Chapter 34
thirty-four
. . .
I spend the rest of the night editing my video, though I will admit that I also reread that article about a thousand times. Bringing Kit back to life...that would be impossible, right? And, ugh, who would it be for? It would be for me, right? Not him.
But…I think it would be for him. I think he wants this.
He’s a demon. He has free rein to do literally anything he wants, and still, he seems deeply unhappy.
If this works, it’s not like I would be pulling him out of a life he loves.
I’m not saying he hates every part of being a demon, but considering everything I know about him, the humanity he has chosen to hold on to, I know he wants to be human again. I know it.
I haul my attention away from the article and fully close out of it.
Kit was wrong when he said that there is none of his soul left.
It is so clear to me that fragments, rather large ones at that, remain.
However, he was correct when he said I’m not a witch and that Matthias might not be strong enough on his own.
But…I go into my history and pull the article back up.
I can’t just forget about this. If there is a chance, any chance, of bringing Kit back, I want to do it.
I fought for myself. Now, I’m fighting for him.
I take Hazel, the cat, to the vet the next day.
The vet does not find a chip, so Kit must be correct about her not belonging to anyone.
I’m not sure I’m ready for the responsibility of providing for another living being, but I did already buy all of the supplies, and the vet gave me a free mouse toy to take home, so I may as well.
Also, clearly, I’ve already named her.
There’s an overwhelming stab of guilt in my chest when I have to leave for work that afternoon.
I almost ask if I can bring Hazel (because every good independent bookstore needs a cat, right?) but then I remember that my boss is severely allergic.
I also don’t want to leave her to roam my apartment by herself.
Our relationship has not yet reached that level.
So, I lock her in my bedroom with food, water, and her litterbox.
I hate myself. I am a terrible cat mother.
Eventually, I do manage to leave her.
Work is normal. I help customers, I restock shelves, I research how to help Kit on my breaks—finding nothing useful. The spell still seems to be my only option.
However, he would be angry with me if I spent more time trying to help him than working on my submission.
After a week of near constant editing, cutting and restoring the video—honestly way longer than I normally spend—I am finally happy with the end result.
I have the moving flashlight in the kitchen, the knock knock conversation with the bathroom ghost, and the finale, my chat with Violet.
While the camera managed to catch her entire apparition, I ended up cutting it down, removing the flash of blonde hair.
I did so after a long time debating with myself, figuring it looked too real to be considered real.
It’s okay, because I also have the full-body video in the thermal cam, which is remarkable footage.
If I’m awarded this pilot and catch something like that again with witnesses, maybe it’ll make the final cut.
However, I’m aware that when it comes to the supernatural world, it doesn’t matter if you shove the evidence down someone’s throat or practically beat them senseless with it.
If they don’t want to believe, they won’t.
I’m trying to make something for the believers and non-believers alike, so what I end up with has the perfect amount of hard evidence that can be easily explained away by anyone who refuses to open their mind up to the possibility of ghosts. Perfect.
I save the final video, though I do still keep all of the bits I cut, even if they’re just for myself.
I fill out the application that goes along with the video submission, despite having filled it out like twenty times since I originally found the contest, and save that, too.
I watch the video one more time before I officially submit it, making sure there is nothing I missed.
And, I have to admit, I am also looking for Kit in my eyes.
I’m always looking for him, even if I don’t realize it.
I need to submit this entry now. The deadline is midnight ET, and it is 11:32 p.m. I finish the video, decide there is literally nothing else I can do to make it better, reread my application again—and catch a typo, so thank god—and then click submit.
I do it quickly so I can’t take it back, slamming my finger down on the touch pad that just needs to be tapped.
The little circle spins over the button, then a page pops up that says my entry has been submitted and that if they are interested, I will be contacted by them personally.
If they are not interested, I will receive a generic rejection email.
I mean, it doesn’t say that exactly. It says “all applicants will be contacted regardless of decision,” but I know what that means.
I go search for the cat and find her lounging on my bed.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I say as I lie down beside her.
I expect her to get up and run away, like she has every time I’ve attempted this, but she shifts into loaf form, looking a little annoyed by my presence but overall unbothered. Progress with a capital P.
A week goes by with no word from the contest, though I’m not surprised. I didn’t think I would hear back after only a week of the deadline passing, unless they found it completely unwatchable, of course.
I find other ways to distract myself from worrying about the entry that aren’t rereading Nerys Gray’s article one thousand more times.
I see Meggie. I visit my mother. I find a few new places to investigate—a nearly abandoned mall (a movie theater is still hanging on in there), a tiny graveyard behind an old church, a house that is currently up for sale, but nothing leads to any great footage.
Decent footage I can make videos out of, because not all of my videos need to have groundbreaking results, but it’s always nice to find a little something more.
And of course, I continue to work. While I’m behind the buy counter, where customers can sell their used books to us, someone tries to sell a bunch of old American Girl Doll books.
One of them is Meet Kit, an American Girl.
I sigh. Of course, a silly book about a doll would bring him back into my thoughts.
After that, I can’t get him off my mind for the rest of the day.
