Out of the Broomcloset

by Ashlyn Chase

  Bloody Hell. He didn’t know who this Marie Leveau or Donovan were, but neither of them could compete with his power. He was sure of it. Who else would be powerful enough to trap themselves in a chalice because of his love for gold? Oh. Or stupid enough.

  “Take another sip,” Hanna said.

  “Make it a big gulp,” Fayleen corrected.

  Michele nodded, doubtfully. At last she tipped up the cup and he poured all the power he could into her.

  She flew backward and landed on the floor.

  “Shit,” Fayleen said. “You must be right. Whoever is in there just knocked you on your ass!”

  Hanna hurried over and helped her up. Fortunately Michele was still holding the grail, so the alchemist called out to her.

  “Yes! You are right! I am here—trapped. I need your help to get out!”

  Michele’s hand began shaking. “I—I heard a voice.”

  “It is I! The alchemist! Please help me!”

  Hanna tipped her head. “What is the voice saying?”

  “He said he’s an alchemist, and he’s trapped. He’s calling for help.”

  The other two supernatural witches stared at each other.

  If only the fey would try to do something magical. She would know she has power again.

  Fayleen slapped herself upside the head. “Duh! The alchemist has been in there all this time and none of us knew?”

  Hanna worried her lip. “Apparently so. But it took Michele to hear him.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Fayleen asked.

  “If all three of us hold hands and circle the grail, perhaps we can free him,” Hanna said.

  “I—I think we should include the grail as the fourth side of a quadrant,” Michele said.

  “Yes. Yes, that might work. Try. Oh, please try!”

  “He said that might work.”

  The alchemist had more hope than he’d had in centuries. These witches at least knew he was in there and one of them could communicate with him.

  “Hanna, which way is east?” Michele asked.

  Hanna pointed toward the windows. “I know Hanna is an earth sign and I’m a water sign. Is it too much to hope that you’re either Fire or Air, Fayleen?”

  Fayleen chuckled. “I’m an air head. I mean—an air sign.”

  Michele smiled. “Okay. Fayleen, you need to be in the east quadrant. I’ll take west. Hanna’s earth quadrant is the north, and that means the grail . . .”

  “Goes in the south—for fire,” Fayleen supplied.

  “Perfect. It was undoubtedly forged in fire. Fayleen, hold one handle of the cup and I’ll hold the other.”

  Hanna nodded. “With two supernatural witches—possibly three depending on whether or not Michele received her powers, we should be able to do this.”

  “I’d say Michele is the most powerful one here,” Fayleen said. “After all, she can hear him. I can’t. Can you, Hanna?”

  “No.” Hanna smiled. “Michele—it’s time you became a high priestess anyway. You should lead us in the ritual.”

  “I have none of my tools with me. As you know, we’re not supposed to let anyone else use our sacred wand or athame, so I can’t borrow yours. Should we go back to Florida so I can get them?”

  Hanna chuckled. “You don’t need any of those things if you’ve received your supernatural powers.”

  “So, when you use them in coven rituals . . .”

  “It’s all for show, darlin’,” Fayleen answered. “C’mon, witches. Let’s do this thing!”

  Michele hesitated. “What do we do? I’m kind of lost here.”

  Hanna squeezed Michele’s hand. “I don’t think we need to hold a full ritual. Let’s just cast a quick protection spell.”

  Michele and Fayleen agreed.

  Hanna tipped her face up, closed her eyes and said in a booming voice, “We stand in circles of light that nothing evil may cross.”

  A swirl of blue light encircled the trio—and the grail.

  Hanna then nodded toward the grail. “Michele, would you like to do the honors?”

  “What honors? I don’t know what to do?”

  Fayleen rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Goddess’s sake. How about this for a spell . . . Come out, come out, whoever you are!”

  Michele giggled. “Okaaaay…”

  All three witches chanted together. “Come out, come out, whoever you are . . . Come out, come out, whoever you are . . . come out, come out, whoever you are . . .”

