I had grown so used to Chicago's transit system that I was caught off guard when I tried to check on bus schedules to get to an interview downtown and found out there were none. I tried to ask Matteson but he just waved it off and said he'd seen a bus occasionally at the Giant Eagle and the mall, but hadn't ever seen it anywhere else and wasn't convinced it actually carried passengers. He was able to drop me off on his way to work, but I was a few hours early, so I went to the river to meditate for a bit before making my way back to Main Ave.

It was a bit confusing to suddenly learn that Sharon had a Main Ave. In my mind, any road called Main is, well, the main road for the town. Here, that was East State Street, though I didn't realize that was its name until I'd been here for a month since all the locals pronounce it as Estate Street and none of the signs spell 'east' out. I only figured it out when I noticed it become W State Street near the house and asked about it. But Main was tucked away, completely unseen in all of my previous attempts to explore the town. Matteson explained its location to me, but was so vague that I ended up having him drop me off on the road so I could just retrace my steps back from the river.

One side of Main is just railroad tracks, beyond which lay a large parking lot and a red brick church to match. The other side was dominated by a couple long brick walls, worn down and cracked in their best places and actively crumbling at their worst. There were a few doors dotted along the walls, with sparse but large windows between them. One was a bar, or at least claimed to be; the others included a barbershop and shaving parlor, a tattoo shop, and a place that seemed to be a restaurant but gave no identifying information. Between them were a couple random houses and a much newer-looking diner. It felt old, older than the rest of the town, and despite seeing a couple people in the shops there were no people on the sidewalks or cars on the road. Really, it was the perfect place for a haunted house.

At the far end of the road from West State Street, on a corner across from a hardware store and a shifty-looking gas station, was a third brick building attached, through a garage well set off the road, to a brick house. Both structures had wood over all the windows, peeling paint, faded and discolored bricks, and sat among cracked pavement and spotty grass. Half of the house's facade was covered in a very ambitious vine, and the other building had a black sign with green and white lettering designed to look like dripping blood that read "Ghoul Mansion" and, below that between two large bones, "Scarin', PA." I stood in front of the structure, unsure which of the boarded-off doors I was supposed to enter, until a woman came walking around from behind the house. She looked completely out of place against the setting, like a cheery realtor trying to sell the Addams Mansion.

"Jackie?" she asked. I smiled and greeted her, and we shook hands on the sidewalk before she turned and looked at the structure with me.

"It's bigger than I expected," I said. She chuckled.

"You should see the inside!" With that, she led me into the building, and I got a tour of the whole place. By the end, it was apparent that the interview was something of a formality, as they had already decided to hire me based partly on my application and partly on Rick talking to one of the long-time staffers about my magic. A lot of the staff, though certainly not all, were some kind of pagan, she explained. I asked if this was a conscious decision on the part of the owners, and she explained that it was largely due to them all knowing each other, so once one was in the rest just found it easier to get hired.

I was there a little over an hour, seeing the site and signing paperwork, and walked to the McDonald's for dinner, where I met up with Rick and got a ride home. I felt like something was following me, but when I got home and did a short ritual to see local spirits I couldn't find anything.

There is a significant gap in my knowledge of Hecate's history. What I can say for certain is that she is the real goddess from ancient Greece, that she did not originate in Greece, and that she was also revered in Rome under the name Trivia. The former and latter facts are well-attested, and a host of epithets for her existed in both Grecian and Roman practice. ​Of her origin, however, little is known for certain. Historians with an eye toward mythology debate a Greek, Anatolian, or Egyptian source for her cult. I am inclined to believe she is of Anatolian origin, as the Egyptian theory seems circumstantial and her personal disdain for the other Greek deities as thieves and upstarts suggests to me that she was incorporated into that pantheon some time after both she and they formed. This is difficult to argue without pointing to personal contact with her, however, so it it a matter I can only share with a limited audience.

Sergei is a member of that audience, and remains convinced that she can be traced much farther through history. He notes that some Christian sects associated her with the spirit of salvation and gave her limited dominion over the world; I have not yet managed to help him understand the limited respect Wikipedia has in the academic world, and neither of us has searched for more information on this particular claim yet. But using that, he claims that she shares traits with various minor goddesses, demons, and folklore entities around the world for centuries afterward. His certainty of each of these claims varies, but there is one he is absolutely convinced about: that Hecate is the Devil at the Crossroads that appears in folklore surrounding blues musicians. His case is well-made in this instance, and it does seem difficult for me to believe that she would allow anyone else to claim dominion over the Crossroads, even just as a term for a deal. Many of these accounts do, admittedly, view the Devil at the Crossroads as male; but I have seen her present as male before. I'm not fully convinced that she is this devil, but I also can't assume she isn't.

