CHAPTER 2
I do not get off on necrophilia.
I HAD SERIOUSLY UNDERESTIMATED how difficult sewing on limbs would be.
I debated calling Alice multiple times, but my pride wouldn’t allow myself to admit defeat.
I did eventually manage to get both the arm and leg attached.
The stitching was jagged and, if I was being critically honest, a little janky.
Okay, a lot janky. But I’d done my best, damnit.
If I tilted my head to the side like so... I did just that, humming thoughtfully.
He had character.
With that final feat accomplished, I pulled out my list. It was well-worn, its edges frayed and softened from how many times I had unfolded and re-folded it over and over. It was the list I had written the day I’d decided to create a boyfriend like I was my own build-a-bear workshop.
“Kind, loving, honest, considerate, polite... Yes, that’s a good start. The rest I can teach him along the way.” I spoke to myself. Perhaps the ghost was listening in too. Hopefully they would be getting a good show. Bring out the popcorn, Casper.
The paper was smooth between my fingers and made of a special magic-imbued parchment. I rubbed it reverently before folding it back up. Next were the charms. When I grabbed the small glass jar, it rattled pleasantly. I pried the cork off with my teeth, spat it out, then paused,
“Shit, forgot something.”
I set the jar down and grabbed the scalpel from Alice’s suturing kit.
“Sorry about this, but it can’t be worse than dying, am I right?”
The only answer was the steady drip dripping of water trickling from a leaky pipe onto the cement.
I laughed awkwardly, “Right. I sure hope you have a good sense of humor.”
After cutting an inch-long hole in his chest over where I assumed was closest to his heart, I shoved the folded paper in and poured half of the ingredient mixture followed by the M not for lack of interest, but I had it on good authority that it worked. Through an anonymous source, of course.
Now, neither this paper nor the charms would actually falsely manufacture these traits, they would merely enhance them in the person. I could liken them to vitamins. Unless the person didn’t need any enhancing, then they’d gradually fade with time.
After I stitched up the small cut, I stood to examine him one final time. I was so glad that the bulk of the work I had needed to do was give him new limbs. I could have swapped his dick if I’d so desired but the one the man was blessed with was, in my own words, “the perfect fucking cock.”
Had anyone witnessed me studying the deceased man’s flaccid cock while I thoughtfully rubbed my chin like some grand philosopher, they would have thought me mad. Or some sick pervert. I was not a pervert. Perhaps a little mad, but definitely not a perv. I did not get off on necrophilia. At all.
It was why I was reanimating him.
I was simply observing the canvas I was working with. As an artist would.
Yes, a very meticulous, macabre, artist.
I dragged the spellbook closer to me as well as the fabric drawstring bag of summoning candles.
Then, I carefully arranged the alternating red and black candles to surround the body in a near-perfect circle.
Black for transformation, protection, and grounding.
Didn’t want to summon some vengeful spirit or demon into this poor man’s body.
Or my house’s ghost. And red candles for power, vitality, and love. Because, well, duh.
I sat with my legs crossed as I steadied myself and calmed my mind.
The grounding settled me. That was the key to a successful spell.
I had never been at the top of my class in anything, even arcane studies.
I did, however, consider myself a regular old virtuoso when it came to the physical act of using magic and performing spells.
Being a hands-on learner, I excelled in charms, made potent tonics and potions, and had even mastered the elementals.
It came naturally to me, and I loved it, but my experiments did tend to... get away from me.
I had completely singed my eyebrows off a total of ten...
no, eleven times. I had accidently cursed myself so that every time I attempted to say “Jesus Christ,” the word “Satan” came out instead.
To this day I couldn’t fix it. Alice had taken to saying it too in solidarity.
I had also given myself breasts one time and that had been a blast and half.
But I would never forget the time an aphrodisiac tonic had gone terribly wrong.
Naturally, I experimented on myself. This particular one had granted me with a three-day boner.
