For the first time in my life, I experienced true psychic combat.
In the comic books, psychic combat occurs when mutants and/or sorcerers release their spiritual forms to magically duke it out on the Astral Plane. But in reality, it involved me, Danielle Dionne, Jason Mankey, and Mat Auryn being wedged in an Uber, while our moderately terrifying, potentially Republican driver asked us what brought us to town.
YOU tell him, we all telepathically spat at each other. I’M not telling him.
After five or so seconds of awkward silence, Jason caved and said that we were there for a conference. The driver grunted an acknowledgement and dropped us off at our destination, where we congratulated ourselves on successfully surviving the journey.
And you know what? As far as I’m concerned, any Austin Witchfest that starts with me not getting disappeared is a good Austin Witchfest.
Neither of my usual emotional support plus-ones were available this year — Douglas had a scheduling conflict, and Chester moved out of state in 2024 — so I brought along my friend Zak, since he’s the current president of the Misfits, and I figured he might could use a weekend away from the local leather dramas. He’s also a non-practicing Lutheran, so he was excited for the chance to immerse himself in alternative spiritualities but a little trepidatious about his lack of knowledge around Things Woo.
“I just don’t want to do anything that might embarrass you in front of the Big Name Pagans,” he confessed as we sped out of Houston.
“Listen,” I replied. “You have nothing to worry about. The only person who’s going to embarrass me is me.”
Placated if not convinced, we carried on our way.
And while we wait for our protagonists to arrive in the Hill Country, let me just take a moment to extoll the virtues of Witchfest. It’s an unbelievably well-run event, with dedicated team of enthusiastic volunteers and a mind-boggling array of lectures and rituals efficiently crammed into half a day. Although there was minor glitch regarding the parking situation — we pulled into the staff lot as directed, where a perplexed but very friendly attendant shrugged and gave us wristbands that marked us as employees of the events center.
We could have used our newfound clearance for mischief, but instead, we mainly just ended up explaining to various security guards that we did not actually work there and should not be relied on for anything.
It was around this point that Zak announced that he’d be introducing himself to people as my infernal familiar. Considering my last familiar turned out to be a lil’ more off-kilter than originally advertised, I was happy to accept the new arrangement.
“Wow,” Zak said, once we’d made it inside and sampled some wares in the vendor hall. “Witches… really like lotion.”
“And bath oils,” I added. “We are a moisturized people.”
My Chaos Lithomancy presentation went really well, and afterwards, several attendees ran downstairs to pick out stones of their own, which means I’m finally getting a cult off the ground I shared useful, accessible information. And that was a cool feeling. Plus Mortellus’ Necromancy in the Age of Facsism was the Witchcraft 101 class our community needs, so hopefully, the concepts they discussed will take root and spread. In fact, the only downside to Witchfest was that I couldn’t find Coby Michael anywhere.
I’d met Coby last year and wanted to at least say hello, but we were never in the same place at the same time: If I was in the vendor room, he was upstairs in the classroom area, and vice versa. By the end of the day, I just kind of accepted that I wasn’t going to bump into him, and I made a mental note to send him a trite Facebook message once I got home.
Mat and Danielle were going to ride back to the host hotel with me and Zak, but I’ve got a bladder the size of a walnut, so I ducked into a restroom before we took off. I did my business and went to wash my hands, where, miracle upon miracles, I discovered Coby at the sink next to mine.
“Oh, hey! Hi!” I yelled exuberantly. “I’ve been looking for you!”
Happy recognition flashed across Coby’s face, quickly replaced by a darkly serious countenance.
“Are you in room 103 at the hotel?” He asked.
“Um… yes, I am,” I said, suddenly concerned that he was about to start prophesying.
“Did you hear your door open around one in the morning?”
I thought about it for a second, and I realized that I could dimly recall hearing the door at some point in the wee hours. But at the time, I just chalked it up to Zak sneaking out to find ice cream or something.
“That was me,” Coby continued. “I checked in really late, and the concierge accidentally put me in an occupied room. I’m so sorry if I disturbed you!”
And that was the moment that summed up my Witchfest experience. It’s incredibly easy for me to pratfall into the trap of impostor syndrome; to look at the authors and presenters around me and think, “I am a nobody compared to these people. I don’t even know why they let me put on my piddly little workshop.” But at the same time… y’all. I summoned Coby Michael in my sleep.
If that doesn’t qualify me as a Big Name Pagan, nothing else ever will.
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