"You knew it was a glamour?"
"You have to wear the Rasha ring. Until I touched it, that ring didn't resemble the hamsa." She shrugged. "A rabbi performed a spell on it. Even mezuzahs have a powerful spell on them. A word, seemingly gibberish, engraved on the back that helps keep demons at bay."
Mezuzahs contained a prayer scroll wrapped in a decorative case. Most Jewish homes had them. In secular ones like ours, they were nailed to the frame of our front door instead of every door. My family home also had wards that used salt, iron, and Rasha blood to keep away fiends but I guess mezuzahs worked well enough for regular folks.
"Those spells, that magic, is wielded by rabbis. Just as you wield magic, inherent rather than spell-based, to kill demons." Dr. Gelman tapped her head. "What did you think was going on?"
"I dunno. Witches are women, not rabbis." Dr. Gelman snorted at me. "Also," I continued, determined to make my point, "I've never heard of a real witch, especially a Jewish one."
She waved a hand at me in barely concealed impatience. "Who do you think performed the first ritual when David gathered his Rasha?" From the look on her face, I knew better than to answer with "a rabbi?"
"I hadn't thought about it," I hedged. "It's not any gospel the Brotherhood preaches."
"This surprises you? History is rife with organized religions, most of which are patriarchal, co-opting celebrations devoted to women's power." She eased back against her chair, her inner professor in full force. "Think about the power of pagan fertility rituals that in Catholicism became the sexless sinless Virgin Mary. Or how Astarte, the Canaanite goddess of fertility and sexual love was condemned as a cult in Judaism and stamped out in favor of the monotheistic Yaweh. The Brotherhood reframed our power, casting us as evil witches."
I leaned forward, fascinated. "Like who?"
"Baba Yaga."
"She's a myth."
"Demons are also a myth," she chided, "but we know better, don't we?" Touché.
"Any other famous witches?" If celebrities could be demons, maybe a few A-listers had other interesting talents.
"Lilith."
"Lilith? The original harlot of history?"
"Yes. There is a strong correlation between sexual immorality and witchcraft in Judaism. To hear the men tell of it, at least."
"No wonder the Brotherhood hates me."
Dr. Gelman cracked a smile. "Have you read the Old Testament?"
"Not my bag, no."
"Exodus 22:17. ‘You shall not suffer a witch to live.' Trust me, the Brotherhood knows all about our existence. They hate the fact that we women dare to have a power that they want only for themselves."
I raised my fist in solidarity. "Then right on, witches."
She slapped her thigh. "I like you. All right. I'll help. Beats sitting around waiting to die." She scribbled something down and handed the paper to me. At the top was the name and address of a shop here in Prague. "Get these."
"Virgin soil from a mountain not dug by men and purified well water? What will you do with them?"
"All in good time. Once you have these things, we'll meet again." She held up a hand like she was making a vow. "No demons this time. I'll take you to my favorite café for the best pastries here in town."
"Yes, please." I tucked the list into my bra, then picked up my coat by two fingers, grimacing at the stink drifting off its various splotchy stains. I'd been hoping to use the jacket to cover the worst of my dishevelment.
Gelman plucked the coat away and waved a hand over it. The stains disappeared. As she gave it back, I caught a whiff of roses. I wondered how far her guilt extended.
"You wouldn't happen to have a pair of shoes I could borrow, would you? Mine got a tad destroyed down in the cave. Or could you magic mine back up here intact?" Those stilettos had been pricey.
"No. But … " She crossed over to her closet, returning to me with a pair of shower flip flops hooked between two fingers. "My feet are a bit smaller than yours but they should fit well enough to get you home."
Second hand slippers. Lovely.
Dr. Gelman huffed at my expression. Since I didn't want her to toss me around anymore, I took the flip flops and left.
9
Bare-legged, I padded my way into the Praha WS Hotel on ill-fitting sandals, wincing at the twinges afflicting my poor hips. My once sleek outfit lay twisted on my body. Still grimy with dried blood matted into my hair and staining my clothes, I crossed my fingers, hoping that I pulled off the "extra from a low budget zombie movie" look, because, hey, I had on a nice clean coat so the rest had to be wardrobe and make-up, right? Given the looks from the stylish people milling about, I don't think I succeeded. No matter. They'd make up some story to fit my disheveled state. People always found a way to explain things away.