by Ashlyn Chase
She had everything she needed except for one ingredient. A pinch of grave dust, from a particular person’s grave: Marie Laveau . . . the famous voodoo priestess.
In this part of New Orleans, on the edge of the French quarter, she had the impression that uncloaking in public would have been okay. The city was in full party-mode. The drunks would probably think they were seeing things. But she needed a restroom anyway. Might as well use it for all purposes.
There was a bar every fifty feet, so she ducked into one of them, hoping not to bump any of the patrons. Even her invisible body bumping into one of the weaving drunks might not have fazed them.
She made her way to the ladies room and uncloaked.
A quick look in the mirror and . . . ugh. She looked worse than most of the drunks crowding the bars. She brushed her hair until it no longer looked like straw. Then she twisted it up and pinned it to her head. There. A few tendrils fell down in front, but she couldn’t complain. She looked better, at least.
There was more to do. She smelled like road-kill. A quick bath in the sink and changing into her little black dress improved her mood. When she looked in the mirror again, other than the stress lines across her forehead, she pronounced herself ready to be seen in public.
Michele pushed her way past two whining women waiting outside the restroom door and tried to organize her priorities as she walked past the bar. No matter how much she needed that pinch of grave dust and a room for the night, she wanted a drink more. As if the Goddess agreed with her, a woman heaved her body off the stool Michele was standing next to. It took no more convincing than that. She slipped onto the warm stool and caught the bartender’s eye.
“What can I get you?” he said, with a smile.
“Sherry, please.”
The guy next to her left arm laughed. “That’s a little old ladies’ drink. C’mon. Have a real drink, on me.”
Michele looked him in the eye. “No thanks.”
The bartender winked at her. “Our sherry is 36 proof. Those little old ladies are no fools. They’re getting the biggest bang for their social security buck.”
Michele nodded and began to relax as she waited for her sherry. She sensed the guy next to her wanted to start a conversation, so she rested her left elbow on the bar and turned the other way.
Her drink arrived. “Ah, relief,” she said.
“I’ve got it,” the persistent lounge lizard said. He peeled off bills and tossed them at the bartender.
Michele sighed and pushed the bills back toward him. “Not getting the hint, huh?”
He frowned and said, “There’s no need to be rude.”
“If I took your free drink, chugged it and left you sitting here, that would be rude.”
The guy shrugged and turned to the woman on his other side.
As she reached into her purse, she heard a familiar chuckle behind her.
She whirled around.
“Vic!”
She jumped off her stool and he caught her in his arms. They squeezed each other tight.
“I didn’t expect you to be here so soon,” she whispered.
“I didn’t expect to find you here so soon,” he said as he gave her a quick, but firm kiss. “I thought I’d have to check out every bar in town.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with an impish smirk. “I wanted you to find me, so I did a little visualization spell.”
“It looks like I got here just in time,” he said with a slight nod at the failed pick-up artist beside them.
“Yes, you did.” Michele downed the rest of her sherry in one giant gulp. Vic’s eyes grew as he watched her.
She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth and said, “What?”
He shook his head. “You never stop surprising me.”
“It’s called courage. I need an escort to Rampart Street. I hear it’s in a bad section of town.”
Vic nudged his way between her and the disgruntled man beside her and leaned one elbow on the bar.
“What’s on Rampart Street?”
“A cemetery. I need to visit a grave.”
Vic narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “It seems kind of late to pay your respects.”
“I need a pinch of Marie Laveau’s grave dust.”
“And who might she be?”
“A Voodoo Queen.”
He took a step back and looked like he was about to say something, then shut his mouth and nodded. “I know better than to doubt you now.”
* * * * *
Vic stepped out of the car first, jogged around to the other side, and held out his hand for his love. Yup, she was full of surprises, all right. He scanned the cemetery, noticing it was dark and eerily quiet.
“So are you going to tell me why you need this? And why you need it now?”
“I’ll tell you why later. Right now I have to get to the grave. It’s right near this entrance.”
She pulled a small flashlight from her bag and began scanning the crypts. She seemed to know what she was looking for.
A couple of young men approached on the sidewalk, and Vic gave them the “bodyguard stare”. They hurried past the cemetery. Either they were wary of him, or of something else nearby. The whole thing was giving him the heebie-jeebies.
He turned around and spotted Michele kneeling in front of a crypt covered with red Xs. She fished something else out of her bag, and held it in front of her with both hands. With eyes closed she took a few deep breaths, then she looked up at the stars, raised what looked like a glass vial, and began to speak. “Goddess, forgive me for what I am about to do.”
Vic started toward her, but she held up her hand and shook her head. He stopped, realizing he didn’t have a clue what was going on, but he trusted her to know what she was doing.
Suddenly she cried out, “I am in circles of light that nothing may cross!” A glow seemed to surround her. She closed her eyes and stayed perfectly still for a few long moments. The back of Vic’s neck was tingling, and he glanced in every direction. The only thing he saw was a pair of headlights coming down the street. She didn’t move a muscle as the car passed by.
