Together, they say the Latin spell. The circle glows brighter than it did last time—so maybe it’s working? A rush of air takes my breath away, making me hack into the crook of my elbow. When I regain my breath and they have finished the spell, I spin around in my circle, searching wildly for Kit.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
I deflate, sinking to the ground, blood and wet earth soaking through the knees of my jeans. I cover my face with my hands, letting out a rattling exhale.Dammit.
Taylor offers quietly, “Sorry, Lacy.”
Jillian adds, “What if we have an ingredient wrong? I know the spell you found calls for sage, but rosemary could work better?”
Matthias nods. “We can try that. What do you think, Lace?”
As if in echo of the tears I want to let fall, a light sprinkle of rain starts that will soon wash away any evidence of our spell.
I drop my hands, still slumped on the ground. Quietly, I say, “Yeah. Let’s try that.”
Matthias offers me a hand to help pull me up as the rain gets heavier, soaking us and our path out of the graveyard.
kit
. . .
Fuck.I am fucking freezing. And soaking fucking wet.
thirty-eight
. . .
For the next two weeks,we try different locations and different ingredients for the spell—and every time, it fails. I have four separate cuts on my arms, and three severely pricked fingers—all now at different stages of healing. Many of the injuries itch like a bitch, and I’ve been having to wear long sleeves to avoid questions. We’re running low on amber blood and have no leads on how to find any more.
Maybe Matthias and his coven are not powerful enough. Maybe the spell is bullshit. Or perhaps…perhaps Kit’s soul is beyond repair.
Our last shot is to try closer to where he died. But flights to Sacramento are expensive and since both Matthias and I have to take off from the store, it might take a bit to coordinate that.
However, a tiny voice in my head is telling me to move on. I still have hope, but until we can do more, I don’t know what to do. I wish Kit were here, either to encourage me tokeep trying or to firmly tell me to give up. I take a glance at the furry little ball of serotonin beside me on the couch.
“What do you think?” I ask Hazel.
She, obviously, does not respond.
I can’t keep up with all this guess work. I need to talk to Kit. I get up and march out my front door, making my way to the middle of the dark parking lot outside my apartment.
“Kit?” I say aloud, crossing my arms over myself and gazing outward toward nothing specific. “Kit, I don’t know if you’re watching me, but I need to talk to you.”
He doesn’t appear.
“Please, Kit. I need you to tell me to give up. Just tell me to give up.”
Still nothing.
“Or tell me to keep trying. Or, please, come help. I know I told you to stay away, but I’m taking that back. Please, Kit. I miss you. I need your help.”
He doesn’t come.
“Fine,” I say softly. “I won’t give up yet, but when we run out of amber blood, I’m out of options. I’ll have to move on. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
On Tuesdayin the middle of my shift, I go to the backroom for a handful of Goldfish and to check my phone. Joanne doesn’t like it when we keep them with us on the floor. I have a missed call from a 212 number. That’s New York City. I wonder if… No, it’s too soon. It’s probably spam, but they left a message. I hold the phone to my ear.
“Hi, I’m calling for Lacy Gordon. This is Nickie at StephanieTate’s office. Stephanie has reviewed your submission for the…” She pauses, and I hear a muted clicking in the background. “…Paranormal Investigator Reality Show Pilot Contest and really enjoyed your video. She thinks you caught some pretty great stuff and have…” She trails off, and when she starts speaking again, it sounds like she is reading something verbatim. “…a positive and likable on-screen presence. Stephanie would like to set up a meeting in person, if you are able. We see you live in Connecticut, so it should be possible? Please give me a call back and we can set that up.” She recites the number twice, then gives a quick goodbye and hangs up.
