by Ashlyn Chase
Carmen set the towels on the weight bench and sat next to him. “I’m sorry. I thought she was real good for you.”
Vic leaned back on his hands and let out a long sigh. “Sometimes . . .” He wanted to say something profound but forgot what it was. Images of their lovemaking ran through his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“I’m staying in the guest room tonight.”
“No, Carmen. You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
“I’m staying,” she said firmly. She stood, picked up the towels, and prepared to leave the room. When she reached the door she turned around. “It’s okay to cry, you know. Even for a big football hero like you.”
Vic waited for her to leave. When she did, he mulled over what she’d said. She was right of course. About everything. But he wasn’t going to cry. He was going to think of a way to get his love back. He had let them both down, and he’d find a way to make her understand. There was no more denying it. He was in love and no matter what happened, she deserved to know.
* * * * *
The following day Vic received a pep talk from Carmen over breakfast. In the car, he was practicing what he would say when he arrived at the shop. “Michele, I’m an idiot for not realizing this sooner. I’m in love with you.” Something about it didn’t sound right. Too self-deprecating. Maybe, “I won’t let you go. I can’t live without you.” Too desperate.
Keep it simple. “I love you, Michele. I don’t care if you’re a witch.” Vic shook his head in frustration. He drove into the back parking lot and still didn’t know how to approach her.
Maybe he’d never find the right words, but he couldn’t wait for them, either. She was in danger alone. And if anything happened to her . . .
As he exited and locked his car, a noise from inside the shop startled him. It must have been fairly loud to carry that far. He rushed to the back door. To his relief it was unlocked, and he burst in. He didn’t see anyone, but heard another loud crash coming from the front of the store.
By the time he got to the end of the hall, he could see what had fallen: the pricey goddess statue, but no one was around to make it fall. There was no one anywhere. Suddenly a small iron cauldron came hurtling toward him, of its own accord.
“Vic, get out!”
Michele’s voice—but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Michele, I don’t know where you are, but I’m so sorry. I love you. We have . . .” Vic had to stop talking and duck. A glass spell jar flew at him and shattered over his head.
Michele’s disembodied voice called out. “Vic, that’s not me. It’s Donovan. Get the hell out of here!”
A large herb jar levitated near him. “This is me.” She returned fire. It flew across the room and crashed against the bookshelves, spilling its dried green leaves everywhere.
“Michele?”
There was no audible answer, but he felt a hand push him, hard, toward the back door.
“I’m not leaving you. I’d rather die than let him hurt you.”
Donovan’s eerie laugh echoed from the other side the room. “That can be arranged.”
Vic grabbed a long staff and pushed his way past the body he guessed was Michele, making long sweeps as if swinging a baseball bat. “I’ll find you, you son of a bitch!”
A crystal candlestick flew at his head and he leaned left just in time to avoid contact. Oddly, his neck should have hurt with a move like that, but it didn’t. There was no time to wonder why. He swept away at the room in random directions until he hit something. Another herb jar flew from behind him to smash against the empty space his staff had hit. A groan. A deep, male groan. It had to be Donovan.
Vic turned the staff and attempted to use it as a sword. An eerie cackle followed and something grabbed his staff. Vic held on for dear life.
“Vic. I’m getting out of here,” Michele yelled. “Follow me!” The back door opened wide and stayed that way. Vic gave the staff one good shove and heard a thud. He charged down the hall and out the back door.
Feeling like all nine guys of the opposing team were on his heels, he jumped in his car, revved the engine and looked up and down the side street. A blond wearing all black rounded the corner toward the front of the store.
Vic squealed the tires on both of the turns he had to make in order to overtake the woman. He leaned over to open his passenger’s side door when she disappeared from view. With the door opened he could see she had fallen. No, it was worse. She was face down on the sidewalk, bleeding from a knife stuck in her back. She made no sound and didn’t move.
* * * * *
Michele had seen Vic roar off in the opposite direction. She didn’t want to “uncloak” and give Donovan the advantage, but she wanted Vic to get out of harm’s way. She ran and hoped she could catch up to him when he stopped. By the time she had rounded the corner, his car was abandoned, and he was bending over a bloody body on the sidewalk.
The blood seeped from a wound in her back, right where her heart would be. A large double-edged athame was sticking out of the sizable wound. Michele recognized the ceremonial knife. It was Donovan’s. Vic was taking the woman’s pulse, and he was shaking.
“Oh, Michele. My Goddess. I should have let you run. At least you’d be alive now.”
He pulled in a ragged breath.
Michele glanced around. She spotted Donovan running away as fast as he could. She knew it was him. He had tried to kill her, and obviously, he thought he had succeeded. No one could stay cloaked with that kind of interruption in concentration.
Vic saw him too. He drew his weapon and fired two shots at Donovan’s retreating figure. The bullets fell out of his gun and landed on the sidewalk in front of him.
Donovan must have caught sight of Vic’s dumbfounded expression. He laughed as he rounded the corner and disappeared.
Vic took off after him, but soon returned. Donovan had probably found another way to vanish.