Just as he was beginning to wonder if she’d gone somewhere and left her body behind, she rose and opened her eyes. He hadn’t noticed the knife before but she had one in her right hand. Great. She’s carrying a concealed weapon—and her double-bladed athame, no less.
Holding the vial and the knife aloft, she cried out, “Mother, strike this blade with light.” It seemed to spark as she scooped up a tiny bit of dirt with the end of the knife and dropped it into the vial. “Goddess, if this be for the good of all, empower me to achieve what I desire. Spirit of Marie Leveau, I ask you to be with me at the crucial moment and assist me in my intention.”
The vial appeared to glow with a purple light. Michele let out a deep breath and bowed her head. “I thank and release you, helpful spirits.” She recapped the vial and placed it in her backpack. The knife was replaced in its sheath, strapped to her garter under her dress. Then she trotted back over to Vic.
“Holy shit, Michele. What was all that?”
“My last resort,” she said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
* * * * *
Vic had arrived in New Orleans first, and was already situated in a beautiful small boutique hotel right in the French Quarter. He told Michele he was lucky to get it. The popular area was usually full of tourists, and on short notice this small place was the best he could do. She hardly cared. It meant she’d be in bed and in his arms with a hot shower nearby—maybe even a bathtub.
He held her hand and ran up the steps to the front door. She couldn’t help admiring the wrought-iron railing. Michele stepped into the lobby while Vic held the door open. Opulent Louis XIV decor and bright crystal chandeliers greeted her.
“This is beautiful. It looks so decadent.”
He came up close behind her, slipped his arms around her waist and said, “It’s not as impressive as what I have waiting for you upstairs.�
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Michele couldn’t help smiling, but didn’t plan to let him off the hook easily. “I’ll go with you, but we need to talk.”
Vic released her waist and stood up straight. “I guess we should. We have a lot to talk about.”
She followed him to the elevator. While they were waiting for it to arrive, she glanced over at him and noticed how uncomfortable he looked. His brow was beading with sweat, and he stared at the numbers above the elevator door.
The doors rumbled open, and she stepped inside. Vic followed. Standing right next to her their arms touched in such close quarters.
“Michele, I want to tell you again that I love you and hope you’ll forgive me for what Alex and I arranged behind your back, but I’m not sorry.”
He had her attention. She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“That’s right. If I had been honest, and told you Alex hired me to protect you, we’d never have become any more than brief acquaintances. Isn’t that right?”
“I’d have sent you away and told you not to come back.”
“There. See? That’s why I’m not sorry.”
“You’re not sorry you got involved with a witch?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“Not even a little bit?”
He looked into her eyes for a few moments and said, “No. Not even a little bit. I accept what you are. I’ll take the good with the freaky.”
She was silent while she mulled that over. She wanted honesty . . . but if he’d told her the truth, she’d have missed out on the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced.
Unconditional romantic love. Was fate involved? It seemed so before she knew about the deception. To be honest, it still did. Maybe they could finally get to that past life regression.
The doors opened on the top floor, and Vic led her to his room. After they were inside, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with pent-up fervor.
* * * * *
Odd thoughts passed through his mind. Has she forgiven me completely? Is she going to stop any moment and slap me across the face? Should I ask what changed her mind? Maybe I’d better keep my mouth shut and enjoy it.
Michele groped at the buttons of his new Oxford shirt. She was breathing heavily, and he thought he’d better assist. Vic had opened his shirt to the waist when he heard a man clearing his throat on the other side of the room.
He whipped his head around and saw the tattooed bastard sitting in a chair by the window. Donovan. How the hell . . . ?
Michele didn’t startle or jump when she saw him. She raised herself up to her full height and reached into her bag. Pulling out a handkerchief, Vic had a glimpse of the vial concealed within it.
“Aren’t you going to say hello, darling?” Donovan sneered.
“No. I’m going to say get out.”
“That’s disappointing. Especially since I came such a long way to see you.” He rose from the chair and walked slowly toward them.
Vic had recovered enough from shock to speak. “How the hell did you find us?”
“Oh, that’s right. Where are my manners? Thank you so much for the ride. Although I can’t figure out for the life of me why you drove all the way to Miami just for lunch.”
He was speechless, again.
Michele stepped in front of him. “I’m warning you, Donovan. Leave me alone, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Why do you say that? I think I’d be more apt to regret leaving without accomplishing my objective.”
Vic started to come out from behind Michele, intending to confront this total pain in the ass. What he planned to do to him wasn’t exactly clear, but instinct told him to settle this man-to-man. That’s when Michele pushed him back and emptied the contents of the vial into Donovan’s face. He cried out and clutched his eyes.
A thunderous boom and crackle of lightning filled the room. Electricity appeared to jump out of the floor and strike Donovan. Then it ricocheted off of him and struck Michele. Both of them fell to the floor, as if dead.
Vic rushed to Michele, pulled her limp body into his arms and yelled, “No!” How could she sacrifice herself? He understood the desperation, but to do this . . .
