I awoke, groggy and drained of energy. The spell I had cast had taken more out of me than I’d expected and I struggled to motivate myself to throw aside the covers and rise. Becca sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through photos on her social media.

“What’re you doing?”

She turned back to look at me and then away, back to scrolling through the pictures. “These are from the party,” she said. “Abbie uploaded them last night.”

“Okay?”

“Trying to see if I can see you or anyone acting suspicious,” she said, a little exasperated. “You know, attempting to figure out who killed my best mate.”

I ignored the jab and forced myself up into a sitting position. I swept the hair out of my face and scratched at my head as I yawned.

“Why’re you so tired?”

“Healing,” I lied. “Almost done but it’s using most of my energy.”

Becca nodded absently but I was already forgotten as she went back to scrolling through the pictures. She would stop at each in turn and lean toward the screen, squinting as she scrutinized each section of the image.

Pressure on my bladder convinced me to move and leave her to it. In the bathroom, I had the still somewhat novel experience of sitting to pee. Then brushed my teeth and showered, though there was nothing to enjoy about the lukewarm, low-pressure, jet of water.

Back in Jen’s room, I rooted through her drawers until, with a sigh, I picked out a pair of pink knickers covered in what looked to be a black butterfly pattern. Then I dressed in jeans and a white vest top with only a small amount of lace around the top and sat on the bed to comb through the tangled mass of hair.

“What’s the plan for today?” I asked.

“I need to nip home and get some clothes, say hi to mum and whatnot,” Becca said, not looking away from what she was doing. “Then I figured we could go to the pub.”

“Really?”

Hopefully not the one I visited last night or that would be awkward.

“Yeah. There’s a place in town where students like to go. A bunch of those who were at the party will probably be there. Figured it would be a good way to see if anyone reacts to you.”

Sounded as good a plan as any.

“What about cash?”

“I’ll have to borrow some from, Mum.”

“We could always make some cash. I mean, we’re gonna need more soon.”

“How?” She did look over then, chewing her lip absently as her brow furrowed. “Nothing dodgy.”

“Define dodgy.”

Her frown turned to a glower and I held up my hands in mock surrender as I rolled my eyes. “Fine, fine. Nothing too dodgy.”

Becca sighed. “Okay, what are you suggesting?”

“Where do the supernaturals hang out in this city?”

She stared at me blankly and it was my turn to heave a soft sigh. “How can you have such little connection to your community? Do you know any supernaturals?”

“No. Mum doesn’t have much to do with other necros. She does her readings and occasional seances for extra cash. She’s never even mentioned others like us other than once when she was angry about a witch she’d run into.”

“But you are aware of other races?”

“I’d guessed there must be. If necromancers and witches were real, then there must be others.”

Which was an understatement really. The supernatural world had many and varied races hidden amongst the swarming mass of humanity that had spread across this world, absorbing or destroying those races that didn’t, or couldn’t hide, what they were.

“Okay, well there’s usually a place where supernaturals gather. A place where they can be themselves a little more.”

“I wouldn’t know where that would be.”

Which put paid to that idea then. I didn’t have time to try and find out where such people would gather but, on the other hand, I didn’t have a lot of time to wait around doing nothing.

“Right, well gather your stuff. I have a few ideas where we can look.”

“You do?” She bit her lower lip and looked at the screen before coming to a decision. “Okay. You want me to do your makeup again?”

“Huh?”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Jen would be wearing makeup, which means you have to.”

“If I must.”

“Might as well pay attention. I won’t be able to do it for you all the time.”

I didn’t answer but I sincerely hoped I was out of this body long before it became necessary to learn how to apply makeup correctly.

It was an irritatingly long time later that we left the house and walked a half-mile to Becca’s home. I waited outside while she went in to change and speak with her mother. The last thing I needed was an older, more experienced, necro catching sight of my spirit form possessing this body.

While I waited for Becca, I was using Jen’s phone to access the internet and search for the sorts of places that would be likely supernatural haunts in the city. It didn’t take long to find a handful of possible locations.

“Got thirty quid,” Becca said, coming out of the house. “Shouldn’t have spent so much on the dresses.”

“Will be worth the price,” I said. “We need a taxi to…” I checked the phone. “A place called the Ship Inn, over on the other side of the river. It’s the most likely place.”

She frowned as she pulled out her phone, but she used an app and ordered a taxi. It wasn't a long wait for it to arrive and we climbed in. The driver made small talk which Becca seemed to enjoy while I sat back in my seat and brooded.

The thrill of last night hadn’t entirely faded but it was overshadowed by the memory of how my body had reacted to the guy I’d charmed. I’d enjoyed the kiss and felt… aroused… by the guy. While no prude in my past life, I had been exclusively attracted to women, and I was finding it difficult to separate this body’s response and my own.