Kneeling beside the woman’s lifeless body, he whispered. “It was my own fault. My selfishness. I didn’t want to lose you, and now the world has lost you.” He tucked his gun into his waistband and took out his cell phone. He dialed 911 and covered his eyes with his hands as if he was trying to push back tears.
He identified himself and gave a short, halting description to the dispatcher . . .
* * * * *
He’d find out later that he’d made a mistake. Some poor woman had paid the ultimate price, simply by looking like her from the back. Now, she really had to run. But what about Vic? Something made her hesitate.
As soon as he hung up, he put away the phone and spoke either to himself or to her spirit. “Why did this have to happen?” He touched the golden hair in a gentle gesture. “I wish I had said I love you. I wasn’t able to see it at first, and then when I did . . .”
His shoulders shook, and she stepped closer.
“Vic. I’m here.”
He stopped and sat up straight but was still facing the body. “You can hear me? Then it’s not too late.” He felt for a pulse again. After finding none he stepped back. “If you really can hear me . . . I love you, Michele. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. I wish I had told you . . . before . . .” His voice was cracking.
Michele’s heart turned to mush. There was no doubt that what she had felt—not only for him, but from him—was real. “Vic. That’s not me. I’m standing behind you. I’m alive. I’m just invisible.”
He whirled around and reached out tentatively. She slipped her hand in his and whispered in his ear. “It’s best if Donovan thinks he’s killed me. I have to use plan F right away. Stay here and give a description of him to the police.”
Vic choked back tears. “I’ll find you. I’ll follow as soon as I can, and I’ll find you.”
“No,” she said. “He’ll be watching. Wait a while, and cover your tracks.”
She kissed his cheek and was gone.
* * * * *
Michele rode in invisible silence in Alex’s car. She had to take
a damn bus to New Orleans. She might be able to become invisible, but a car couldn’t, so even though Savern offered hers, she had to refuse. Donovan knew what it looked like and to whom it was registered.
Alex gave her enough money to keep her off the streets, and this time she took it, gratefully. Michele had always felt there was something to live for. Now there was so much.
“I don’t mind telling you, Michele, this is a little weird for me.”
“What? Giving your invisible stepdaughter a ride to the bus station?”
Alex chuckled. “Yeah, that and other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like magic. I can’t get over the fact that magic is real. Can Savern do this stuff?”
“Some of it. She wasn’t forced to develop her craft as fast as I was.”
“So, you’re saying that in a few years she might be flying around on a broomstick?”
“Alex . . .”
He snickered out loud. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Well you might want to stop laughing to yourself. You’ll look like a crazy person.”
He coughed and his expression became serious.
“So, are you going to tell me where you’re going?”
“It’s better if I don’t. Vic knows. He’ll find me when it’s safe.”
“So, does this mean Vic is forgiven?”
She hesitated before answering that, but decided to be honest. “Probably. We need to talk, though.”
Alex nodded. The car slowed. “We’re almost there,” he said. “We’re close enough to the bus so you can walk. I’m going into the store across the street. Can you stay invisible all the way to your destination?”
“Probably not. It takes a lot of sustained concentration. I’ll get out of town first, and when I get tired, I’ll let myself be seen in another city where no one knows me.”
She couldn’t keep her invisibility up all the way to New Orleans, but she could get on the bus secretly, take it to Jacksonville. Buy a ticket. Take a bus to a larger city. Maybe Atlanta. Cloak herself again, and ride to her real destination. She had to assume Donovan would be watching as soon as he discovered the victim he killed wasn’t Michele. She didn’t know when that would be. Maybe he realized it immediately.
“This invisible hitch-hiking thing is handy. If Donovan’s watching, it looks like I went out on an errand alone. I wish I could hug you, though.”
Michele would have loved to give him a hug, but that would be a dead giveaway.
Alex drove into a space near the station and parked. “After this,” Alex said, “I’ll go to The Enchanted Broom and change the sign that says, “Back in five minutes,” to read, “Back in five weeks.”
Michele snorted. “Whatever works for Savern.”
“When she’s on her feet again, she’ll hire a suitable temporary replacement for you, and reopen. You’ll be back.”
“I’m sorry I won’t be here for Savern.”
“I’ll help her with the baby and expenses. Don’t worry.”
“That’s sweet of you, Alex.”
Alex smiled in her direction. “I have an ulterior motive.”
“Well, I’d better go before you’re seen talking to yourself.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll come around to your side and open the glove compartment or something, so you can get out.”
“No, don’t. That would look odd. Just leave your door open and tie your sneakers or something. I’ll slide over.”
“How will I know when you’re out?”
“I’ll whisper goodbye.”
She had to ignore the tears in his eyes and suppress the lump in her throat, so she could remain focused. She slid across, let herself out, touched his cheek and whispered, “I love you, Alex. Keep the faith. I’ll see you later.”
She walked straight to the bus station and didn’t look back for fear of losing her concentration. She found a bus going to Jacksonville. Perfect. It wasn’t crowded, and when they announced last boarding, she jumped on and found an empty seat. Now if someone doesn’t try to sit in my lap, I can do this.
