Free The Firefly Witch by Alex Bledsoe Page B

turned in my direction. The movement made the neckline of her dress gap a little, and I glimpsed the upper curves of her breasts. Behind the sunglasses, I saw her eyes had a very slight Asian-like slant. I caught a whiff of her perfume, a fresh summery smell that reminded me of country fields at night. Her voice was deep, strong and with only a slight Southern accent. “So. Have we got Woodward or Bernstein here today?”
    I remembered that part of my job was to put the subject at ease, so I joked, “Nah, today I’m just Carl Kolchak.”
    I sat in the chair next to her, and waited for someone to speak. When it became clear no one was going to, I said, “So. I hear you’re a witch.”
    Tanna sighed. “Yes, Mr. Tully, I am. I do happen to practice the Wicca religion. Are you familiar with it?”
    “Ah... not so’s you could tell it, no.”
    “Great. You know, I came to this redneck college town to get away from publicity, so that I could continue learning to manage my abilities. Without someone trying to cash in on it,” she added for Wellman’s benefit.
    “Tanna,” Wellman said patiently, “as I’ve explained to you, this is the local paper, nobody reads it but the local people.”
    She put on a parody Southern accent. “Oh, then all he wants is my favorite recipe for pecan pie? Or maybe who danced with me at the cotillion?”
    “No, but if they realize your talents aren’t somehow Satanic, they’ll be more likely to accept you, and that will make it easier for everyone.”
    “Whoa, whoa, what ‘talents?’” I asked. University condescension to the townies had always bugged me.
    Tanna took off her sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She turned toward me, and her icy blue eyes made my chest tighten. In retrospect, that was the moment I fell in love with her; ironically, she told me later that this was the moment she had the most contempt for me.
    “This is just grand. You don’t even know why you’re here, do you? Just go do a story on the freak to calm down the Baptists, right?”
    “Now look, Miss... ” I stopped when I realized I couldn’t pronounce her last name without spraying spit around the room.
    “Here’s the Cliff Notes version. I hope you’ve got your pen ready. Technically, I’m blind. The lights are out but somebody’s home. But every summer, when the fireflies come out, I can see. A physical impossibility. I’m also psychic in a lot of ways, and that also gets stronger when the fireflies are around. We figure it’s all connected somehow. If I were the kind of witch who wore a pointed hat and ate children, I guess the fireflies would be my familiars.”
    “So you don’t like children?” I asked.
    “I like children ,” she snapped in annoyance.
    “Me, too. But I can’t eat a whole one.”
    For a moment I thought she was going to come out of that chair and tie my tongue to my genitals, but then an absolutely adorable giggle burst out. She choked it off almost at once, but the smile remained.
    “I do sound like a bitch, don’t I?” she said. “I’m sorry, Mr.--?”
    “Tully. Ry Tully.”
    “Ry? As in ‘Catcher in the’?”
    “No, as in Cooder.”
    “Mr. Tully, you have to understand, I’ve lived in Memphis and Atlanta most of my life, and they’re not quite as provincial. I could go to the grocery store without people whispering behind my back, which is not the way to keep secrets from a blind person. But while I was in Atlanta, it seems like I always had some newsman following me around, wanting me to do a naked witch dance or perform some psychic trick on command, and it just doesn’t work that way.”
    She sighed so eloquently I wanted to either hug her or buy her a puppy. “I know I’m odd , Mr. Tully. It’s been driven into me every day of my life. I guess I should be used to it by now, but I’m not, and when somebody comes along and says they want to splash the freak across the front page again, I just... ”
    She trailed off and stopped. She