Rationally, I told myself that it was simply a hormonal response of the meat suit that I was wearing, while another part of my mind posed the question, did it matter? No one was hurt, nothing happened and I, the spirit that was riding the body, seemed happy enough to go along with things in the moment.

But, it was just another sign of how enmeshed I was becoming with the body. I needed to separate the two parts because if I didn’t, I would become trapped in this feminine form and that would make me vulnerable.

“We’re here,” Becca said, watching my face thoughtfully. I shook my head and forced a smile.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

We stepped out onto an oft-repaired stretch of pavement. Blocky brick buildings surrounded us and there were more vans parked on the street than cars. There were few signs on the buildings and most of them had chipped paint on their walls and graffiti scrawled across the metal shutters over loading bays.

The Ship Inn was a two-storey cube with whitewashed walls and black-painted door and window frames. Its sign was a simple cutout of a ship painted black with the name stencilled across its bow in white.

“You sure this is the place?” Becca asked, looking around nervously. Despite being barely noon, the streets were silent and still, with only the distant sounds of traffic on the river heard beneath the squawking of the gulls as they searched for food.

“I am.” I lifted my chin towards the symbol etched into the door frame. It was small enough to not be immediately noticeable unless you looked for it. Two wavy lines over a half-crescent moon. “For future reference, you ever need to find your community. Look for that symbol.”

“You keep saying that,” she muttered, frowning up at the symbol.

“Saying what?”

“Your community, as if it’s mine but not yours.”

“It’s not,” I replied, shrugging. “Witches are above the other races.”

I didn’t wait for a reply as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was, surprisingly, well-lit and clean. The furniture, while old-fashioned in style was well cared for and the brass work on the bar fairly shone.

The patrons, few though there were, looked around at our entrance and I shifted under their sudden scrutiny, suddenly very aware that I was no longer in the body of a well-built tall man with the full fire and fury of a coven backing me.

It was Becca who moved first, grabbing my hand as she brushed past me and almost dragging me across to the bar. The woman there smiled, though her eyes didn’t change as she looked us over.

“Can I help you girls?”

“Two vodka and cokes, please.” Becca’s smile was anything but false as she gazed innocently around the bar. “This is a nice place.”

“Not sure it’s the right place,” the woman said. “Sure you girls wouldn’t be better suited to another pub. This is for locals.”

“We’re local to the city.”

Becca seemed more than capable of holding her own but there was a shift in the air that spoke of violence to come. I looked the barwoman straight in the eye. “This place is divine and I’m sure we’ll be suited well enough to drink here.”

The barwoman’s demeanour changed immediately as narrow eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Sorry, loves,” she beamed, the natural smile lighting up her face. “Have to be careful.”

“What did I miss?” Becca asked looking at the two of us.

“She new?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m May,” she grabbed glasses and poured a generous measure of vodka into each. “You’re safe in here, girls. This is my place.”

“No violence,” I said to Becca before she could voice her question. “This is a sanctuary for all supernatural races to come in peace.”

“You mean there is normally violence between… ah… our races?”

“Some,” May shrugged. “Not so much these days.”

Behind us the other patrons had noted May’s change and settled back into their own conversations, offering little more than the occasional curious look our way but respecting our space.

Becca asked a series of questions, fascinated to learn as much as she could of the place while I settled in and took a sip of my drink. May, waved away Becca’s offer to pay telling her the first one was on her.

I gave her a quick once over. Middle-aged with hair a shade too dark to be natural that was worn short. She had tattoos on her arms, random images that likely denoted something to her but meant little to me.

Narrow of face, she had kind eyes and a warm smile for two young women that she was all too happy to chat with. Since her usual clientele was exclusively from a small community, she was likely all too happy just to see someone new.

There was no indication as to what manner of supernatural she was, but that wasn’t unusual. Some of our kind could recognise others, but not all others. A Necro could recognise a spirit, while witches could recognise other witches and a couple of the races that also drew on the same magics that we did.

Most though, I had no clue at first glance as to what they were.

“What brings you here then?” May was asking and I shook my head, coming back to full focus as I looked at the two women.

“Business,” I said. “At least hoping to find some.”

“What kind?” she asked, with polite interest.

“Witchcraft,” Becca said before I could speak. Immediately, May’s face changed, her expression going neutral.

“There’s a fellow in the city-“

“We’ve met.” I gave an exaggerated shiver. “It wasn’t fun but we aren’t enemies. I’ve no intention of poaching his clients. I’m after those who wouldn’t normally go to him for their needs.”

May studied me for a moment that seemed to stretch before she next spoke. “Not many of that sort around here but I do know someone who might have work for you.”

“You have an address?”

“Not going to ask what type of work?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” May gave a shrug of her narrow shoulders and reached beneath the bar for a pen and scrap of paper. She jotted down an address and a name and passed it over. “Try here and… well, good luck.”