Resurrection of the Beloved by Jillian Law

Resurrection of the Beloved by Jillian Law

I read the recipe again, making sure I didn’t get any detail wrong. One misread direction, one wrongly added clove of garlic, and he would come back wrong.

Most of the pages in my grandmother’s spellbook showed their age. Usually, the handwriting was worn, the page stained with the scent of sage or garlic. But not this page.

Resurrection of the Beloved, it said at the top.

The page was spotless, crisp like it had never been turned. This spell had never been touched. Not by my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother… Not even my reckless little sister would dare to attempt such a spell.

 But I had to. I had to have him back. I missed Charlie. I missed his crooked grin, the way his dimple deepened when he was especially happy. I missed how he held my hand throughout every superhero movie, knowing how anxious I got during fight scenes. I missed doing crosswords in bed with him, my answers in pencil and his in pen.

“If you’re going to do a crossword, you might as well be confident about it,” he would reply when I teased him.

God, I missed him. I missed the solid weight of him, of his love anchoring me to this earth. I tried living without him for exactly 100 days, and I was tired of it.

My mom said that my heart would heal. It didn’t. My sister tried to set me up on dates. I skipped all of them, preferring instead to stay home and listen to the CD Charlie gave me on our first date. My grandmother put little sacks of lavender and passionflower under my pillow. I still couldn’t sleep.

So now, here I was, sitting on the cold, damp grass in front of Charlie’s grave, a spellbook open on my lap, ingredients surrounding me. Necromancy was largely frowned upon by witches and expressly forbidden by my mom and grandmother. They said it was unnatural. They said it wasn’t our job to mess with Nature’s will.

Fuck Nature’s will. Was it in Nature’s will that Charlie die because some idiotic high schooler was drunk behind the wheel and didn’t yield when he crossed the street? Was it Nature’s will that I had to go and identify my boyfriend’s mangled body, that I had to plan a funeral and bury him and pretend like I didn’t want to be dead too?

I was done with Nature’s will. The only will I cared about anymore was mine.

I glanced at my phone. It was finally midnight. I had to start the spell for it to have full potency.

First, I added one bundle of sage. “To heal his wounds,” I whispered. The sage would mend the fracture in his skull, the brokenness of his bones, and the bruises on his neck.

Then came two springs of rosemary. “To cleanse his mind and soul.” To come back from the other side would have consequences. I didn’t want him to carry the Underworld back with him.

Next, I added three sticks of sandalwood. “To protect him from evil.” This would prevent other spirits from clinging to his soul as he came back from the dead.

The fourth ingredient? I threw in that mixed CD from our first date. “An item to anchor him to this world.”

I hesitated at the last ingredient. So far, I hadn’t done anything I couldn’t be forgiven for by my family. All these items together couldn’t complete the spell. I could call it off, go home, and maybe my heart would heal with time. Maybe I’d go on one of those dates my sister set up. Maybe I’d go back to school…

I almost gave up right then and there, but then I glanced at his tombstone.

Charlie Gallagher, October 4, 1997- July 22, 2019

Beloved by All

Every time I saw those dates, my heart broke all over again. He didn’t get enough time, not nearly enough. He didn’t get to finish Infinite Jest or take me on that vacation to the coast. He didn’t get enough time. We didn’t get enough time.

Resolved, I took out my pocket knife and sliced my palm, allowing three drops of blood to drip into the cauldron. “Blood of the lover, willing given.” If my love was going to raise him from the dead, it needed to be physically included in the spell.

I threw in a teaspoon of mint to seal the spell, and then I waited. I counted the minutes in my head.

One… two… three… four… five… six…

The ground beneath me started to shake. I smiled. It was working.

Seven… eight… nine… ten…

I grabbed my shovel and started to dig. It would do no good for Charlie to claw his way out of the grave.

Eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…

Finally, I hit his coffin. I jumped into the deep hole. I needed to get him out of there. Now!

Sixteen…

My hands shook as I undid the locks and clasps of the coffin. God, please come back to me. Please come back to me right.

Seventeen…

The moment I opened it, he sat up. He was wearing his favorite t-shirt, the one with the Batman logo, his oldest jeans, and Doc Martens. I had insisted that he be buried like he was. I didn’t want to look in my Charlie’s coffin and see a stranger.

“Maria,” he croaked. His throat sounded like it was stuffed with sandpaper.

I couldn’t help it. I started to cry. He was back. He came back to me. It worked. I threw myself at him with all my weight.

He held me like he always held me, and I knew. I had brought him back. It was really him, not a demon wearing his face. Not the ugly spirit the books warned about. Just my Charlie.

“Maria, what happened?” he asked, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist. “The last thing I remember was…”

“Being hit by a car,” I finished. “You were. You died, and I brought you back.”

“Babe…” he warned, giving me that Look, that look that said I was being stupid and reckless. He knew how my family would feel about me using such magic. He wouldn’t have ever wanted me to do this if it meant losing them.

“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t care, Charlie. I had to live without you, okay? For a hundred days, I lived without you and your stupid smile and your laugh and your terrible method of doing crosswords. I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to live without you.”

I started crying again, overcome with all my emotions, and he kissed my head. “It’s okay… we’re okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. You brought me back.” He hesitated. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” I said. “I love you.”

He smiled, that dimple at play yet again. “I love you too.” He looked around. “Babe, don’t you think we’re in a… grave situation right now?”

I groaned, but he just laughed and kissed me. I reveled in it, in this, in having him back with me.

And yes, we would have to leave his grave, and yes, I would have to explain his resurrection to my mother and grandmother, but that was all in the future. Who’s worried about details when you’ve just resurrected your boyfriend? Certainly not me.