The first few hours had been, hell, I had never given myself so many orgasms in all my life.
It had been glorious. But after that... Well, chaffed dick and ass was a real thing.
And getting to the physician’s office on day two – with Alice’s help – had been... humbling to say the least.
I blinked away the memory as I shuddered and shook my head clear to summon my familiar.
Not all witches had a familiar, or were powerful enough to have one, but most chose to if they could.
Afterall, they were not only loyal companions, but they also granted us a stronger focus to our magic when they were present. And I needed that now more than ever.
A flash of black appeared before me just as the tiny, winged body of a bat began flapping cheerfully directly in front of my face.
“Well, hello there Jinx. How are you today?” I grinned as he zoomed energetic circles around my head before settling on my shoulder. His leathery little wing brushed the side of my neck as he stretched, getting comfortable.
Even though Jinx was travel-sized, as I liked to call him, he was small even for a bat. Up close, his fuzzy little head was more brown than black, and those shiny dark eyes blinked up at me above his cute little nose.
“Alright buddy,” I told him, “let’s get to work, shall we?”
He chirped that familiar, adorable squeak and flapped his wings once in agreement.
I pulled out my pocketknife and hovered it over the flames of the nearest candle.
After holding it there for several seconds, I withdrew it, giving it time to cool.
Holding my free hand over the casting bowl filled with the remaining powdered mixture, I used the knife to slice a clean cut straight through my palm.
I gasped at the sudden sting of pain but clenched my fist allowing the ruby droplets to steadily drip, drip, drip into the bowl.
With every drop, a hissing noise followed.
Like the sound of corrosive acid or water in a hot frying pan.
When enough of my blood had soaked into the bowl creating a mud-like substance, I wrapped my hand with some white gauze in a half-assed bandage. I could see to it later.
Now came the part that I absolutely could not muck up. One wrong stroke, one incorrectly drawn rune, and it could end with dire consequences. Or me blowing up. I wasn’t too sure, but neither sounded pleasant.
I copied the words and symbols exactly as the book’s helpful diagram depicted by painting the blood-powder-mud all over the corpse’s body until they covered his face, torso, arms, and legs.
Didn’t find this in your typical spa package.
Once complete, I wiped my fingers clean and set the book in my lap. Jinx squeaked once in encouragement before my voice broke through the still quiet of the basement.
The ancient Arcanic was challenging to read and even more difficult to speak, but I managed. I had practiced diligently so I didn’t stutter or stumble once as I recited the spells slowly and steadily. I spoke until the magic of the spell turned my voice hoarse and gravelly.
As the last word was emitted, I took a deep breath and waited. And waited.
After almost five long minutes of me staring expectantly at the still unmoving corpse, I began to deflate. Had I missed something? Had I done something wrong?
I triple checked the ingredients, the steps, the runes, everything. I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. I nervously turned the page and spotted a block of text next to a little asterisk symbol that read:
*If resuscitation unsuccessful, the body may require a small amount of energy to ignite the spell*
“A small amount?” I practically squeaked. “What the hell is a small amount of energy? Like, electricity? I’m no damn electrician!”
Then, slowly, so slowly, I turned and stared at the little black satchel Alice had given me. I scoffed in disbelief,
“Seriously?”
Jinx chirped but, other than that, there was no response. Obviously. I stretched and dragged the bag closer. At least this thing came with instructions.
When the AED pads were in their proper placements, I turned the machine on. I listened to it go through its programmed prompts until it analyzed the corpse’s nonexistent pulse and announced in its feminine robotic voice,
“Heartbeat not detected. No shock advised.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. What was it Alice had said? That I could override the programming with my magic.
With absolutely no idea what I was doing, I held the machine between my hands and channeled my magic directly into the thing. It beeped and screeched a shrill noise in objection and I winced, half expecting the thing to explode. But then something surprisingly unexpected occurred; the body jolted.
I flinched and held my breath.