During a lull in the afternoon, I use the computer behind the counter for personal reasons. The store is not busy, and I have to stay manned behind this computer. Another perk of working for an independent bookstore, no corporate weirdos to dig into our search histories.
I absently twist a strand of hair around my finger as I reread the article I have now read approximately one hundred thousand times.
This process of bringing Kit back to life is complicated—mainly due to the required ingredients.
I grab a notebook and pen and start to make a list. There are some run-of-the-mill spices that I can pull from my kitchen.
Sage, sea salt, cardamom. Then some ingredients that are going to be more difficult to find, like belladonna.
And some that I don’t even know how I am going to get my hands on.
“What the hell is ‘amber blood?’” I mutter. I try to google it and come up with nothing concrete. Does it mean blood amber, like blood diamonds? I sincerely hope not. No, I’m sure it has to mean something mystical. I decide to move on for now.
Another issue is the space where I’m going to perform this ritual.
It apparently cannot just be done in my living room.
An open space on hallowed ground. So…a graveyard?
That sounds…dangerous. Because what if the spell goes awry and instead of creating a new body for Kit, I accidentally bring a pack of zombies to life?
Okay, I don’t think any spell I do will be powerful enough to start a new season of The Walking Dead.
Life and death aren’t something to be played around with.
I know this. All paranormal media has warned me of this.
But I’m not really playing around with life and death, am I?
Kit died, sure, but someone else already brought him back to life.
I’m trying to repair his soul and give it a place to go.
He still has it, buried deep under the rubble of his time in Hell, I’m just offering magical stitches.
I throw my head in my hands as a little voice in the back of my mind scolds me for this hope. This is never going to work.
I keep my head in my hands until I hear someone say my name. I look up sharply, blinking blankly, because I forgot where I was. My place of employment.
“Whatcha doin’?” Matthias asks, black-lined eyes scanning me up and down.
“Contemplating literally every choice I have ever made in my life.” I drag a hand through my hair. “What about you?”
He shrugs. “Wondering why you’re making notes about ingredients for…” He cranes his head to see my notebook, which I promptly snap shut. “Kit’s Soul Restoration,” he spouts off anyway. He squints at me. “The demon? You’re trying to restore his soul?”
“No,” I say, and my cheeks heat unnecessarily.
Matthias wiggles his eyebrows. “Oooo, okay. She says no. Come on, Lace. I know you like the guy.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, cursing the upward pitch of my voice.
“Sure.” Matthias snatches the notebook and quickly flips to the page I was taking my notes on.
I attempt to snatch it back, but he holds it out of my reach, the charm I got him dangling from his wrist as he reads. He then closes the notebook and hands it back to me silently with a curious eyebrow raised.
“What?”
“This is legit.”
“…What do you mean?”
“Like, you’re trying to work an actual spell. Lacy, this is big shit. Were you planning on attempting it alone? Why didn’t you ask me to help?”
“It’s nothing. It’s not…” I exhale. “I was afraid you would tell me it wouldn’t work.
I’m so new to this…this world of things that shouldn’t exist. Ghosts are one thing, but even ghosts aren’t what I thought they were.
” I cover my eyes with one hand. “I’m not ready to face the reality of this being hopeless. ”
Matthias offers me a small smile when I drag my hand away from my face. “You think Kit has a soul to be restored?”
“I do. When he possessed me, we got close. He’s not…he’s not a bad guy. He’s actually great, and this spell could bring him back to life.”
Matthias crosses his arms and gives a few big, slow nods. “Cool. I’m on board.”
I scoff. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“And you…” I trail off, unsure how to ask this without offending him.
“What?”
“Y-you can actually do magic?”
He rolls his eyes slightly before glancing around, making sure no one is here to witness whatever it is he’s about to do. From his pocket, he pulls out two little baggies. “Do you have your dad’s lighter on you?”
“Yeah?” I pull it from the pocket of my jeans and hand it over.
Matthias fetches a book from the shelf behind him, dropping it on the counter, then dumps out the empty can of corn we use as a pen cup, pens and pencils rolling out onto the counter and off onto the floor.
He sprinkles a bit of each baggie into the can, flips the lighter on, holding the flame down into the can, taps the book on the counter twice, and says, “Sort.”
My eyes widen as the book lifts and zooms back into its correct spot on the shelf.
“Holy shit.” I glare at him. “That is so cheating! Do you use that when you’re shelving?”
Matthias chuckles. “Not always, but I have. So, you believe me?”
I gesture between the bookshelf and the counter, like that should be answer enough. “I believe you.”
We spend the rest of our shifts going over the spell.
He has a list of graveyards nearby where he likes to do spells.
It’s weird, but weird is what I need right now.
He said he already has belladonna on hand, but he’s as lost as I am when it comes to procuring the amber blood.
Matthias has heard of it before, only vaguely.
He says it’s something that can hurt mystical beings, though it was always assumed to be a weapon toward beings of light.
I didn’t want to ask, but I think he meant angels. I don’t want to know about angels.
Considering this information, I believe I know where to get this. The Black Market. Only problem is, I have no idea how to find the Market and the place is riddled with demons and other beings and is so totally out of my depth. We will definitely get murdered if we go to the Black Market.
But it might be our only option.