She passed an uneventful, yet tense, two hours enroute to Jacksonville. The scenery was cloudy, but that’s how things looked from invisible, misty eyes. In the Jacksonville bus station bathroom, she uncloaked and bought a ticket for a bus traveling to Atlanta.
From there she could travel invisibly to New Orleans. The last anyone would see of her would be in Atlanta, and looking for her there ought to keep Donovan busy for a while.
Or maybe he’d assume she was traveling back up north. Maybe he’d chase her up the eastern seaboard and would eventually find himself in Canada.
Her plan was working well until she let her mind wander. On the bus to New Orleans, she thought of Vic’s reaction to the dead woman thinking it was her. Those tears of his were real and he could hardly speak. It sure looked like love. He had said the words, “I love you, Michele.”
She was startled back to the present moment when she heard a gasp behind her. Oh no. She quickly forced her mind to concentrate on the desire to stay hidden. Michele saw the woman rummaging through her pocketbook. That gave her just enough time to refocus, get to her feet, and find another empty spot in the back of the bus.
The woman slipped on her glasses and looked all around. Eventually, she put her hand to her forehead, and slumped in her seat.
Michele had to discipline her mind to stay in trance, but with something else vying for her subconscious attention, it would be difficult.
* * * * *
Vic, meanwhile, decided to play the part of a brokenhearted lover. All he had to do was remember how he felt, only yesterday. What if she’d really died? What would he do? How would he act? He’d probably immerse himself in his work and go to Miami to visit his guards, maybe see some old friends, grieve for a while, and then try to put it all behind him.
He called Alex to let him know he was aware that she was alive, and that he would find her. Alex seemed glad to hear it and was relieved that he had called. Vic didn’t want to put him in an awkward position, so he didn’t tell him any more than that.
He told Carmen he was going to Miami for a couple of weeks, and she could take a paid vacation. Vic saw her try to hide her excitement about the sudden reprieve, probably still thinking that he was suffering. She agreed that visiting old friends would be good for him, and said she’d be praying for him. Then she helped him pack.
The last thing he did before he left for Miami was to find the protection amulet he had thrown against his gym wall. Not only did he find it, but when he put it on, it glimmered like the hope in his heart. Or, was it only his imagination?
Vic’s last thought before he tossed his suitcase in the trunk and drove off would have been of Michele, but fear of Donovan crowded it out. How could he be sure he wasn’t being followed? Michele had said he couldn’t fly, or turn a car invisible. Okay, all he had to do was check his rear view mirror every few minutes to be sure there were no suspicious vehicles behind him.
He could take a circuitous route. If the same car followed him while he switched back, circled the block, and stopped at some drive-through restaurant for coffee, that would be a pretty good tip-off.
Vic didn’t pick up Route 95 until he was in Melbourne. Most of the way, he was spacing out. What did Michele mean by, a while? A couple of days? A week? Months?
He couldn’t wait months. He had replayed their last conversation in his head dozens of times. Had he really talked to her? He had heard her disembodied voice coming from behind his ear. Was it simply wishful thinking? Whatever it was, a few days in Miami would do him a world of good. It had been too long since he had checked in with some of his bodyguards and ex-teammates.
After that, he was going straight to New Orleans. If he had to, he’d look under every rock in the city to find her. Hearing her voice on the sidewalk had not been his imagination.
He had felt her presence, smelled her musky scent. He could even swear he sensed her mixed emotions. Fear, urg
ency, yet something soft and giving was there too. Something pure Michele. Maybe it was her spirit or soul.
He was sure she would forgive him. It was in her nature. She and Alex were okay. Of course, Vic had to explain something more unethical than Alex did. More than just worrying and wanting what was best for her. His behavior would have been unconscionable if he had used her body to keep his job. When had he fallen in love with her? It seemed as if he had loved her for as long as he could remember. And maybe longer if past lives were an actual thing.
Now to convince her of that.
The more he pondered their situation, the more he wracked his brain to find a solution. The stalker problem had to be taken care of once and for all. Donovan Grant had to be out of the picture, for good! Vic’s fighting spirit rose to the surface and his brain burned with violent images.
He might not know how to defeat a black magician, but Michele did. She must know something about fighting dirty, damn it! All he had to do was convince her to use that knowledge.
Why hadn’t she done it already? It was hard to fathom that she could deal with this crap and wouldn’t. He had to get her to consider some sort of permanent solution she’d find abhorrent. Worse than being stalked.
Vic didn’t need to go to Miami, especially not for a week or two. He wanted to go straight to New Orleans. If she needed him, he had to be there. He glanced at the signs on the highway and familiar landmarks. Christ, he was almost to Miami. Fine. He’d have lunch at his old hangout, give his friends a last goodbye, then turn around and get his ass to New Orleans. He had a contingency plan of his own.
Chapter 15
Michele finally arrived in New Orleans late at night on the second day. She’d spent the night in a cheap motel, hoping the mattress didn’t have bed bugs—or worse. Since she couldn’t bring extra luggage, there was only one fresh change of clothes in the black bag she was able to cloak with the rest of her. She managed to cram her slinky little black dress in too, fitting around the supplies she’d grabbed from the store.
