had some moments where I’ve been able to mind-read almost as well as the old days—something I don’t recommend when you’re cruising Low Tea. Those bitches can be cruel.”
Dory raised her finger in an aha gesture. “I do recall feeling a kind of electricity at the ACT UP benefit when we were all there, and once more when the four of us met for lunch at the Leviathan.”
“That means this potential fifth witch was near enough to be creating the electro-cranial-magnetic bond,” Howie said. “Do you remember who was near us when you felt it?”
Dory shook her head. “There were dozens of other people around. I can’t remember anyone in particular.”
“I’ve been trying to make contact with Lucho again all afternoon,” Saint D’Norman said. “I get the feeling the Great Goddess Mother wants us to discover the fifth ourselves. We should prepare the sacred circle on the dance floor in our regular spot. My gut says whoever the fifth is, they’ll be drawn to us.”
“We have to try.” Howie stood. “Lenny, go see if Vince and Ronnie can look for Joe?”
“Gotcha,” Lenny said.
“I’ll see if Elena wouldn’t mind helping too.” Dory picked up her purse.
“Definitely ask Elena.” Saint D’Norman smiled at Lenny and Dory. “It will be good for her to get out and do some service.”
“Perfect!” Howie clapped. “We don’t have much time. We’ll need to do the whole nine yards—our best twirling shoes, hats, a special infusion, everything.”
“Yes!” Lenny cried out. “Finally! That’s what I’m talking about!”
Howie’s eyes glinted in a bellicose twinkle. “My comrades, are you ready to boogie?”