  The alchemist popped out of his prison and teetered on unsteady feet. Fortunately the witches had a hold on his arms and they gripped him tight until he had a chance to steady himself. He took a deep breath, sagged, and let out a long sigh. “Ahhh . . .”

  All three witches stared at him, dumbfounded, as if they were shocked by his appearance, even after figuring out he was in there. Then he glanced down and realized he was naked.

  “Oh, that’s right.” He grinned sheepishly. “I had a brainstorm in the middle of the night and didn’t bother to get dressed as I rushed to the leaded goblet.”

  Hanna said,” “I’ll go get him a robe.”

  Fayleen and Michele held his arms and helped him stand as Hanna took off.

  Fayleen recovered first. “So, you were trying to turn lead into gold and accidentally got trapped in your own spell?”

  “Exactly right, madam.”

  Fayleen let go of his arm and jammed a hand on her hip. “I’m no Madam.”

  Michele smiled. “I imagine the only way you had to learn about modern times was to observe and listen when you were taken out of hiding.” She aimed her gaze at Fayleen. “He has a lot to catch up on.” She focused on the dark haired, rail thin alchemist again. “What is your name, good sir?”

  “Avicis Montalis Sancti Donati Venicio Bonaventura.”

  “Wow. All that,” Fayleen breathed. “Got a nickname?”

  Hanna hurried back and draped a light blue bathrobe around him.

  “Thank you, Hanna,” he said. “And thank you, Fayleen and especially you, Michele.”

  “You know my name?” Michele asked.

  “How could I forget it? When you were small and the adults caught you touching me, they both yelled, ‘Michele!’ loud enough to wake the dead.”

  Hanna chuckled. “So we need a shorter name for you. Our society considers short names a sign of affection.”

  “Ah, yes. The nickname Fayleen mentioned.” He tipped his head and thought about it. “Call me Monty,” he said.

  The three witches grinned at each other. Michele tied the robe shut. “There. Monty is all covered up.”

  * * * * *

  “So, we’re finally doing this?” Vic asked as he lay down on the bedroom floor.

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind . . .” Michele said.

  “Nope. Go ahead. You’ve prepared me for whatever we might encounter during a past life regression, and I trust you completely.”

  She smiled at him. “Good. Okay, I’m going to lie next to you, without touching you.”

  He snorted. “Are you sure you can?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. Now, close your eyes . . .

  “Yup. That’s how seduction always starts.”

  She giggled. “Cut it out. I’m being serious.”

  Vic cleared his throat. “Okay. No more fooling around. Well, not until this is over.”

  Michele just mumbled, “Incorrigible.”

  “All right. All right. I’m closing my eyes. What’s next?”

  “Tense and relax your body. Start with your feet.”

  “You want me to tense my feet?”

  “Vic . . .” she complained.

  “Sorry. I really didn’t know what you meant.”

  “Curl your toes and pull back your ankles. Just clench whatever muscles are in the area I mention and hold it for a few seconds. Then let go and relax.”

  “Okay.” This time he did as he was told. Apparently she was watching, because she said, ‘Very Good.’

  “No
w tighten your calf muscles, hold it for a few seconds and then let go.”

  He did that too. By the time she guided him up to his shoulders and neck, he noticed it didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe because a weight named Donovan had been lifted off of them.

  As soon as he had relaxed from head to toe, she began to speak in a low, hypnotic voice.

  “Your body is safely here, but your consciousness is floating, up, up, and up . . . through the ceiling.”

  He was too relaxed to care about how real or not any of this was. He’d just go with it and see what happened. He trusted Michele.

  She had him rising through the rooftop and gliding above the neighboring houses. There were seemingly no restrictions to where the consciousness could go.

  Now his consciousness was following her voice backward . . . back and back. All he could see was white light and all he could hear was her voice. Then she had him floating to a place and time on the earth where his soul had once lived.

