When I checked the morgue after CiCi killed Jonah, he had broken out of his metal cabinet. Somehow, he’s still out there kicking. Since then I’ve been taking self-defense classes and practicing my magic. Next time that monster and I come face to face, I’ll be ready. Sometimes I miss fairy dust, but I don’t need it. Coping mechanisms and controlling my emotions, has been a big help. Learning to control my magic for the first time is probably beneficial as well.

He’ll be back next year, or maybe sooner. Zodiac is probably the only killer that just stopped killing, or Jack The Ripper. Most go back to killing, it’s in their nature. CiCi won’t be here to save me, so I’ll burn his ass into dust if he comes for me.

I finished my story, but I never sent it out to be published anywhere. Decided to publish it on the site I had the kid build for me. I realized there’s a market out there that doesn’t really have news like they should. The supernatural world still has young people that don’t read papers. I published it for everyone out there instead. I’ve decided I’m going to report on the supernatural world as if it were still a newspaper. Bring some real quality to the internet. The people who read will know what they need to know, or they’ll think it’s some really detailed online fiction. I’m fine with that, the majority of people will just think I’m really into magic and Chicago, but some people will be helped.

That’s my new thing, finding ways to help people, which is really just to help myself. I’ve been fighting internally for a long time but I think I’ve finally found a way to be at peace with myself. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, people felt inspired by my story in Narcotics Anonymous. I’ve been studying, I plan to start my own group, maybe not like NA. Something similar, something with less praying for help and more helping yourself, or getting help for others.

I make my way into the kitchen and fill a bowl of ice cream. I haven’t had a good binge in a while. I head over to the cabinet, to grab some iced oatmeal cookies. There aren’t any, I always keep some. Who could have taken my cookies? Tituba. I can hear her laughing now, I told her where the cookies were when she was here. That old lady owes me some cookies.