Page 7 of Made to Be

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 hourshad 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.

Then I did it again.

And again.

After about a dozen shocks, I set the machine down in resignation. I slowly peeled the pads off of the corpse and rubbed my unbandaged hand tiredly down my face.