  She told him to look at his feet and tell her what his footwear looked like. He was surprised to see himself wearing cowboy boots. He described them in detail, including the dried mud on them. She asked what he was standing on, and he saw dirty, unfinished floorboards under his feet.

  Then she told him to look upward and describe his surroundings. He saw a piano, a bar and a few patrons sitting at small tables. They appeared to be playing cards. He described everything to her.

  She asked if he recognized any of the other people in the scenario. He looked at the faces and didn’t immediately recognize anyone. “No,” he answered honestly. Then he caught sight of a beauty descending the stairs. She had dark hair and eyes, but somehow he knew her.

  “Wait. A woman in a red dress is coming downstairs. She’s smiling at me. Her eyes . . .”

  “Yes?” Michele said. “What about her eyes?”

  “I think she’s you,” he said.

  “That could be true. I’m going to let you explore this place a little further on your own. I’ll stay quiet and will guide you back in a little while.”

  Vic let Michele fade into the background and watched as the woman in red approached him. She rested her hands on his chest and slowly, seductively, ran them up and around his neck. He bent down and kissed her. He’d recognize that kiss and natural musky scent anywhere. He was with another Michele.

  When their lips parted she said, “Howdy,” and chuckled as if that were a joke. He smiled and noticed how thin she was. She felt warm in his arms and seemed healthy enough. Enough for what?

  She took his hand and led him to the stairs. He went quite willingly. He felt as if he had done this before. Maybe several times.

  “Are you ready for the showdown later today?” she asked as she pulled him into one of the rooms.

  What showdown? A panicky feeling invaded his gut. He grunted.

  She didn’t seem to notice his non-answer. She simply began to unbutton his shirt. He allowed it, not really knowing what else to do. It was as if he were a stranger, watching something that was really happening. Emotions flitted through him. Strange emotions. He was reacting to something from that time, but he didn’t know what.

  She removed his gun belt. Where had that come from? He hadn’t even realized he was wearing one.

  Fear. He could almost taste the fear. He was not afraid of this moment. It was something else. It was as if he were anticipating something bad happening later on. When and what he didn’t know. Everything except the fear was vague. The fear was very real.

  Just as he was sitting down to remove his boots, Michele—Vic’s Michele—spoke.

  “It’s time to leave now. Know you can come back here at a later time if you’d like to, but for now, just let your consciousness rise up out of your body as it did before. Up, up, and up through the ceiling. Relax and know that your body is still safely here with me in the present. Would you like to go back to another life now?”

  He was torn. He was glad to be out of the Old West, because the time period and emotions were about as much as he could identify. Both of those made him cautious. But they also made him curious.

  “Why not?” he murmured aloud. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  She talked to him in the same way as before. Directing his consciousness back. Assuring him that nothing would happen in that lifetime that would hurt him. Insight was all they were looking for.

  He found himself reclining on a bed. When he was told to describe his clothing, he saw a white shirt with lace sleeves. Oh, no. Am I a woman in this life? Further exploration revealed it was simply the fashion of the times. Edwardian times, it would seem. He must have worn a wedding ring recently. There was a pale band on his skin where a ring would have been.

  When Michele gave him the period of quiet to let the moment play out, a beautiful woman sashayed into his view. He recognized the soul, but not the face. This time Michele had red upswept hair and was removing a blue dress. She grinned and teased him by exposing one shoulder, then the other one, before letting the dress drop to the floor.

  He propped his head on his arm and watched her reveal more and more skin as she peeled off all the layers that women wore back then. Eventually, she stood before him naked and grinning.

  “Darling . . .” he said as he held out his arms to her. She joined him in the bed and kissed him. Again, he recognized her scent and taste more than her looks. He pulled out pin after pin from her hair until the red tresses tumbled down.

  Unfortunately their lovemaking was cut short by a loud knock on the door.

  “‘Tis time!”