What I do know is that, by the time I met her, she had begun selecting witches from around the world for direct training. Her exact standards are unknown, as are her goals. I don't know how many witches she has selected or even if she is teaching us all similar material. I have met a couple others at the Crossroads, on rare events when she decided to have us there at the same time. Through these interactions and her own off-handed comments I have pieced together that she has not selected any male witches for her training. She seems to show no preference regarding trans or cis women, and at least two witches I've met at the Crossroads over the years have been nonbinary.

Her demands on me, at least, are high. She has made it very clear that she expects me to become highly skilled at seeing and passing through the metaphysical realm. The latter is a skill I have yet to learn, but she promises that under her tutelage I will be able to open portals between realms and across space, maybe even across time. I don't know why I was selected for this specific set of skills, but I am deeply curious about what I can learn of magic and the metaphysical realm by traveling in this way.

Her claims that she has authority over individual Anchors and Warlocks is of some concern. John didn't seem to have any knowledge of her, and she seemed ignorant of his presence in my apartment until I mentioned him. If she rightfully has the dominion she claims, shouldn't she know them? Shouldn't she at least be aware of them? If she doesn't have that dominion, what happens if and when she tries to assert it? I've decided to do more research on her, at least partly to find out if any previous Anchors or Warlocks appear alongside her. As much as I may doubt some of Sergei's attempts to connect her to history, it is the only list of places to look that I can access. It may be educational to explore those claims, even if only to rule them out.

She is served directly by a dog, a great hound usually with jet black fur and red eyes. She has a deep animosity for ravens and reacts strongly when they are suggested as a symbol of any of her domains. I have seen other animals in the Crossroads, but do not know how many serve her directly. She has other symbols that appear frequently in the Crossroads and our training sessions, most commonly the key and the torch.

She has three faces, or possibly three selves, that never seem to face the same direction. I have seen at least a dozen different forms that she may take; she is gorgeous in every form, and most of them retain her threefold form, her distinct musculature, and her eastern Mediterranean complexion. She is sexually active to some degree with at least some of her followers, though personal experience on the matter is limited to very few incidents. Her variety of forms prevents me from making any statement on common aspects of these incidents.

​I have not seen her since the night I asked John to shield me from her call, and at this point I'm beginning to worry that I will not see her again.

The last candle was lit, the lights were off, and I softly dropped my robe to the floor and slipped into the bathtub.

I had been living in this apartment for two months, and learned early on that I was the only resident willing to use this bathroom. At first, it seemed odd, as this one was closest to the kitchen and the living room, but aside from emergencies everyone else went downstairs.

Then I started to notice her presence.

The first time, I had just finished a period of meditation and was still highly sensitive to the spiritual realm surrounding me. I walked into the bathroom and knew immediately that something was off, and briefly caught a glimpse of her in the mirror. I asked around, and the others explained that the bathroom seemed to be haunted and they saw no need to disturb her. I decided it would be best to try and help her instead.

I spent time in that bathroom frequently, carefully introducing myself and working to gain her trust. She had finally spoken to me. It was a simple answer, nothing more, but it gave me permission to go deeper. To find out who she was. I began making arrangements.

The chicken blood mixed with the bathwater as I muttered the phrases I had learned from Abuela. I no longer practice quite what she taught me on other matters, at least not without some alterations from my mentor, but no one else was offering a better system for speaking with the dead. Sometimes the most effective ways are the ones that stick around. The smell stung my nose and I closed my eyes, taking it in. I asked her to show herself. I requested an audience.

The sudden change in light as the candles flickered forced my eyes open and there she was, sitting in the other end of the bathtub, leaning against the wall with the spout deeply embedded in her back. Her knees were drawn up close to her chest, and she hugged her shins like they were the last things holding her to this world. I pulled upright as much as possible to give her space.

"Alethea," I whispered. "Are you ready?"
"What do you want?" She stared at me, her eyes reflecting years of pain and hiding.
"To help you. Please," I reached out my hand, "you deserve better than this bathroom. Let me help you." She buried her face against her legs, peeking at me over her kneecaps. We stared at each other for a long moment.
"Do you promise?"
"Yes."
"You will help me?"
"Yes. I promise, I will help you. Please, tell me what happened."

She closed her eyes, then took a deep breath, and nodded. She let go of her legs and drifted over, turning around in the bathtub until her back was to me, and then fell into me. I inhaled sharply and stared at the wall. I saw it. I saw everything. She showed me her story, and I felt every pain that had left her here. I don't know how long it was before I could breathe again, and half the candles had blown out at some point in the vision. I sat alone in the near darkness, pulled my knees to my chest, and cried.