Page 6 of Made to Be

“You know, this guy is pretty damn lucky. He’s going to get a second chance at life with you.”

I rolled my eyes affectionately, “Don’t go all mushy on me. It doesn’t fit the bad-ass-bitch vibes you have going on.”

She flicked my forehead and I winced at the sting. Then she gave me a beaming smile.

“Good luck, you crazy bastard.”

I threw my hand out the window and flipped her off with a grin as I pulled out of the empty parking lot.I drove particularly carefully as I made my way home, stopping for a few bags of ice along the way. Afterall, I had precious cargoin my trunk.

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 waslistening 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&M-like stones in after it. The label on the jar literally said “Charms to Charm” and I had purchased them quite some time ago. I hoped they hadn’t expired. That was if they actually worked in the first place.

I’d gotten them from The Whimsy Willow, the local new age shop that sold the cliché magic stuff like love potions and healing crystals and incense that could make you hyper-focused. That incense got me throughthe bulk of Divinations and Ancient Runes my senior year. The shop even marketed sex stuff like a tonic to give you basically no refractory period. I had never personally tried it; 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. Icouldhave 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 wasnota pervert. Perhaps a little mad, but definitely not a perv. I didnotget 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.