Kit
. . .
Two Weeks Ago
I trailed Lacy and Matthias to a cemetery, where I hid behind a gravestone, watching.
I cringed as Matthias cut Lacy’s arm, feeling the pain with her.
She stood in the middle of the circle as Matthias performed the spell.
When he was done, nothing happened. She sank in disappointment, and I sank with her.
Every cell of my being wanted to go and comfort her, tell her to give up now—I wasn’t worth it.
However, Matthias convinced her to try again—and I had to let her. I would never give up on her, so why would I expect her to give up on me?
A few nights later, I followed her to another graveyard.
This time, they were joined by two other people who I didn’t know.
By Lacy’s somewhat formal stance around them, I assumed she wasn’t all that familiar, either.
They performed the spell as I watched, this time hidden behind a tree.
A red circle around her glowed then dimmed.
There was a pause. A pull. A gush of air. A veil of darkness. Stretching, creaking, groaning, yanking, cracking, snapping. Then so much light. And water. I was submerged.
My arms flailed as hard waves slammed into my mouth. I hacked up the salt water, gulping for air as the sea sloshed around me. As I thrashed, my pointer finger stung. Even in my struggle, I noticed a bright-red line across it. Like a papercut.
I managed to get to a steady tread, my legs kicking beneath me.
The sun was just coming up, making it light enough for me to see the endless water around me.
I was in the middle of the goddamn ocean.
I swirled around and spotted a red-and-white striped lighthouse up ahead.
Okay, maybe not quite the middle, then. I pumped my arms and kicked my feet.
The tide moving inward assisted me in my struggle.
Just beyond the lighthouse was a white, rocky beach resting beneath tall, chalky cliffs.
I kept swimming, adrenaline keeping me going for far longer than I should have been able, until, with the help of a wave, I slammed into the beach.
I crawled on my hands and knees up the land, the water still knocking into me, making me stumble.
The rocks pressed painfully into my limbs.
Once the water could no longer reach me, I flipped onto my back, lying flat on the beach, the sun now shining on me, dulling the painful shiver encompassing my body. Chest heaving, I stretched my arms out like a T, and only then did I realize that I was as naked as the day I was born.
There was nothing and no one on the beach. I stared upward at the white cliffs above, knowing there was no way I could climb that. Give me enough time and I could probably jump.
Except…no. Maybe not. Did it…?
I shot up, calling out, “Hello!” in my mind, the echo confirming I was alone.
I looked down. This body was familiar—I recognized that mole on my upper thigh.
I pinched myself. “Ouch.” I yelped in excitement, because I felt pain!
I was…there was no way…and yet…I was human.
I was alive. Lacy’s spell worked, and I was… Where the hell was I?
I swung my head around. The area was familiar. The cliffs reminded me of these cliffs in England, one of my favorite places I visited while abroad. A place in East Sussex called Beachy Head. I actually loved it so much that I once told Izan I wanted my ashes—
“Shit.”
I stood, hands on my hips, staring upward to the tops of the cliffs resting under the clear skies.
“I’m in the fucking UK.”
Izan must have gone through with it, scattering my ashes in one of my favorite places in the world.
I supposed it made sense, appearing there.
My body burned away in California, but those ashes were still me.
When he let that last part of me go, a part of me that still had traces of my soul, this was the last spot where my soul—my completely human soul—was before I washed away into the water. My final resting place, so to speak.
My attention fell back to my body. This was new.
Brand new—but also…not? My skin was shiny and clean, but…
I looked at the cut on my finger. This was the papercut I got the day I died.
And well, to be perfectly frank, my dick was lacking a foreskin.
So, this body was new, made from magic. Or rather, created from the imprint my original body made on my soul. Which meant it was mine. All mine.
I looked around. The biggest question right now was how I was going to get to the top of those cliffs. From what I could remember, there should have been a road not too far that regularly had cars and buses traveling on it. And a pub somewhere.
But I would not get too far absolutely buck naked.
There was nothing in sight. I considered resorting to finding a big rock and hiding behind that.
My head swung both ways, to the left and to the right, as I tried to decide where to walk.
The lighthouse was recognizable, but these could be lining the shore.
I eventually chose to turn left, knowing there had to be a set of stairs somewhere.
The sun was warm on my back, drying my hair, but my toes were turning blue.
Crossing my arms over my bare chest, I trudged forward.
The cliffs on my left side grew shorter as I went on.
Finally, in the distance, I saw two exciting things.
One, stairs, a silver metal structure built into the beach and the side of the cliffs. And two, a towel hanging from them.
I searched the area. It was still early, so there was not anyone in sight.
Once I reached the stairs, I snatched the towel, stiff with dried salt water and smelling as though it had lived on this staircase for months, and wrapped it around my waist. It did not help to warm me up, but at least I was now covered.
With my entire body shivering, I ascended the steep staircase.
Upon reaching the top, my sore feet were thrilled to find the softness of dirt and grass, a pleasant change from the rocks I had been walking on for nearly half an hour.
I circled around and again faced the sea, a muted gray-blue offering a contrast to the bright-green grass and white cliffs, extending onward as far as I could see and fading easily into the gray sky.
I loved this place. This was not how I thought I would find myself back here, but here I was.
Back at Beachy Head. Alive. Alone and naked, but alive.
The reality finally punched me in the face. I let out an uncontrollable sound, half sob, half wail as I fell to my knees, the grass offering a decent cushion. I sobbed into my hands. I wished Lacy was beside me—she would make this feel more real.
Once my tears dried, I stood back up, adjusting the towel.
The flood of emotions was still flowing through my veins, but I shoved those down for later.
I needed to focus on getting back to my girl.
In the short distance, I could see the pub.
And next to it, a small brown hut wearing a sign announcing it as the location of the beachy head chaplaincy team.
From what I could figure, that was a fancy way to say Search and Rescue.
It was midnight in Connecticut when Lacy was performing the spell. As long as my arrival here was instantaneous, it was likely somewhere between six and seven a.m., meaning the pub may not be open but the Chaplaincy Team would be. That was the place to go, but god, I needed a drink.
I trudged through the grass, across the road and into a car park. I approached the dark wooden door of the hut and pulled. It was locked. There was no way it was empty, though, so I knocked.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice ragged from lack of use. Or rather, from being brand new.
After a few moments, a middle-aged blonde woman opened the door. “May I help…?” She trailed off when she caught sight of me, bare-chested and barefoot with only the old towel around me. She kept the door cracked, ready to slam it shut at any moment.
“Yes, hi, sorry, it seems I’m in need of a little, uh, rescue?” I started to spit out a lie and actually felt a bit guilty. “I was on a boat. Fell off. Got left behind. Swam ashore. And, yeah.” I swore I was a better liar than this when I was a demon. Wasn’t I?
The woman’s face softened, and she opened the door all the way, gesturing me in. “Oh, you poor dear. Come in, come in.” Her eyes traveled down the length of me. “We have a lost property bucket you can have a sort through.” She pointed to a blue bin in the corner.
I knelt before it and began to dig through the clothing, noting immediately that the options of adult clothing were slim.
I eventually came up with black joggers and a neon-orange T-shirt.
For shoes, the only option in my size were a pair of those running shoes with the toes. It was better than nothing.
“You can change in the toilets in the back,” the woman said.
“Thanks.” I gathered the clothing then closed myself in the small restroom to pull it on. The joggers were tight like leggings, my package clearly outlined, but plenty long, and the shirt was way oversized, doing well to cover anything improper. At least my dick was no longer on display.
The woman smiled from behind her desk when I came back out. “There we are. Much better, I’m sure. Now, is there someone you would like to call?” She pushed a phone toward me.