  He groaned and dragged himself out of bed. Michele hunkered down while he threw open the door, still naked.

  Two men stood there holding what looked like the top and bottom half of a suit of armor. Oh, hell no!

  Apparently this was long before Edwardian times.

  “Did ye forget the joust?” one of the men said.

  Joust? Suddenly fear and bravery both invaded his gut and his skin prickled.

  Michele’s voice—present day Michele—interrupted, to bring him back.

  “Do you want to stay longer?” she asked.

  In some ways he did. How cool would watching a joust be? Although he wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of it. Did he want to see one of those giant pointy telephone poles coming at him?

  Not really.

  He followed Michele’s instructions and returned gently to the present time and place. His eyes fluttered open, and he awakened refreshed and clear—just as she said he would.

  “That was incredible. Who knew something like that would even be possible?”

  She chuckled. “I did. What did you see?”

  He described in detail each lifetime he had witnessed. Oddly enough, she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Well, not really. It’s just that in these trips to the past, you usually arrive a little while before your death. I’d say we could probably draw a couple of conclusions from these experiences.”

  Vic reflected a moment. “So, it sounds as if I died in a shootout at high noon. And before that, I must have died in a joust.”

  She grimaced. “Ouch.”

  He smiled and smoothed her hair before leaning in and capturing her lips in a tender kiss, trying to reassure her that he was alive and well in the present. When she pulled away she was still frowning.

  “What?” he asked.

  “There’s a pattern here. It sounds like you died in a one-on-one battle.”

  “Yeah. Mano-a-mano. But that was in the past.”

  She chewed her lip. “Please don’t allow yourself to be in the same place as Donovan.”

  “Huh? You think that he might . . .”

  Her gaze intensified. “Yes. Promise me.”

  “Why?” He caressed her cheek. “He’s in custody. Are you afraid he could escape?”

  “It’s possible. Or there are other possibilities if the cycle hasn’t been broken. Please, Vic. Break the cycle in this lifetime.”

  Is
she serious? The expression on her face said she was dead serious.

  He took her hand. “I’m sure we’ll have to be in a courtroom with him, but he isn’t likely to try anything in front of dozens of witnesses.”

  “I don’t know, Vic. He’s not right in the head. We both know that. Just please promise me that you won’t go see him—even when he’s in custody.”

  Was there something to this past life regression stuff? She’d said they were looking for insight. If that’s what he’d been shown, maybe she was right and he should listen to the lessons of the past—or be doomed to repeat them.

  “Just one question,” he said. “In the past lifetimes you didn’t try to stop me. In this one you are. Is that significant?”

  She nodded emphatically. “I’d say so. I must have broken my own cycle of letting you walk into the jaws of death without a word.”

  If anyone is strong enough to break a cycle, it’s Michele. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. What are we going to do when the trial comes around?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know. Help me think of something.”

  His compassion for her outweighed his own disbelief. As unnerved as she was, he couldn’t quite convince himself that Donovan could get to him in a courtroom. But what about arriving or departing? Even if it was highly unlikely, there was that niggling doubt that said, ‘She’s never been wrong before.’

  “There’s one way we might be able to avoid it.”

  Her brows shot up. “There is?”

  “Maybe. If we’re out of the country and can’t return when the trial comes up, we may be able to testify via depositions or video conferencing.”

  Her expression finally eased and she let out a deep breath. “Okay. Then there’s hope. We just have to figure out where we want to go and I can make that happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have powers again. Well, not the same ones. New ones.”

  Vic scratched his head. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. We just can’t tell anyone else that we can pop back into the country at a moment’s notice. Well, we shouldn’t anyway. No one is supposed to know.”

  He knew they could also be subpoenaed, but she needed some shred of hope. He’d make sure it wasn’t false hope. “Yeah. I’ll speak to a friend of mine and see where we might be able to go that’s far enough away to be considered too far to testify.”