Witches Also Need Self-Help

The book's cover is, to put it simply, annoying. Bright yellow, with what looks like a cartoon version of your least favorite teacher from elementary school. Necromancy For Dummies. Okay, okay. Molly knows that in this day and age, necromancy is a good career choice. It's not like there's any shortage of people who want to see their relatives again (although there's always those who want to bring back some historical figure to "kill him again.") or people who just want a tour of what it is necromancers do.

Since she's broke, in college, and has no tendencies towards useful witchcraft beyond creating gorgeous ice sculptures, she does not know what it is that necromancers do. They don't exactly give a student discount for a necromancy tour. Hence, the public library. Hence, annoying yellow book that screams "becoming an art magic major was a mistake." Molly cracks open the obnoxious book for a second and sees a list of supplies. Great. More money to spend that she does not...no, wait. She has almost everything in there. Chalk? Check. Tortured souls? Check. Basic apothecary shit? You betcha. A wand? Purchased solely for the dramatics, but yes. So, as she checks out the book, Molly thinks of a good place to practice necromancy.

Her qualifications for this are "not my dormitory" because her roommate refuses to clean. Molly doesn't want to revive the Ghost of Papers Past just because Allie doesn't know how folders work. So, the park? What could go wrong?

A lot of things. Dog bones that are actually cow bones. Nope, nowhere public. Especially in case she makes mistakes. She opens up her phone and types in "abandoned buildings near me" and finds an abandoned warehouse about two miles away from her dorms. Which means walking distance. She pumps her fist in mild celebration. Finally, something that reaffirms her decision to leave her car at home. But first, reading this book cover to cover so that she doesn't mess this up. Molly has had a personal motto since starting college, and that motto is "Don't screw it up" except "screw" is replaced with a synonym that has four letters, starts with f, rhymes with duck. You know what it is, I'm just not typing it because I want to be professional. As professional as someone writing about fictional necromancy can get.

In order to not screw it up, she heads back to her dorm and ices two of her roommate's stacks of paper out of spite because let's face it, they've talked about this and nothing can tear Allie away from her overpowering mess. Being a dorm room, her desk is wedged between the two beds and covered in papers. She sweeps them off, sits down in the swivel chair, and starts reading.

Four hours later she has forgotten that dinner exists, and has been absentmindedly drawing spell patterns in the air with her wand. This is typical of her, so when Allie knocks on the door she has food with her. “Make sure you clean up your spell patterns,” she says by way of greeting, setting down some tacos next to Molly.

“Yeah, sure, cool.” Apparently sacrifices to gods can’t be brought back unless the necromancer is a priest of that god.

Allie sits down on her bed with a huff. “I can’t believe I have two essays due tomorrow and I can’t find my notes.”

Molly turns a page. “That sucks.” Pentagrams are the best way to summon, but they take more time to prepare. But you can make a portable one.

“Did you freeze my notes? You know I’m working on an organization system,” Allie half-yells, her voice shrill enough to yank Molly out of her reading trance.

She unfreezes them with a dart of magic. “Yeah, sorry about that.” It has been months of Allie saying she will organize all her stuff. Nothing has changed. But what’s the point of complaining? She’s going to be a rich necromancer and live in a New Transylvania penthouse.

“What are you reading about anyways?” Allie asks, trying to look over her shoulder.

Molly hunches over the book. “None of your business.”

“Oh, c’mon. If it’s some weird magical art magazine I’m not going to judge you,” she says, sneaking another glance at the book.

Closing the book, Molly swivels around to look at her. “If you must know, it’s necromancy. Since, clearly, my degree is useless.”

Allie’s green skin flushes deep purple. “Necromancy? Isn’t that a little…taboo? Like, I know your family isn’t super traditional or anything, but necromancy is generally frowned upon as abusing the laws of witchcraft.”

“I know, I know.” Molly sticks her wand behind her ear. “But it pays. It pays more money that making pretty sculptures and party tricks ever will. Maybe I’ll make ice sculptures as a side job after I start necromancy.”

“You have offers to make them in every supernatural city in the country!” Allie looks at her in disbelief. “You’re the last person who needs to start shopping for a new career, alright. Me? Whether or not I have any success in making protection charms for non-witches is out of my control. You could actually go places.”

“Counterpoint: Necromancy has better aesthetics than ‘sculpture artist.’ I can revive my highschool goth phase.” Molly turns back to the book. Just because she has a few successes in what she actually wants to do doesn’t mean that she’ll have anything resembling a career.

Allie nudges the plate of tacos closer to her. “Why don’t you eat some food and then determine whether or not you’re quitting your lifelong passion?”

“I’m not quitting it, I’m just supporting it with something a little more substantial,” Molly complains, but she eats a taco anyways.

“You don’t have to. It’s good on its own.” Allie opens her phone. “Ugh, another reminder about the essay.”

“Hey, I have one of those due tonight too. Also, necromancy is actually really cool so…” Molly trails off, continuing to eat her taco.

Her roommate gives her a pointed look. “How long have you studied necromancy?”

Molly turns on her phone, and checks the time. “Um, four hours. I got a book on it from the library.”

“Maybe self-help books aren’t the best way to get the read on a field,” Allie says, “And we need to get going on our essays.”

“You’re right,” Molly says, sighing. She looks around their room. “Tacos first, though.”

“Tacos first.”