He clutched her warm body to his chest, and then he felt a shiver pass through her. When he unfurled his arms, her eyes fluttered open.
She gazed into his face and took a few deep breaths. At last she spoke. “I’m alive and well, lover.”
He brushed the hair back from her face, and whispered, “What just happened?”
Donovan stirred and groaned. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked over at the couple with fury. He ran his hands over his neck.
The tattooed snake was gone. “Fuck! Did you just try to kill us both? You’re insane, Michele.”
“No. I didn’t, and I’m not. I simply stripped your powers.”
“Ha! And stripped your own at the same time, you stupid bitch.”
Donovan’s eyes blazed, but it was impossible to fathom what was going on behind them.
“I know,” she said. “I knew that would happen all along.”
Vic’s jaw dropped. He stared at her in wonder. She had found a way to stop him without harming either of them, but she had to pay an enormous price. How could she give up who she was and all she had put into her craft? She’d just sacrificed the power she was born with, the power she had nurtured and worked for years to achieve, the power that defined her.
“Michele . . .” Vic couldn’t think of anything to say but her name.
She stroked his arm. “You would have done the same for me, wouldn’t you?”
Vic thought it over and nodded. Of course he would have.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Donovan struggled to his feet. “I can’t watch this anymore.” He tried to leave, but before he could slam the door behind him Vic grabbed his wrist and yanked him back into the room. “I’ve waited too long to do this,” he said and smashed his fist into Donovan’s face, propelling him back against the wall. The scumbag slithered to the ground in a stupor.
Now, that’s my kind of magic,” Vic said with satisfaction. He reached out to grab Donovan by the scruff of his neck, but Michele stopped him.
“Please Vic, there’s been too much violence already,” she pleaded with him.
Vic gazed into Michele’s beautiful eyes. Even though every fiber of his being wanted to beat the shit out of Donovan, he couldn’t deny his love anything.
The coward scrambled to his feet and took off, running out the door.
Vic started to go after him, but Michele caught his hand. “No. Let him go.”
“What?” he said, incredulously.
“I mean it. Let the police go after him. He can’t escape anymore.”
He quickly grabbed his phone and dialed 911. He gave a quick description to the police and said he was wanted in Florida for murder.
Vic helped Michele stand up. “So is that it? Will he ever get his power back?”
“No. Neither will I. That means I’ll have to relocate, but this time he won’t find me.”
“You mean us. This time he won’t find us.” Vic took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. “How would you feel about a long honeymoon in Europe? If we like it, we can stay. I’ll open a new bodyguard agency with ex-soccer players, and assign them to protect the Royals.”
Her eyes widened. “Honeymoon?”
Vic took her hand and dropped down onto one knee. “Michele, I love you deeply, and I can’t face a future without you in it. Will you marry me?”
She gazed down at him and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to go to Europe.”
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded. “Yes. I believe we’re in love for the long run, but I have one condition. As long as I can be with Savern when she has her baby. I imagine Donovan will have to go to jail. I don’t think he can afford some hot-shot lawyer to get the charges dismissed—especially since I intend to testify
against him for as long as they’ll let me.
Vic grinned, tucked her head under his chin and stroked her hair. “That’s Karma for you. Don’t worry,” he said. “You can be Savern’s midwife, no matter what happens with Donovan. I’ve got your back.”
* * * * *
“Push!” Michele said. The lighting in Alex’s bedroom was low and soft music played in the background, but nothing could calm the excitement of this moment.
Savern gritted her teeth and gave it her all. At last a precious child emerged, head first into Michele’s waiting arms. She let out her first cry, letting the world know she had arrived.
“It’s a girl!” Alex announced, happily. He stared at the beautiful mocha-skinned squalling baby in Michele’s arms and whispered reverently, “Hello, princess.” Then he looked up at Savern, who reached for her daughter.
“Let me cut the cord and clean her up a bit first,” Michele said.
“Nu-uh,” Savern said, panting. “I want her. You can do all that while I’m holding her.”
Michele placed the baby in her mother’s arms, then tied off the cord and covered the little one with a warm towel while she washed her face. “What are you going to name her?”
Alex and Savern grinned at each other. At last, Savern answered. “Victoria, after Vic. Because he kept you safe—for both of us,”
Michele chuckled. “For all of us.”
“Where is he, anyway?” Alex asked. “I want to give him a cigar.”
Michele sighed. “He’s up to something. I can’t tell you what, because I don’t know. He says it’s a surprise.”
Michele’s phone rang in her satchel.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Alex asked.
“Nope. I’m busy.”
“Did you want me to get it for you? It could be Vic with your surprise.”
“Can’t stand a ringing phone, huh Alex? Sure. You can answer it.”
He grabbed her oversized bag and rummaged through it. Finally he came up with the phone and said, “Hello.”
He beamed and chuckled. “Hey, Vic. Thanks for asking. We have a beautiful new baby girl in the family.”
